Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father (Brooklyn and Aden) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32
Aden

The morning after the…incident in the hallway, I’m working in my office, but I’m having trouble getting anything done.

Though I’m not sure I could have prevented it, I’m angry with myself for falling apart like that in front of Brooklyn. And even more annoyed that of all the professions she could have possibly had, she had to be a therapist.

She had to think she might be able to help me.

I thought about the way she looked at me, her cheeks flushed, eyes concerned, hair messed up from dragging me, ME, through the doorway to her bedroom.

I wanted to take her in my arms and shut her up. Prove to her I was strong, that she was powerless to me.

That I was not the powerless one.

I groan, throwing my head back against the chair, where I stare at the tree line outside my window until a knock comes at the door.

“Come in,” I call, hardly paying attention.

The door creeks open, but no one says anything. Annoyed, I turn from the window, ready to tell whatever captain or guard is coming with a report to get on with it and stop wasting my time.

To my surprise, and slight irritation, Brooklyn stands in the doorway. I lean back in my chair my eyes roaming over her. What on earth could she want now?

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?” she asks, anxiously playing with her hair.

That gorgeous hair I wanted to run my hands through, to tug and hear her hiss in return.

“I already told you to come in, Brooklyn.” I keep my tone even.

Annoyed, Brooklyn drops her hand from her hair and takes two steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind her.

Then, she leans against the wall, a little afraid. Like a kitten in a tiger’s cage. I can’t help but smile at the sight of her.

Today she’s wearing brown riding boots over tight jeans, a green cashmere sweater on top. The green brings out the cream of her complexion, the fire of her hair. As I knew it would.

I selected the sweater for precisely that reason, had it sent up to her room with the housekeeper.

Brooklyn starts to play with her hair again, and I decide in that moment that I like it down better than up. I make a mental note to tell the housekeeper to leave it down more often.

“Yesss…?” I prompt her again, impatient.

“I wanted to talk. About last night.” She hesitates again. “Is it safe to talk in here?”

I sigh. “Go ahead.”

“I just wanted to offer, again, to help. In whatever way I can. I’m happy to offer my services.”