Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“ T his… this isn’t my place,” I slurred, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a messy jumble, barely recognizable even to my own ears.

“No, it’s mine,” Michael replied, his tone firm yet laced with exasperation. “I’m not leaving you alone in your state of inebriation.”

I giggled, the sound escaping in hiccupped bursts. “In-ee-bree-aaa-tion,” I mimicked, drawing out the syllables, clearly amused by my own drunken mispronunciation.

Michael sighed, glancing down at me as he lifted me higher in his arms. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I’m tired,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible as I let my head droop against his chest.

I was draped limply in his strong arms, and my awareness drifted in and out like a fading radio signal. The rhythmic clack of Michael’s shoes echoed down the long hallway, each step reverberating in my mind like the dull beat of a drum.

Before I knew it, I was sinking into the softness of a plush, white duvet cover. The contrast between my heavy limbs and the luxurious bedding was jarring, but the alcohol dulled the sensation. I barely registered that Michael was crouching at the foot of the bed, gently slipping off my shoes.

My legs twitched involuntarily, and I looked down, confused for a moment. “What… what’re you doing?”

“Just taking off your shoes,” Michael replied, his voice calm as he continued with the task. “Do you want to get undressed?”

I smiled lazily, letting my eyes drift half-shut. “You undress me. You know you want to.”

Michael’s hand paused on my ankle, and his jaw tightened. “I certainly do not. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

He stood abruptly, walking toward the door. The soft thud of the door closing behind him left me in a cocoon of silence, my mind swimming in the haze of alcohol. A minute later, I blinked blearily as I saw a black t-shirt placed on the bed near my head. I turned slightly to find Michael standing by the door.

“You can put this on,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Get under the covers, and I’ll be right back.”

I watched through heavy eyelids as he stepped out again, leaving me alone. For a moment, I stared up at the high, white ceiling, my vision blurring at the edges. The weight of exhaustion settled over me like a fog. Gathering whatever energy I had left, I sluggishly pushed myself up and started undressing, fumbling with the buttons of my blouse and the zipper of my skirt. Both pieces slipped to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my powder-blue lace bra and panties.

Just as I reached for the t-shirt, the door creaked open. Michael walked in, carrying a glass of water, and froze mid-step when his eyes landed on me.

“Michael—” I started, instinctively covering myself with my arms, but my movements were clumsy and slow.

His head snapped to the side, turning away so fast I could hear the tension in his neck. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I thought you were already changed.”

“You can look… if you want,” I teased, the words escaping in a whisper that hung in the air between us.

“I don’t want,” he replied sharply, still not looking at me. “Put the t-shirt on.”

I watched his back for a moment, the muscles in his shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket, before finally dragging the soft fabric over my head. “I’m dressed,” I said, my voice softer now.

He turned, his eyes immediately flicking to my bare legs before quickly focusing on my face. “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleeping with me?” I asked, the question more innocent in my hazy mind than it sounded aloud.

Michael’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “No. I’ll sleep on the couch or in the guest room.”

“Why bother?” I said, shifting under the covers. “Sleep with me. Just sleep.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he exhaled loudly. “I think not.”

“I’m not comfortable alone,” I admitted, my voice softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t know your apartment.”

He paused, weighing his options before finally giving in with another sigh. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the chaise. Happy?”

Michael stepped forward, reaching around me to pull back the thick, white duvet. The sheets beneath were pristine, monogrammed with his initials in red script on the pillowcases. “Get in,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I slipped under the covers, a soft moan escaping my lips as the cool, silky sheets brushed against my skin. I wriggled deeper into the bed, propping myself up against the padded cream-colored headboard and tucking the duvet tightly around me. The softness enveloped me, pulling me deeper into the warmth.

Michael placed the glass of water on the nightstand beside me, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two aspirin tablets. “You might need these when you wake up,” he said, setting them beside the glass.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, my eyelids already feeling impossibly heavy.

He walked over to a nearby door, flicking on the light. “Right here,” he said. “I’ll leave the light on just in case.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my words trailing off as the exhaustion took over, and I began to drift into sleep.

I woke with a jolt, my body drenched in a cold sweat. The room was still dark, but something in my stomach churned violently. Nausea hit me hard, climbing up my throat like a wave I couldn’t control.

