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  Redemption

  Redemption Series # 2

  T.K. Leigh

  REDEMPTION

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not sponsored, associated, or endorsed by the trademark owner.

  Published by Carpe Per Diem, Inc. / Tracy Kellam, 25852 McBean Parkway # 806, Santa Clarita, CA 91355

  Edited by: Kim Young, Kim’s Editing Services

  Cover Image Innervision Art Copyright 2018 and Dmytro Buianskyi Copyright 2018

  Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  Copyright © 2018 T. K. Leigh / Tracy Kellam

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  Also by T.K. Leigh

  About the Author

  To second chances…

  “We always come back to our first love…”

  Chapter 1

  Brooklyn

  Robert Frost is famous for writing about the road not taken, about a traveler who comes to a fork in the road and is faced with a decision regarding which path to choose. Both hold uncertainty for the future. Both have advantages and disadvantages. Both can bring happiness or sorrow. With no knowledge as to what awaits him, the traveler goes with his gut, contemplating that he can always come back and choose the other path later.

  But can he?

  One road will lead to another, which will lead to another, then another. You’re soon miles from where you started, unable to remember how to get back. Worse, you can’t recall where you started in the first place. All because of what you believed to be an innocent decision to go down one road instead of another.

  As I sit at the stoplight, the road ahead taking me one way, the interstate to the left another, Dave Matthews’ voice brings me back to my high school years. In all actuality, I’m at an advantage, unlike Mr. Frost’s memorable traveler. I’ve been down one of these roads before. Over. And over. And over. I’ve given that road chance after chance after chance. What has it given me in return? Heartache. Pain. Agony. But also love, as cruel and beautiful as it’s always been between us. Can I put myself through that again? Is security and safety more valuable than passion? The answer becomes abundantly clear.

  The light turns green and I take a deep breath to slow my racing heart. My foot eases off the brake, stepping on the gas as I take the road I believe will lead to happiness, to peace, to love. The entire drive, I’m certain this is the correct path for me. I need those things. Why should I settle for anything less?

  When I finally pull up in front of the house and step out of my car, making my way up the familiar walkway, everything seems different. This isn’t like every other time I’ve been here. Something’s changed. I’ve changed. Have I changed for the better? For his better?

  Or does everything seem different because I’ve chosen wrong? Should I have taken the other path? There’s only one way to find out.

  I stare at the door, torn, wishing the correct answer were scrawled in the grains of the wood. When it opens, I inhale a sharp breath, staring into a pair of compassionate, soothing eyes. Ones that have always looked at me with nothing short of devotion, of pure admiration, of absolute love.

  “Brooklyn...” His voice is husky but concerned, perhaps even relieved.

  My lips part as I struggle to summon a single word. There’s a reason I’ve chosen this path. So I don’t have to look back anymore, so I don’t have to face a daily reminder of my mistakes, of not being enough, of never being enough. This man staring at me with so much concern loves me. Unequivocally. Unmistakably. Unquestionably. His love is pure, untainted, with no hidden agenda. And he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. That should count for something.

  No. That should count for everything.

  The events of the past few days overwhelming me, my hands go to Wes’ cheeks. Pulling him toward me, I crush my lips to his, kissing him fully, completely, holding nothing back, giving him everything I’ve denied him since the beginning of our relationship. He stills at first, his body becoming rigid. I bring myself closer, erasing the last bit of distance between us. My hands tugging at his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp, my body pleads with him to want me, love me, help me forget about Drew.

  With a groan, he relents, melting into me, dragging me into his house and kicking the door closed. This exchange is completely different from our usual kisses. It’s not tender, soft, sweet. That’s not how I want it. Not right now. I need it deep, powerful, soul-crushing. I need to never have another reason to think of anyone but Weston James Bradford. I’m his world. It’s time he becomes mine.

  I claw at him, tongues tangling and teeth clashing as our kiss becomes ravenous, primal...hot. He pushes me against the wall and I grind my body against his, his erection springing to life. No longer the same Brooklyn I was mere hours ago, I reach down, palming it. A low rumble falls from his throat and he tears out of the kiss, his heavy breaths hot against my skin.

  “Damn, baby. What’s gotten into you?”

  “I want to turn over a new leaf. I want to be everything you want. In public…” Tilting my head up, I drag my tongue along his smooth chin and neck, suppressing the desire to have an unshaven jaw bruise and scratch my skin. When I pull back, I give him a coquettish grin. “And in private.”

