The sound of footsteps stops at my closed door. I take a few shallow breaths. It has to be Brady coming home from wherever the fuck he’s been all afternoon and night. Still, I gather the covers around myself and strain to hear if the person standing at my door walks away. Minutes follow, and I’m met with silence. The doorknob turns and my heart begins to race. It doesn’t stop when the door opens wide to reveal Brady standing there in a white linen shirt that glows in the darkness. It makes him look like a ghost. “Brady?” I ask in a trembling voice. “You know what you do to me,” he rasps, walking toward my bed, his words more a statement than a question. “You drive me crazy.” “I do?” He stands next to me by the bed and I catch a whiff of whiskey as his heavy breathing reaches down to me. The masculine scent and his deep voice make me want him like never before.
