#brian addison

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their hotel suite, Manhattan glitters before them and the air crackles with electricity when Margaret gives him a dazzling smile and holds out her hand. Returning her dazzling smile with one of his own, he takes her hand and lets her lead him out onto the penthouse’s wraparound terrace. As she stands admiring the incredible views of the city, he slips off his overcoat and wraps it around her, his hands taking a deliberate detour along their southbound journey from her shoulders to her waist in order to fondle her breasts, and he takes his time kissing his way up her neck. His tongue tickles the pulse point on her neck, and she softly moans his name as she leans back against his chest.

Pulling her soft earlobe between his lips and nibbling it gently, he tells her, “You know, we’re the very first guests this penthouse has ever had. Seems only right that we should give it a proper christening.”

Her hand slides up along the back of his neck to guide his mouth to hers. She kisses him deeply as she turns in his arms, pressing her body firmly against his as her tongue explores every corner of his mouth. Looking him straight in the eye, her eyes like onyx and burning with unmistakable lust, she tells him, “Grab the champagne and meet me in the bedroom, Mr. Addison.”

“Bossy,” he teases with a quirk of his brow.

“You like it when I’m bossy,” she ripostes, her voice and her gaze never once wavering in their intensity or in their seductive intent.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answers, his voice just above a low, rolling growl as he pulls her back into his arms.

Their hands and their mouths are roaming all over each other as they head back inside. She slips out of his arms, and keeping her dark eyes locked on his as she walks backwards towards the bedroom, she slowly strips off his coat and nonchalantly lets it fall to the floor. She unbuttons her blouse just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the black lace trim of her bra. Just enough to leave him desperately wanting more.

As she struts off to the bedroom, she looks over her shoulder at him with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the fact that he’s shamelessly leering at her perfect ass the entire way.

He’s so physically aroused that, with his mind being bombarded by the most enticing visions of the night of torrid lovemaking that awaits him in the next room, it’s no small feat that he’s able to walk over to the wet bar and uncork the bottle of Moët Rosé Impérial without falling all over himself. He grabs the two champagne flutes and heads towards the bedroom with a huge grin on his face.

But when he gets there he finds Margaret still fully dressed and frantically pacing the room. Her hands are shaking, and she looks at him with a panicked expression in her eyes that freezes him in his tracks and causes his heart to plummet.

Suddenly, he finds it difficult to breathe. Did I unintentionally pressure her in any way? Or worse? Is she still too traumatized by memories of what happened the last time the two of us were in a luxurious hotel suite together?

“All my things are missing,” she blurts out. “Everything in my suitcase is gone—my clothes, my jewelry, the souvenirs I bought for Jacob. Oh my God, where is all of my underwear?”

He nearly bursts into laughter, but he restrains himself. Instead, he sets down the champagne flutes and takes Margaret’s hand in his to lead her towards the walk-in closet.

“I should have explained earlier that the penthouse comes with a butler service. They probably unpacked our things for us while we were out at dinner. Your undergarments are probably right here—”

His heart rate goes through the roof and he’s rendered utterly speechless when he opens the dresser’s top drawer and his eyes fall upon the black, all-lace chemise. She can’t bring her eyes to meet his, but he can see the apprehension and humiliation splashed across her pale face just before she turns away from him and walks out of the room.

As agonizing as it is for him not to go after her immediately, he knows that she needs a moment to herself. So he wills himself to stay put, to take a deep breath and count to ten before rejoining her in the bedroom. She’s standing at the foot of the bed with her back to him, and his heart sinks like it’s made of lead to hear her sniffling softly as she quickly wipes away her tears.

He gently places his hand on her back just between her shoulder blades and whispers her name with as much tenderness as he can muster, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she slowly turns around to face him. She places her hands on his chest, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, and he holds her close as she summons the courage to bare her soul to him yet again.