  Growling, he dives in for another impassioned kiss, taking control as he presses against me, pulsing and thrusting. Hands are everywhere, tugging, yanking, scratching. His lips move to my neck, teeth clamping onto my skin. I whimper, craving the physical pain to help me forget about everything relating to Andrew Brinks. About the longing in his eyes when he learned the truth. About the despair covering his face when I drove away. About the way my heart still yearns for him, regardless that he’s never brought me anything but torment, that he’s done nothing but crush my dreams and break my heart.

  “Harder,” I beg, willing my body to react to Wes’ touch, his kisses, his words. But I feel nothing, empty, broken. I squeez
e my eyelids shut. Instantly, brown eyes flash before me, impassioned and hungry, bringing me back to that night seven years ago, the night I’d kept a secret from everyone for years. The hands on me transform from smooth and soft to rough and calloused as I succumb to the memory.

  “Why aren’t you dating anyone, Brooklyn?” Drew asked in a lazy voice as we both lay in my bed. Considering our history, it was irresponsible of me. But when he’d begged me to stay after I’d dropped off a water and a few aspirin to nurse the headache I was certain would find him the instant he woke from his alcohol-induced slumber, I couldn’t resist. I never could resist Andrew Brinks.

  “No reason.”

  “Come now,” he slurred. “Are you trying to tell me there’s no one who’s caught your eye, who’s stolen your heart?”

  I opened my mouth, my words stuck in my throat like tires in heavy mud. What could I say? That I’d been pining for the same person all my life? The same person who possessed my heart since the day he threatened a boy in my second grade class after he picked on me because my father came to Mommy and Me tea. The same person who gave Damian Murphy a broken nose for touching me inappropriately the summer before my junior year of high school. The same person I never stopped thinking about, even after he stood me up on the morning I thought I would lose my virginity. I was naïve and gave him my heart. Despite the passing of years, this man still had it, although I wished he didn’t. Wished with everything I could pry it out of his cold, cruel hands.

  He ran his thumb along my bottom lip, my breath hitching as a shiver rolled through me. I plumped it out, my insatiable hunger to feel his hands on me overtaking all sense of rationale, making me forget our past. All I cared about was now, about feeling this man’s body so close to mine, to feel his heart beat in time with mine. I should have left, should have walked away, but I couldn’t. The power this man had over me defied all reason, all sense of what was right.

  “Brooklyn?”

  “There’s someone,” I murmured in a barely audible voice.

  “Who?”

  As if able to read my thoughts, he inched even closer, his body flush with mine. My breaths came in pants as his erection pressed against my stomach. There was no hiding his need for me. But was it for me? Or did he just want to feel something after learning his wife was leaving him? Was I simply his last resort? Just someone he’d use for a night, then toss aside, like my father warned me he would?

  “Do I know him?”

  “You might.” I lowered my eyes, staring at his muscular frame. His t-shirt had lifted slightly, a sliver of skin visible above his jeans. Just that small bit of exposed flesh made my entire body heat even more.

  “What’s he like?”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I considered my answer. “Sweet. Charming. Although he’d never admit it. He likes to put on this front, make everyone think he’s some macho bad ass, especially when he’s around his co-workers.” I lifted my eyes to his. “But I knew him before. And I can’t help but think I’m one of the few people he can be himself around. That he doesn’t have to put on a show to make me believe the public perception of him.”

  His hand roamed the contours of my frame, stopping on my hip. My teeth chattered, my body having trouble reconciling the myriad of sensations coursing through it. When he pushed me onto my back, I gasped at the unexpected shift, my surprise silenced when he buried his head in my neck. I held my breath, briefly squeezing my eyes shut. Was I asleep? Was this just another dream I’d awaken from…alone?

  “Do you love him?” he whispered, his lips ghosting against my skin sending a ripple through me.

  My pulse increased, my mind hazy as lust for this man blinded me to everything. I’d been with a few guys before, but I’d never felt anything remotely close to this, to this incredible euphoria and need driving me mad.

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why?” He pulled back, his whiskey eyes searing mine.

  “Because he’ll only break my heart. Because as much as I want to be with him, it won’t end well.”

  “How do you know?” He climbed on top of me, supporting his weight on his elbows. My legs fell on either side of him and I ran my hand up and down his back, as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence for us. The feel of his ripped muscles beneath his t-shirt made my mouth dry.

