Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Unedited 💗

"My biggest regret is not finishing my degree in nursing," I glance over at Bret. "How about you?"

It's almost a week since Christmas Day and I can hardly believe it. I don't know where the time goes nowadays. It baffles me. We're making our way to one of Bret's ex-army pals houses to see in the new year and I'm quietly dreading it. Bret is never good when alcohol is involved and there's bound to be loads of the stuff at the party.

We shared a bottle of fruit cider before calling the taxi because Bret said it would help to calm his nerves and I thought that if we both drank from the same bottle, he would be less inclined to down it in one.

"Firstly," he struggles to find his breath for a second. "You were studying to be a nurse? How did I not know this?" he seems to think about his words. "Secondly, I regret not carrying on with the band I was in when I was a teenager."

I pull out a ten pound note from my purse to make sure I'm ready to pay the driver when we arrive at the house. My eyes catching on the few fireworks already lighting up the dark sky, wondering if the party-goers don't want to bother waiting up until midnight.

"You were in a band?"

Bret reaches up to scratch his head, dislodging a few hairs from the bobble securing his bun. "Yeah, an indie rock band called Skulls and Death."

"Skulls and Death?" I respond, wrinkling my nose up. "Sounds positive."

Bret's lips break into a smile. "We sang about deep routed teenage angst and overdose."

"Jesus Christ," my frown gets deeper, "and you wish you carried on with this band?"

"Our songs held meaning. They told stories that no one dare talk about."

He has a point. "What did you play?"

"Guitar and vocals."

I keep an eye out to see where we're going, knowing how hard it is to find the houses on this estate. "I bet you wrote songs then?"

Bret nods. "Most of them, yeah. Richardson was always in charge of the chords while I took care of the words."

I can't help but let my eyes wander his entire body, taken back by the strength of the sensations in my stomach. I'm falling for him. Hard.

"Can you remember any of the songs you wrote? Did you keep any? I'd love to hear them."

"I think Mum has them all up in the loft. I'll get dad to get them down when we next go visit for you to look at," he says, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.

My body slides closer without meaning to do. "I can't wait."

Bret leans forward to press his lips on my temple, the tips of his fingers digging into my waist when he wraps an arm around me. "You look fucking divine tonight. I almost wasn't going to let you leave the house."

A girlish giggle I can't seem to stop escapes me. "Bret, not here. The driver will hear you."

My man doesn't care one bit, biting my bottom lip into his mouth to suck on in long, pleasurable strokes. "I don't care," he mumbles over my mouth. "I don't care one bit."

I could try to put a stop to him snogging my face off, but I don't want to. It feels too right and I'm not going to ruin a moment like this because I'm embarrassed of what the driver, whom we'll more than likely never see again thinks.

Moving my hand towards his face, I trace his jawline with my fingers, stopping just below his ears. "Does your friend have a big house?"

The confusion is clear on his face. "Yeah, it's a good size. Why?"