Read Online Curves & Alphas: A Paranormal Box Set: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) by Willow Brooks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Willow Brooks
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to mimic him, but had the first truly terrifying bout of self-consciousness in his presence. I felt my stomach suck in as his hand glided over it.
“Don’t do that,” he softly scolded. “You are perfect. I love every one of your curves. You are what a woman should look like rather than those stick figure models the media tries to sell us as the definition of beauty. I want a woman I can hold onto. In fact, I can remember looking at paintings with my mother of the baroque master, Peter Paul Rubens. You are the image of beauty that he painted.”
I blushed, unable to find a response appropriate to tell him how his words had affected me, how deeply he’d touched me.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he soothed, his hand now moving up my arm with a feather touch. “I just feel so comfortable with you, like I can tell you anything.”
“I feel the same,” I confessed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t have shared with you my biggest secret.”
“So, share with me then your feelings on other subjects,” he pushed.
“Like what?”
“What do you believe in about death?”
“Well, now there’s a light subject,” I scoffed.
“No, really, I want to know,” he insisted.
“Okay. Well, I’m not sure really... with the death of each of my parents, I never came to an answer that I liked, that brought me comfort. If I looked at the religious ways of thinking, like the church I grew up in’s belief that we are asleep until the rapture, then my mother isn’t up there watching over me. She’d have missed all I’ve done. On the other hand, if she was up in some sort of Heaven watching me, wouldn’t she feel sad at what she was missing? How could that be the peaceful and perfect afterlife that some Bible promises awaits us if we do X, Y, and Z? So, honestly, I don’t know. I know for myself that I have often talked to her, but that’s more for me, to bring myself comfort.”
I paused then, searching my mind for anything I might have left out. The ease of the conversation left me a bit unsettled in some odd irony. Besides, who could talk, the way he stared, the way he continued to touch me...
I added, “What about you?”
“Guess I don’t have a good answer either, hence the reason I asked you.”
“Hence, huh?” I teased. “Sometimes you talk like you’re not from this time period, like you stepped out of some Victorian era book I’ve read. I thought the same with some of the phrasings in your songs. Artistic style, I guess. I have to admit, though, with the wisdom in your music, I expected more in depth of an answer.”
I winked then, offering him my biggest smile so he’d know I was teasing him. He smiled back, thankfully.
“I can’t know it all, and on some subjects I struggle. I’ve even voiced some of those struggles in my music. Moving on, if you don’t mind, what are your beliefs in the paranormal then? If you are unsure about death, do you believe in ghosts?”
“I’ve never experienced one, myself. Though, there were years there when I was a teen, with a mostly drunken father who did his best but couldn’t answer my personal questions like a mother could, that I wished for the ghost of my mother. Unfortunately, she never appeared. What I have gotten, though, was this sense that I have a wolf spirit guide.... Wow, I can’t believe I just said that!” I exclaimed.
“No, I want to hear more,” he said excitedly, sitting up and for the first time taking his hands from me.
I sat up as well and offered a stunned, “Okay.” I didn’t get the excitement. In fact, I rather thought he ought to be running out of the room, thinking me crazy.
“Sorry, I’m just fascinated,” he apologized. “Please, I want to hear more.”
I crinkled my brow.
“Please. I’m really interested in the paranormal. I’ve done a lot of reading, and even attended a few metaphysical expos to hear people speak on
“Don’t do that,” he softly scolded. “You are perfect. I love every one of your curves. You are what a woman should look like rather than those stick figure models the media tries to sell us as the definition of beauty. I want a woman I can hold onto. In fact, I can remember looking at paintings with my mother of the baroque master, Peter Paul Rubens. You are the image of beauty that he painted.”
I blushed, unable to find a response appropriate to tell him how his words had affected me, how deeply he’d touched me.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he soothed, his hand now moving up my arm with a feather touch. “I just feel so comfortable with you, like I can tell you anything.”
“I feel the same,” I confessed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t have shared with you my biggest secret.”
“So, share with me then your feelings on other subjects,” he pushed.
“Like what?”
“What do you believe in about death?”
“Well, now there’s a light subject,” I scoffed.
“No, really, I want to know,” he insisted.
“Okay. Well, I’m not sure really... with the death of each of my parents, I never came to an answer that I liked, that brought me comfort. If I looked at the religious ways of thinking, like the church I grew up in’s belief that we are asleep until the rapture, then my mother isn’t up there watching over me. She’d have missed all I’ve done. On the other hand, if she was up in some sort of Heaven watching me, wouldn’t she feel sad at what she was missing? How could that be the peaceful and perfect afterlife that some Bible promises awaits us if we do X, Y, and Z? So, honestly, I don’t know. I know for myself that I have often talked to her, but that’s more for me, to bring myself comfort.”
I paused then, searching my mind for anything I might have left out. The ease of the conversation left me a bit unsettled in some odd irony. Besides, who could talk, the way he stared, the way he continued to touch me...
I added, “What about you?”
“Guess I don’t have a good answer either, hence the reason I asked you.”
“Hence, huh?” I teased. “Sometimes you talk like you’re not from this time period, like you stepped out of some Victorian era book I’ve read. I thought the same with some of the phrasings in your songs. Artistic style, I guess. I have to admit, though, with the wisdom in your music, I expected more in depth of an answer.”
I winked then, offering him my biggest smile so he’d know I was teasing him. He smiled back, thankfully.
“I can’t know it all, and on some subjects I struggle. I’ve even voiced some of those struggles in my music. Moving on, if you don’t mind, what are your beliefs in the paranormal then? If you are unsure about death, do you believe in ghosts?”
“I’ve never experienced one, myself. Though, there were years there when I was a teen, with a mostly drunken father who did his best but couldn’t answer my personal questions like a mother could, that I wished for the ghost of my mother. Unfortunately, she never appeared. What I have gotten, though, was this sense that I have a wolf spirit guide.... Wow, I can’t believe I just said that!” I exclaimed.
“No, I want to hear more,” he said excitedly, sitting up and for the first time taking his hands from me.
I sat up as well and offered a stunned, “Okay.” I didn’t get the excitement. In fact, I rather thought he ought to be running out of the room, thinking me crazy.
“Sorry, I’m just fascinated,” he apologized. “Please, I want to hear more.”
I crinkled my brow.
“Please. I’m really interested in the paranormal. I’ve done a lot of reading, and even attended a few metaphysical expos to hear people speak on
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