  “Because he’s always held all the power,” I stated, more unguarded than I’d ever been. I didn’t understand what possessed me to be so honest, why I admitted something I’d refused to acknowledge for the past decade. “Because he has the power to destroy me in a way I’ll never recover from.”

  My words all those years ago hit me hard, practically knocking the breath out of me. When I muttered them that night, I had no idea how true they were. I only had to wait a matter of a few hours to learn I was right, that the promises he made in his alcohol-induced euphoria, then forgot about, would destroy me. Just like the promises he made the night before he left for college irrevocably changed me.

  The hurt of everything plagues me and my chin quivers, tears spilling over my eyelids.

  “What’s wrong?” Wes asks, noticing the change in my demeanor. Pulling back, he searches my face. His concern makes me feel even more guilty for fantasizing about Drew. “Did I hurt you? Was I being too rough? I never want to do anything to—”

  I grab the back of his neck, forcing his lips to mine so he can’t see the indecision in my expression. He’s hesitant at first and I can sense his internal struggle. It’s classic Wes. He wants me but doesn’t want to do anything to hurt me. He’s never wanted to do anything to hurt me, always doing everything in his power to put a smile on my face.

  “Please, Wes,” I murmur, my tone bordering on desperation. “I need you.” My mouth still against his, I nibble on his bottom lip. Any reluctance on his part vanishes, his kiss voracious and consuming as his tongue plunges inside my mouth. He fists my hair, his free hand gripping my hip somewhat painfully, but I make no move to get him to loosen his grasp or to stop.

  I run my hands through his hair, tugging, attempting to take control of the kiss. My movements become slow, deep, reverent, reminding me of the kisses I’d been the lucky recipient of from Drew. Sweet, yet intense. Restrained, yet erotic. Memorable, yet too easily forgotten in the cloud of alcohol he consumed. It doesn’t matter that years have passed. The pain I endured because of Drew’s inability to follow through on his promise is still as prominent as if it had just happened. That pain is why I need to do this, why I need to marry Wes.

  Tearing away, my chest heaves as I stare into Wes’ midnight blue eyes, the pupils dilated. I reach for his chest, running my hands up and down, then ripping his t-shirt over his head. “Bedroom. Now,” I demand in a breathy voice.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.” With haste, he grabs my hand, pulling me through the living room, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. The instant we cross the threshold, I reach for his jeans, my fingers fumbling with his belt.

  “Damn, baby.” He palms my back, jerking me hard and fast against him. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  I can’t tell him that my tear-filled confession to Drew pushed me over the edge. That while Wes had me pinned against the wall, it was Drew’s hands I imagined on my skin. That when he kissed me, it was Drew’s lips I craved.

  “I just need to feel you.” Another lie. I don’t need to feel Wes. I just need to feel something other than the crippling reality that this is a mistake. I don’t want it to be a mistake. I want it to be real, to give my heart to a man who’ll never break it.

  Yanking the belt from around his waist, I crush my lips back to his, my kiss filled with anguish. Wes is only too happy to match my eagerness, confusing my desperation for desire. He lowers the zipper of his pants, his mouth never leaving mine as he steps out of his jeans. Steering me toward his bed, he helps me out of my pants, both of us frantic to lose ourselves in each other, but for two completely different reasons. He needs me. I ne
ed him to help me forget.

  With a hungered growl, he runs his hands up and down my frame, peppering kisses along my neck, my collarbone, cupping my breasts. “Do you feel how hard I am?” He thrusts against me, pinching my nipple. I yelp, the pain remarkably pleasurable.

  “I do.” I close my eyes, letting the moment consume me.

  “Do you want more?”

  “Yes,” I moan.

  “You got it, baby.” He grips my hips, spinning me around. A rough hand fists my hair and he forces my stomach against the mattress. He tears my panties from me and parts my legs.

  Unsure how to react to this new, somewhat callous side of Wes, my body stiffens. The familiar sound of a packet opening echoes in the space. Before I can tell him this is a bad idea, that I shouldn’t be doing this when I’m consumed by thoughts of another man, he pushes into me. I play along, pretending this is what I need. I want to need him like this, to enjoy it.

  I still feel absolutely nothing.

  “God, you feel so good like this,” he hisses through his teeth, his motions increasing.

  I moan once more, because that’s probably what he wants. My hands clench around the comforter, balling it, and I shut my eyes, imagining a different man behind me, filling me, his hands on my skin. A tingle spreads through me at the thought. Instead of being in Wes’ bedroom, I’m back in mine, back in that moment when I wish time could stand still.