“I bought the chemise last month when we were in Branson. It felt like things were getting back on track between us and it was our first weekend getaway together and I wanted to make it special for you. But that night didn’t go the way I’d hoped it would. I forgot that it was still in my suitcase until I was packing for this trip, and I thought to myself, ‘Maybe things will work out differently this time’. But now I just feel completely ridiculous because … I’ve never worn anything like that before, and …”

With a heavy, apologetic sigh, she slowly shakes her head and takes a seat on the bed. “I’m not confident like that, Brian. I’m never going to be,” she says meekly.

“I know,” he says gently.

She’s so small and so fragile in this moment, looking every inch the shy and heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl he’d seen in the photographs, as she looks down at her small, trembling hands and clasps them tightly in her lap.

“Do you wish that I was?” she asks in a strangled voice, nervously chewing her bottom lip when she gives him a furtive glance.

He sinks down to his knees before her, and he gives her a sympathetic smile as he slowly shakes his head. He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, because he understands that what Margaret is really asking him right now is laced with such profound apprehension and vulnerability: Does our relationship leave you feeling unfulfilled in any way? Are you disappointed or unsatisfied with me?

“I only wish that you weren’t always so hard on yourself, and I wish that you could see yourself through my eyes,” he tells her, tucking her long hair back behind her ears before taking her hands in his. “I try to tell you at least once every day that you’re beautiful—not just because it’s true and because you deserve to hear it, but also because you’re so overwhelming at times that I can’t not say it. I’m just sorry that I don’t tell you enough how incredibly sexy you are.

She blushes at that, just like he knew she would, and it melts his heart.

“You are,” he insists, “and you have no idea just how sexy you are, and it only makes me want you even more. Margaret, you’re beautiful and intelligent and dynamic, and there’s never any doubt in my mind that you can do anything you set your mind to. I never knew that I could be constantly in awe of someone until I met you. You challenge me and you drive me absolutely crazy. In all the best possible ways. You really do take my breath away, sweetheart. You’re absolutely sublime, and I’m always on fire for you.”

When he presses a warm kiss to her blushing cheek, he can feel her take a deep breath, can feel her breathing him in. She rises to her feet and, sliding her arms around his shoulders, she kisses his forehead and whispers, “Thank you, Brian. Thank you for telling me all those things. It really does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s all true,” he promises, softly kissing her thumbs when she caresses his lips.

With a shy smile, she reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together. “Come on,” she says, gently tugging at his hands to help him to his feet. “There’s something we’ve never done together before that I’d really like for us to do. And, um … it doesn’t require any clothing at all.”

“I’m intrigued,” he says with a devilish grin as he bends down to capture her lips. “Tell me more, Mrs. Langston.”

“Five more minutes,” he protests in a pouty voice while making an equally adorable pouty face when she slips out of his arms and tells him that they really shouldn’t keep his family, especially the little ones, waiting. 

He kisses her shoulder and tugs at the blanket and she rolls her eyes at him, but the idea of prolonging their early morning post-coital cuddle proves too tempting to pass up, and she accedes to his request, giving him a light slap on his cheek as she lays her head back down on his chest. As his fingertips lazily glide along her spine and her fingertips lazily glide across his collarbones, he finds that he can’t suppress the laugh that’s building to a crescendo inside his chest.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Addison?” she mumbles against the flushed skin of his neck.

He presses his lips together tightly and shakes his head in an overly exaggerated way, playfully refusing to answer her question. But when she mimics his earlier actions by putting on an adorably pouty expression of her own, his face breaks into a wide, sly grin.

“I don’t know why we even bothered with being quiet. After all, we have the whole house to ourselves. I guess there’s just something about being back in my childhood bedroom with a really hot girl that makes me feel like a horny teenager again.”

She smacks him hard on the shoulder for that remark, and he tries to flip her onto her back and tickle her all over as payback, but she’s too quick for him. She yanks the tartan blanket away from him, wrapping it around herself as she jumps out of bed, and he chases after her without delay, catching up to her before she can disappear inside the bathroom.

“Brian! We’re already running late and I really have to take a shower!” she exclaims as he pulls her back into his arms.

“Excellent idea. Let’s shower together. It’ll help to cut down on the water usage,” he says with a grin as he bends down and tries to kiss her neck.

