Every Night: Romantic Suspense (The Brush of Love Series Book 1) Read online

  Every Night

  The Brush Of Love Series, Volume 1

  Lexy Timms

  Published by Dark Shadow Publishing, 2017.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  EVERY NIGHT

  First edition. November 23, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Lexy Timms.

  ISBN: 978-1386034322

  Written by Lexy Timms.

  Also by Lexy Timms

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  Just About Series

  About Love

  About Truth

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  Finding Justice

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  Justice - Complete Series

  Love You Series

  Love Life

  Need Love

  My Love

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  The Boss Too

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  Employed by the Boss

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  Saving Forever - Part 2

  Saving Forever - Part 3

  Saving Forever - Part 4

  Saving Forever - Part 5

  Saving Forever - Part 6

  Saving Forever Part 7

  Saving Forever - Part 8

  Saving Forever Boxset Books #1-3

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  Whisky Harmony

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  Every Night

  The Debt

  The Debt: Part 1 - Damn Horse

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  Copyright 2017 Lexy Timms

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  Every Night

  The Brush of Love Series # 1

  Copyright 2017 by Lexy Timms

  Cover by: Book Cover by Design

  THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES

  Every Night

  Book 1

  Every Day

  Book 2

  Every Time

  Book 3

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  • Every Night Blurb

  USA TODAY BESTSELLING Author, Lexy Timms, delivers a beautiful tale about a young man who finds love in the least expected place.

  Bryan McBride is a disappointment to his parents. Doesn’t matter he’s a successful architect and that in his spare time he builds homes for the homeless. His tattoos disrespect his family name, his business partner is too blue collar, too surfer, and Bryan’s brother—who the family never talks about—died from a drug overdose.

  Bryan’s passion for art is rekindled when Hailey Ryan comes into town to open a gallery. Without funds to pay for the construction of the gallery, Bryan offers to work in exchange for some of her artwork.

  He’s caught off guard by the strong attraction he has to her. It’s the perfect distraction from the issues in his life he wants to avoid. Except secrets have a way of revealing themselves.

  As they begin a passionate love affair, a secret Hailey is keeping threatens to ruin their relationship and possibly their lives.

  Fans of Nicholas Sparks will love this sweet-with-heat love story EVERY TIME.

  Contents

  THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES

  Find Lexy Timms:

  •Every Night Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Every Day Blurb

  THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES

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  Prologue

  The brisk San Diego wind blanketed the city as I walked down the streets. May always ushered in the type of weather which was perfect for the city goers. Women walked out in flowing skirts, ruffled by the wind, so men could peek at their legs. Men’s heavy, tailored suits became polo shirts and khakis, making the men who still wore the suits look like sweating marionettes tied to the strings of their bosses. I kept it simply. I enjoyed the way the wind whipped through my hair. The way it seemed to draw the eyes of people passing by before they got a look at my tattoos.

  Some people were drawn to the ink, while others mindlessly crossed to the other side of the road.

  Reminded me of my parents, honestly.

  I took in a deep whiff of the city as the salt water swirled around me. This was the thing about the California coast. The saltwater breeze would blow in for miles. It didn’t matter if I was digging my toes in the sand or cruising the streets of El Cajon, the sea breeze would follow my back and comfort me on my travels.

  I crossed the road and headed into the local homeless shelter looking around. The eyes of women and children fell on me, their faces hovering over their paper plates. The smell of rice and beans wafted through my nostrils while a barber in the corner offered his temporary services during his lunch break. The tattoos cascading up his arms flexed with every snip of hair he made, and the moment his gaze caught mine, he gave me a friendly nod.

  That was the thing about tattoos. They seemed to bind together others who had them too. An unspoken language, a connection without knowledge. An understanding of a road travelled without needing explanation.

  I blinked, refocusing on my task—searching for the man I’d seen the other day. He’d been on a corner a few days ago next to a pizzeria, begging for scraps. I’d taken him in and bought him an entire pie, thinking he would devour it before going and sleeping it off. But instead, he threw his arms around me and thanked me before running off. I wondered where he’d gone, wondered if he was coming back for the pizza I had purchased for him.

  But he walked in with four kids surrounding him, and I watched as he divvied out the slices.

  Out of the extra-large three meat pizza, he only ate half a slice and a couple of crusts.