I groaned and bolted upright, clutching my abdomen as I rushed to get off the bed. My feet barely touched the ground before I was scrambling toward the bathroom, hoping I’d make it in time.

The cool, polished floor tiles blurred beneath me as I stumbled, almost slipping on a rust-colored rug in front of one of the sinks. My breath came in shallow, desperate gasps. I scanned the huge bathroom, squinting through the low light, until I spotted the toilet. I lurched toward it, gripping the lid and yanking it up just as I vomited.

It was violent and unforgiving, and I barely noticed when a warm hand gathered my hair away from my face. I didn’t care who it was. The bile kept coming, one retch after another, until my stomach was completely empty. When it finally stopped, I slumped forward, resting my cheek against the cold porcelain.

A soft flush filled the silence. "Here," came Michael’s voice, calm and soothing. He handed me some toilet paper, his fingers brushing mine as I wiped my mouth.

“Morgan?” he asked quietly.

“Leave me,” I groaned, my voice hoarse.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied firmly, sitting down beside me. I could barely lift my head to look at him, but when I did, I saw him—shirtless, wearing nothing but black silk pajama pants. I’d never seen Michael without his perfectly pressed suits, and now, his chiseled chest and abs seemed almost out of place in the quiet vulnerability of the moment.

If I hadn’t felt so utterly miserable, I might have been tempted to run my fingers over those abs. Instead, I let out a pathetic moan and slumped back against the wall.

“Why did you let me drink so much?” I managed to mumble, my head still spinning.

He gave a soft chuckle. “You’re very strong-willed. You weren’t exactly listening to reason last night.”

I groaned again, and he gently stroked my hair, tucking it behind my ear. His touch was surprisingly tender, considering how little I expected of him.

“I feel like shit.”

“You look like it too,” he teased lightly. Then, softening his tone, he asked, “Want to go back to bed?”

I nodded weakly. “I think so.”

Michael stood, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as if I weighed nothing. His chest felt warm against me, and I clung to him like a lifeline. “Do you want to rinse your mouth first?” he asked, already carrying me toward the vanity.

“Please.”

He set me down gently on the cool granite countertop, the cold surface sending a shiver through my body. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash, pouring some into a small glass. I took it gratefully, swirling it around my mouth before spitting it out. The minty burn was refreshing against the sour taste of bile.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, feeling slightly more human.

Michael scooped me up again and carried me back to the bed, laying me down on the soft sheets. He tucked the duvet around me, making sure I was comfortable before starting to walk away.

“Michael?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stopped in the doorway, turning his head just slightly. “Yes?”

“Thank you... for taking care of me,” I murmured, my eyes already half-closed.

He paused for a moment, as if considering something. “I guess it’s partially my fault you’re in this state,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I’d do it again.”

“I should’ve listened to you,” I muttered, feeling the drowsiness start to pull me under. “I really should’ve.”

Michael chuckled softly, a warm, comforting sound. “Yes, you should’ve. Now sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I turned onto my side, facing the chaise where I remembered he’d slept last night. Guilt gnawed at me for inconveniencing him, but he didn’t seem to mind. As I drifted off to sleep, I heard the faint sound of him settling back into the chair.

The next time I woke, sunlight was streaming into the room, creeping through the edges of the long ivory drapes. My head pounded, a relentless throb behind my temples. Groaning, I shifted slightly, hearing the faint sound of Michael’s voice coming from down the hall.

Moments later, he appeared in the doorway, still shirtless, still in those black pajama pants. He walked in casually, his expression unreadable as he approached the bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples. “My head’s killing me.”

“You’re dehydrated.” He gestured toward the nightstand. “Drink the juice I left for you.”

I glanced over, noticing the glass of fresh orange juice and the aspirin he’d left the night before. Gratefully, I grabbed the pills and tossed them into my mouth, chasing them down with the juice.

“Thank you,” I murmured, setting the glass down.

Michael shifted, his eyes never leaving mine. “Would you like to talk?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d expected.

I hesitated. “I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

His lips tightened slightly. “Not everything.”

“There’s more?” I asked, a nervous laugh escaping me as I bit down on my bottom lip.

He leaned forward and gently freed my lip from between my teeth, his thumb brushing my skin. “Yes,” he said softly, “there is. But maybe we should save the vodka this time.”

I smirked, despite myself. “No more vodka,” I agreed. “So, what is it?”