“You must be out of your mind,” she says with a laugh. “That shower is way too cramped even for one person, let alone two. And it certainly doesn’t help the situation that you’re not a normal-sized human being.”

“Is that so?” he asks in a low, suggestive voice as his hands grab ahold of her hips to hold her body flush against his, effectively trapping her between his towering frame and the bathroom door. “Because I was under the impression that you rather like that I’m not normal-sized.”

Her eyes widen at that and a deep crimson blush colors her cheeks when she says, “You made that more sexual than it should have been.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Langston, you and I both know that I always mean what I say,” he quips.

With a lascivious smirk, he strips the blanket away from her and lifts her feather-light frame into his arms. They’re kissing each other amorously through their giddy laughter as he carries her into the walk-in shower, where he deliberately rotates the handle to the coldest setting before turning on the water at full blast, causing her to yelp when the freezing cold water hits her shoulder blades. Pretending he can’t hear her demands to adjust the temperature this instant, he relishes the feeling of her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into his biceps and the warmth of her breathy laughter on his lips.

Having thoroughly enjoyed teasing her, he carefully lowers her to the tiled floor, keeping one hand on her lower back to hold her close as he adjusts the water temperature for her. She places her hands on his chest, and he notices her expression growing more and more pensive as she nervously chews her bottom lip. 

Her eyes slightly downcast, there is a faint note of apology, perhaps even of guilt, in her soft voice when she says, “We’re going to be late.”

“I know,” he answers, his voice sweet and soothing.

He knows that he’s missing out on some of the valuable playtime that he’d promised his grandnieces and grandnephews. But they’ve always been the most exuberant and easygoing bunch and will undoubtedly still be running wild around Battle Point Park for a few more hours. He also knows that he’ll be more than happy to make up for his tardiness by spoiling the little ones with an extra scoop of ice cream when everyone heads over to Mora Iced Creamery afterwards.

And there is one more thing that he knows in this moment.

He tucks her long, wavy hair behind her ears and gently lifts her chin so that they’re looking at each other when he tells her, “I also know that, right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

“I don’t know if Warren ever loved the boys,” she confesses with such torment in her meek voice. “I mean, I know that he never loved me, but . . . I worry all the time that he never loved our sons either. And I blame myself for that, Brian. Because if they’d been anyone else’s . . . if I’d been the wife that Warren wanted . . . maybe then he could have loved them. Maybe then he would have been a better businessman, a better husband, a better father. But they were mine.”

“His shortcomings are not your fault, Margaret. They’re not your burden to bear. It wasn’t your job to redeem him.”

“I wish that I’d been able to give my sons what your parents gave you and your brothers,” she says, her voice so small and yet so heavy with remorse. “The most important thing I could have done for my children was to give them the right father. I know I didn’t have any say in the matter, but if I’d been free to choose, believe me, I would have chosen so differently. I just . . . I feel like I failed them. That no matter how hard I tried—and I really did try to be a good mother, to do everything right, to always put them first—nothing could ever make up for the fact that I hadn’t given them the best possible father. My God! How much better, how much happier would my sons’ lives have been if only they’d been born to parents who loved each other?”

She’s not even thinking about her own happiness right now, and it both breaks his heart and utterly enrages him in the same instant. How could she be so selfless? How could she love others so deeply and put their wants and needs so decidedly ahead of her own?

“And what of your own happiness, Margaret?” he asks. “How happy you could have been if you’d been married to a man who’d seen you for the miracle that you are?”

“I’m not a miracle, Brian,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as the tears well in her eyes. “I’m—”

A demon. He can tell by the way she chews her trembling lower lip that those words are racing through her mind. She looks at him with a pained expression, and he knows that the belief that had been instilled in her all those years ago—that the Returned are demons that can only cause pain—still runs so deep.

Looking back down at her hands, she shakes her head slowly and sadly, her voice so full of despair when she tells him, “I’m just not.”

He tucks her hair behind her ear, his fingertips tracing the shell of her ear with the lightest touch before he gently raises her chin and feels his breath being taken away yet again when he looks into those tear-filled, turquoise-colored eyes.

