Page 4 of Kiss Me Forever

“Chelsea, it’s good to see you,” I said as I wrapped my arms around Duke’s sister. She didn’t hug me back, but then again, I was a little more exuberant than her.

“I’m so excited about the engagement, aren’t you? I mean, we’re going to be sisters,” I said, practically dancing on my toes.

That’s when I finally noticed that Chelsea hadn’t spoken. In fact, she hadn’t said a single word.

Instead I looked at her puffy eyes, the way she stood there, her skin gray, and my smile fell.

“What’s wrong, Chelsea? Is it your mom? Is it Duke?” I asked.

But if it was Duke, I would know. After all, I was his fiancée. Somebody would’ve called me if something was wrong. His sister wouldn’t just be at my door. Maybe she didn’t want the wedding to happen. Oh God. Was this going to be one of those times where Duke’s family finally told me what they truly thought about me, and want me to break up with him?

My chest tightened, and I watched as Chelsea’s lips thinned before she let out a breath.

“He’s... He’s gone, Brooklyn,” Chelsea croaked.

I tilted my head, an odd buzzing sound filling my ears.

“What? Who’s gone? Come in and sit down, Chelsea. You’re scaring me. Let me get you some water.”

But Chelsea flinched as I reached out to her, and I stopped moving.

“Chelsea? Who’s gone?” I asked, the urgency in my tone frantic.

“Duke. He’s dead, Brooklyn. Duke’s dead.”

And I have no idea what she said after that, or even what I did. Because I stood there, the sun glinting off the diamond in my engagement ring, and I watched as the world fell around me.

This was supposed to be my happy ever after. This was supposed to be our everything.

Because there was no way the love of my life was dead.

And it wasn’t until pain radiated up my knees, that I realized the screaming I heard was me.

And there would be no coming back from this.

Ever.

Chapter 1

BROOKLYN

I was a professional woman. An adult. And one who could control her urges.

I also wanted nothing to do with men, did not want to date, had no desire to be with anybody, and yet...

And yet Reece Fox kept wearing those damn jeans.

I knelt in the soil at the house next door to his current project, small shovel in hand, and did my best to continue to plant the hydrangeas that would be the focal point of the side of the house. As a landscape designer, I knew how to get dirty. I constantly had dirt under my fingernails, on my knees, and in my hair. I never looked quite put together unless I scrubbed every inch of myself and did an everything shower twice over. It had been a long time since I had done an everything shower. A year to be precise. Only I didn’t want to think about those times. I couldn’t.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the grief in my gut that wouldn’t go away, and glared at the man next door.

Why did Reece have to look so good in denim? It made zero sense. My cousins, brothers, and friends constantly wore jeans while working. We wore blue-collar clothes for a reason. Unless we were meeting with clients, we tended to wear jeans or cargos that could take dirt and scrapes and everything that had to do with remodeling or building homes and businesses from scratch. I had dirt covering me up to my chest at this point, because I had been digging holes for literal trees, so I wasn’t looking my best. There was a tear at the knee of my jeans, one that hadn’t been placed there strategically by the manufacturer. I didn’t want to toss this particular pair because I had worn them in perfectly. I would probably just patch them up or ask my mom to do so. She was much better with a needle and thread than I was.

Reece Fox didn’t have a single hole in his jeans. The fact I had noticed how well he filled them out told me that I was probably dehydrated and needed to drink something. I rolled my shoulders back and pulled off my ball cap, letting my hair fall past my shoulders. I’d had it up in a ponytail earlier and had lost the elastic. Now I was just using the back of the cap to create some form of ponytail that was way too loose, and that meant my hair kept sticking to the back of my neck.

I was the epitome of a gorgeous woman, a desirable one, that nobody could stay away from. I snorted at that, and once again pulled my gaze away from Reece’s ass.

He bent over, looking at something, and I needed to stop focusing on the way he stretched that denim. His thick thighs tended to do that anyway, since he was all corded muscle and strength. Why did I notice that? Because I was in a self-imposed drought and I was nearly delirious from lack of water.