Michael straightened, his expression becoming serious. “I want a relationship with you.”

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “We already have a relationship. You’re my boss, I’m your employee.”

“Not that kind of relationship,” he said, his voice steady. “I want more.”

God, what was he saying? I’d gone so long without a steady relationship, concentrating on my work life and trying to prepare for financial stability. Now, I had two men who were interested in a relationship with me.

“More?” I repeated, my heart pounding now for a completely different reason. “And what if I can’t give you more?”

He shrugged, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usual cool exterior. “Then I’ll wait... until you’re ready.”

I sighed, pulling the duvet tighter around me as I sat up against the headboard. “You might be waiting a while, Michael. I’ve got things going on. Complicated things.”

His gaze hardened slightly. “Is there someone else?”

I hesitated but quickly shook my head. “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for... this.”

“Then what are you ready for?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe... something casual,” I offered. “No strings attached. Nothing too serious.”

Michael’s eyes searched mine for a moment before he gave a slow nod. “Casual dating, then?”

“And... casual sex?” I added, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Only if you want it to be.”

I smiled weakly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take all the time you need,” he said softly. “I’ll be here.”

“I should go home. I need to visit my parents today.” I glanced at the sunlight creeping through the curtains, the reminder of my obligations gnawing at the back of my mind.

Michael raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I could take you. Or have Winston drive you.” His tone was casual, but his eyes never left mine.

I snorted softly. “Why would you want to waste your day going to an old folks’ home with me?”

He leaned in slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, amused smile. “Do I have to say it? I like spending time with you.” His fingers brushed lightly against my arm, sending an unexpected thrill through me.

I narrowed my eyes, skeptical but trying not to grin. “Do you know where I live?”

“I do.” His answer came quicker than expected.

I raised my eyebrows, my tone teasing. “So you are a stalker!”

Michael chuckled, shaking his head. “It was on your paperwork for hire. I assure you, stalking isn’t my thing.”

I let out a low laugh, rolling my eyes. “You can drive me if you behave.”

He leaned back, his lips pulling into a smirk. “Behave? What do you think I would do on the way? Spirit you off to some abandoned warehouse and have my way with you?” His eyes glinted with playful mischief, daring me to bite back.

A flash of heat crept up my neck, but I played it off, shooting him a mock glare. “As appealing as that sounds, no. I meant keep your mouth shut to my parents. I don’t want them knowing anything yet.” I crossed my arms, eyeing him with a serious expression.

Michael softened his grin. “I can always wait for you outside. I don’t have to go in.”

I tilted my head, considering. “And do what, exactly? Stare at the birds while you wait?”

“I have emails and other things to deal with. I don’t need to be there, hovering over you.” His hand waved dismissively, but I caught the flash of genuine respect in his tone.

“Fine,” I relented, sighing. “But I need to go home and change first.”

Michael stood, pulling his phone from his pocket. His fingers tapped away as he spoke. “I’ll have Winston take you home. I’ll pick you up in two hours. Is that enough time?”

“Perfect,” I said, already throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Now, if you’ll give me some privacy, I’d like to get dressed.”

He stepped closer before I could protest, his scent filling the space between us as he bent down to kiss my cheek. The warmth of his lips and the rough scrape of his stubble sent a shiver through me. “Winston will be waiting out front,” he murmured, his breath fanning across my skin. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

With that, he straightened up and strolled out of the room, leaving me alone with the lingering sensation of his touch, my heart thudding harder than it should.

“I can’t, Slade. I’m visiting my parents today.” I held the phone to my ear, trying to keep my voice steady as I pulled my sundress from the closet.

Slade’s voice, smooth as always, sighed through the speaker. “I haven’t seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

Of course I missed him. My fingers hesitated on the fabric for a moment before I forced myself to keep going. “I do, but this is important. I’ve been a horrible daughter.” I pulled the dress off the hanger, the weight of guilt pressing on me as I imagined my parents waiting.

“You’ve been busy,” he countered softly, as if sensing my inner turmoil. “They can’t fault you for that.”

I let out a small laugh, knowing he was right, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “They would never, but I still feel guilty. Maybe we can have dinner tonight if I get back early enough?”

“If not, can I still see you tonight?” His tone dropped lower, more urgent. “I need to see you.”