“I think you are,” he tells her with a soft smile. “I know that you are. I don’t think you’re a demon, Margaret. I never have, and I never will. I think you’re an angel.”

His words completely overwhelm her, and the tears course down her cheeks as he touches his forehead to hers. “I know that you don’t see Returning as a second chance. But I think it was. Just maybe not in the way that you think. Maybe the second chance wasn’t for you; maybe it was for me. I don’t think that there was anything missing from my life or that I needed to be saved in any way. But I know that you changed my life for the better, that you changed me for the better.”

He holds her tight, his fingers entangling themselves in her hair as he breathes her in as deeply as he can, and the storms inside him begin to calm. There is still so much that he wants to say to her, but he doesn’t know how to put it all into words. Those three little words could never fully articulate all the things he feels for her, and yet they still knock the wind right out of him every time they bubble up inside him.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair.

She sniffles softly, but he can feel her smiling when she presses her cheek to his and the warmth of her breath radiates through him when she whispers into his ear, “I love you, too. You’re my guy.”

He can’t help but chuckle at the old-fashioned and sweetly youthful sentiment, especially when he remembers how his mother had used that same turn of phrase earlier today. “I’m glad about that,” he says, playfully nuzzling her nose with a grin, “because I absolutely love being your guy.”

They stay outside a little longer, stargazing and holding each other close beneath the soft tartan blanket. Their walk back to the house is unhurried, their movements as relaxed and romantic as a waltz. His feet don’t seem to touch the ground, and each time he steals a sweet kiss or two from her as they make their way across the lawn, the sound of Margaret’s muffled laughter against his lips causes this inexplicable and unrelenting sense of hope to well up inside him.

Like a couple of mischievous teenagers out past their curfew, they quietly sneak inside the house, taking the back stairs straight up to the attic.

In a cozy bedroom lit only by candlelight and perfumed with the invigorating scents of balsam and cedar, she stands so close to him that he can’t resist kissing the dozens of tiny freckles on her shoulders as they undress each other. They take their time changing into their pajamas, and he’s just about to put on his shirt when she stops him by placing her hand on his chest. Under slightly different circumstances, they would have most likely kissed each other deeply and then proceeded to make slow, sweet love together all night long. But there is no seductive intention in her touch, and the soft smile upon her lips lets him know that she simply craves the comforting warmth of his bare skin surrounding her as she drifts off to sleep tonight—nothing more, nothing less.

He wakes up nearly an hour before the alarm clock is set to go off. It is still pitch black outside and peering up through the skylight, his half-asleep eyes can just make out the faintest outline of the tree branches as they softly sway on the light breeze overhead.

The first half of their Thanksgiving travels will be coming to an end soon. In just a few more hours, they’ll be leaving the almost magical world of Bainbridge Island, and there’s a bittersweet quality to the thought of saying goodbye to his loved ones after such a wonderful visit. But there’s also an excited energy flowing through him, and he’s greatly looking forward to taking his gorgeous girlfriend on a transcontinental flight to one of his favorite cities in the world.

He lets out a slow exhale, and her long eyelashes flutter against his skin as she begins to stir. “What time is it?” she murmurs against his chest.

“It’s four a.m. It’s early. We’ve still got some time. Go back to sleep,” he whispers to her with a playful tap on her nose.

She gives him a sleepy smile and he cuddles her a little closer when she nuzzles and kisses his neck. Placing a soft kiss on her forehead, he drifts in and out of sleep until it’s time to begin making their way downstairs.

His mother has already prepared a quick breakfast for them, and Brian is pleasantly surprised as every member of his family gradually makes their way down the stairs, sleepily shuffling into the kitchen to spend a few more minutes with him and Margaret before they have to leave for the airport. He knows that everyone’s exhausted after such a jam-packed holiday weekend, and while they’ll most likely head straight back to bed afterwards, it warms his heart to see the way his family have all come together to show how much they love and care for not only for him, but for Margaret as well.