  I spotted him in the corner, cradling the four children he’d brought to the pizza shop. They were sleeping on him, empty plates surrounding them in the corner. His long arms were sprawled around them as a hat rested on top of his face, but I knew it was him. Those same scarred knuckles and those same ratty orange shoes.

  I went over and tapped him on the shoulder, and it caused him to grunt.

  “Just five more minutes and then I’ll get ‘em all outta here,” he said gruffly.

  “Just want to talk for a second,” I said. “If you have the time?”

  The children kept sleeping as I pulled the hat from his face. Even with the dirt on his skin and the overgrown beard that was matted to his cheeks, I recognized those eyes. Hazel. Dark. Eyes that had seen a great deal of pain over the course of his lifetime. I studied him, really studied him, and took in the protective way he cradled these four kids to him.

  None of them looked like him at all, and it got me wondering. “They yours?” I asked as I sat down beside him.

  “Might as well be,” he said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Ain’t got no parents. City doesn’t care ‘bout homeless kids.”

  “So you take care of them,” I finished.

  “I’m all they got.”

  I knew then and there I had the right man. “I have an offer for you, if you’re willing to listen,” I said.

  “What kinda offer?” he asked, his eyes guarding me suspiciously.

  “An offer for work.”

  The man looked at me warily as the kids shifted on him. They crawled up his body, clinging their arms around his neck as he hoisted them up. Like baby bears cuddling against their mother, their nails dug into his skin. They weren’t merely there for comfort. They were there because they were scared, because they knew they would be safe with him.

  As he was gripping the children, I saw his jacket sleeve fall on his arm. Pockmarks riddled his forearms, boasting of a drug use that made me sigh. I wasn’t one to judge. I wasn’t even one to bring it up. I simply reached out my hand, brought it down onto his marked skin, and squeezed him tightly.

  “Are you ready to work?” I asked.

  His eyes followed down to my hand, realizing I was grasping his scars. He swallowed thickly, tears cresting his eyes as he kissed each of the children’s heads. It was less like a kiss and more like a sorrowful apology for stepping out into a place he never should’ve been. My heart swelled with pride at the sight of a man willing to admit his mistakes even when he had nothing to lose by committing them. “Whatever it is, I’m ready. I just don’t do no illegal stuff.”

  A homeless man with morals. He was definitely the right guy.

  “I know a foreman who works at various construction sites. Specializes in building small homes for people who could use ‘em. They’re setting up a new site in town, and we’re looking to hire someone else.”

  “I’ll work for food. It ain’t nothin’,” he said.

  “No. That’s one of my rules. We pay you in money.”

  “What good’s money gonna do me?” he asked. “I ain’t got no place to put it.”

  “We’ll figure all that out,” I said, waving my hand. “But I have another rule. You’ve got to work hard. You�
�ve got to show up on time and take care of yourself. It’s manual labor, and we don’t need you getting hurt.”

  “What am I gonna do with my kids?”

  His kids. Like he had somehow given them life. Breath. Birthed them with women he loved. My mind swirled with things he would need, a bank account, an ID, tax forms we’d need to set up for him.

  This was a good thing.

  “We’ll find something,” I said. “They’ll be taken care of while you’re working.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “And why’s that?”

  His eyes flickered down to where I was holding onto his arm, and I knew what he was thinking. His trouble with drugs. He probably wouldn’t pass a drug test if I administered one. I could see the look of panic in his eyes being overshadowed by disappointment. The disappointment that one decision he made could now cost him the best thing that had ever been thrown his way.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “The work is clearing out the site and learning the manual labor tactics that come with building a home. This foreman works with some talented men who’ve been crafting houses for years. They can teach you the ropes, and you can help clean off the site and get tools. You’ll be an intern, so to speak, a paid intern. But you have to pay attention, you have to learn, and you have to stay clean.”

  “I can do that, sir,” he said.

  “You don’t have to call me sir.” My father was sir, not me. “I won’t drug test you. But in exchange for that trust, you have to attend drug counseling sessions three times a week and never, ever show up under the influence. If you miss a meeting or if you show up high, that’s it.”

  “Is the session something I can take my kids to?” he asked.

  “I need you to trust that I’ll take care of them. I’ll make sure they’re safe while you’re doing this. I’ve done this before. I won’t screw you, or them or anybody over. We’re both taking a leap of faith here. What do you say?”