It was obvious what he wanted. I wanted it too, though I wouldn’t admit it aloud. My grip tightened on the phone, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ll call you when I get home. Maybe we can have a late dinner if I don’t eat with my parents.”

“I’d like that,” he replied, the heat in his voice unmistakable. “My bed was empty without you.”

I bit my lip, my pulse quickening despite myself. “I’m sure.” I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “I’ll call you later.”

There was a pause before his voice softened again. “I love you, Morgan.”

My chest tightened, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. I wasn’t ready to respond the way he wanted. Not yet. “Goodbye, Slade,” I said, quickly ending the call before he could question my silence.

I dropped the phone onto the bed, my heart racing. Michael’s confession from last week still echoed in my mind, complicating everything. Two powerful, rich men chasing after me. It wasn’t a bad problem to have… but it sure made life messy.

I shook off the thought, focusing on getting ready. A quick shower later, I slipped into a white floral sundress with spaghetti straps, pairing it with white sandals. My mother always liked it when I dressed femininely. I tugged at the straps, adjusting them, and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. Makeup? Minimal. Mom always said I didn’t need any. But the truth was, a little makeup made me feel good, in control.

At 11:15 a.m., I made my way down to the lobby. Michael had told me to be ready by 11:30, but when I stepped outside, I spotted his red convertible BMW already parked two spaces down, gleaming in the sunlight. He stood next to it, tapping away on his phone, dressed in crisp white shorts and a Caribbean blue polo shirt. The casual look caught me off guard. No suit. No tie.

“You’re early,” I called out, walking toward him, my sandals clicking softly on the pavement.

Michael looked up from his phone, his lips quirking into a smile. “So are you. I was planning to head inside in a few minutes.”

I took in his outfit, noting the sockless topsiders. “You look... casual.”

His smile widened as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “And you look gorgeous. I don’t always wear suits, you know.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing. “But that’s all I’ve seen you in, aside from yesterday.”

“True,” he admitted, his tone playful. “I like to relax when I’m not working. You’ll see that if you get to know me.”

He moved to open the passenger door, his hand grazing the small of my back for just a second before stepping aside. I slid into the seat, the leather cool against my skin as I buckled up. Michael settled in beside me, starting the car and tapping the GPS screen to life.

“Address, please,” he said, his fingers poised over the touchscreen.

I rattled it off, watching him type it in, then glanced over as the directions popped up.

“Thank you for doing this,” I said, my voice softer now.

“My time is yours,” he replied, his gaze flicking to mine with that familiar intensity.

“Why?” I asked, curious. My heart beat a little faster at the simplicity of his statement.

He shook his head, smiling. “Stop asking why. I want to get to know you.”

I felt my lips twitch into a smile. “Good enough.”

The car pulled out into traffic, and the warm breeze blew my hair back as we sped through the city streets. The hum of the engine and the wind in my face felt freeing, almost too easy, considering everything on my mind.

“Would you like to grab lunch after you're finished with your parents?” Michael asked, glancing at me as the sun flickered through the trees lining the road.

I shrugged. “I might be there a few hours. They usually like me to join them for lunch in the cafeteria. You’re welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition,” I said, my tone light. “I’m sure my parents would love to meet another friend of mine.”

He smirked. “Is that what I am? Your friend?”

I matched his smirk, enjoying the verbal sparring. “What else should I call you?”

“Potential lover.”

I let out a snort of laughter. “I hardly think my parents would appreciate hearing about my preparations for sex with you.”

“Are you preparing to have sex with me?” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was a glint of something more in his eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I replied, shaking my head with a smile. “We’re friends.”

“Friends with benefits?”

I shot him a sharp look. “Christ, Michael, give it a rest. If you just want to fuck me, then say so.”

His expression softened, and his voice dropped, more sincere than I expected. “I don’t want to just fuck you. I want to know you, Morgan. I know a little, and I very much like what I see.”

I glanced away, feeling the weight of his gaze. “You might not like the rest.”

“Why do you say that?” His tone was gentle, probing.

“Because I’m headstrong and independent.”

He smiled, his hand resting on the gearshift. “And I prefer women that way.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the car, lifting my dress. Before I could react, Michael reached over, pulling it down with a quick, casual movement. “Thank you,” I said, cheeks flushing. “I would’ve thought you wanted to see what was under there.”

“If I did, I would’ve taken you last night,” he said, his voice low. “I’d rather you offer.”

“Maybe one day I will.” I flashed him a teasing smile as I stared out the window, the trees blurring past.

He chuckled, slipping his sunglasses off the visor and onto his face. As he fiddled with the radio, he settled on a classic rock station.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his hand lightly tapping the steering wheel.

I listened for a moment, recognizing the song. “Yeah, I like classic rock.”

“Do you know who this is?”

I grinned. “The Who?”

Michael chuckled. “That’s right. Eminence Front. One of my favorites.”

I nodded, my mind still buzzing with everything that had been left unsaid. The road stretched ahead of us, but my thoughts lingered somewhere between the tension and the possibilities of what might come next.

The GPS beeped, announcing that we were approaching the exit for Shady Grove Assisted Living Community. Michael flicked on his blinker, his expression thoughtful.

"Hey, can we make a quick stop at the florist before we head over?" I asked, adjusting my seatbelt. "My mother adores tea roses."

Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing at me. "Of course. Where’s the nearest florist?"

"Just two blocks up," I replied, gesturing towards the strip mall we were approaching.

He maneuvered the car into the lot, pulling up beside a modest shop that had “Cashman’s Florist” scrawled across its window, flanked by a pizza place. As soon as he parked, he was out of the car and at my door before I could even reach for the handle.

“Let me help you,” he said, offering his hand with a warm smile.

I took his hand, stepping out and feeling a little flutter of appreciation for his old-fashioned chivalry. We entered the florist, and I was immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of blooming flowers. My eyes settled on the delicate peach-colored tea roses, and I approached the counter where a short, gray-haired clerk was sorting through a stack of orders.

“Could you please wrap these for me?” I asked, pointing to the roses.

“Of course,” the clerk replied, taking the flowers with a nod.

I wandered around the shop, admiring the vibrant array of blossoms—carnations, lilies, and everything in between. Bending down to inhale the intoxicating fragrance of a Calla Lily, I heard Michael’s voice behind me.

“Do you like them?” he asked, his tone curious.

“They’re lovely,” I said, straightening up. “A bride I knew had them in her centerpieces last year.”

Michael chuckled softly. “I imagine you’ve been to a lot of weddings.”

“Not as many as you might think,” I said, browsing through the bouquets. “My friends and I focused on our careers first before settling down.”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “Is that how you view marriage?”

“Not at all,” I replied, turning to face him. “It’s just that Erika had a rough experience and is waiting until she’s forty. Her parents’ bitter divorce left a mark. My parents, though—they’ve been married for almost fifty years. That’s a marriage I’d aspire to.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Michael agreed, his gaze thoughtful. “My parents have been married for nearly forty years, but I wouldn’t say their bond is as strong as your parents’. They’re both so busy.”

“Did you ever get to sample candies when you were a kid?” I asked, remembering Michael’s mother’s candy business.

“Oh, all the time,” Michael said, a nostalgic smile crossing his face. “Mom would bring home new candies for us to try. If we didn’t like them, she’d halt the development.”

“Seriously? So three boys influenced the candy lineup?” I asked, intrigued.

“Absolutely,” Michael replied, pride evident in his voice. “We were pretty good at it. The caramel marshmallow bar you might know? That’s our creation. It’s been a hit for over twenty years.”

“Wow, that’s impressive!” I said, genuinely surprised. “So, you and your brothers were behind that?”

“Yes,” Michael said with a grin. “We convinced Mom to test it, and it made the cut.”

The florist called out, and I reached into my purse for my wallet, but Michael intercepted me, handing over his credit card with a quick gesture.

“You didn’t have to pay,” I protested.

“I insisted,” Michael said, taking the wrapped roses from the clerk. “Now, let’s get out of here before I decide to buy the whole store.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I teased.

“Don’t test me, Morgan,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I laughed as he guided me out of the shop. The roses, now wrapped in clear cellophane and green florist paper, were more than I’d chosen—two dozen instead of just one.

“You’re too generous,” I said, admiring the bouquet.

“I aim to please,” Michael replied with a smirk, holding the door open for me.

“Are you trying to earn brownie points?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it working?” he countered, his gaze steady.

“So far,” I said with a smile.

“Good,” Michael said, his eyes meeting mine with a hint of satisfaction.