by Lisa Jackson
“Don’t bet on it.”
They climbed into the saddles and Dani led the way through a series of gates to the single big pasture. The hay had been mowed a while ago and the stubble that remained was the color of winter wheat.
Brand didn’t seem as unfamiliar in the saddle as he’d proclaimed. When Dani urged Kimo into a trot, Brand, astride Bourbon, kept up. And as she changed pace first into a slow lope, then into a gallop, Brand clucked his tongue and followed suit. The two horses took off over the soft hills, stride for stride.
Dani squinted against the lowering sun and breathed deeply of the hot, dry air. The wind tangled her hair and she felt the same sense of elation, that wild thrill that she always experienced astride a swift horse. They ran until she knew that her mount was tiring, then she drew up on the reins and slowed Kimo into a walk. The mare was blowing and tossing her head, and as Bourbon approached, she turned quickly and nipped at the dun’s rump.
“Hey, what’s this?”
Laughing, Dani pulled back hard and forced Kimo’s head away from the taller horse’s flank. “She’s a little mean spirited.”
“Now you tell me.”
“But he’s as gentle as a lamb.” She hitched her chin toward Brand’s mount. “Not that it matters. You’ve ridden before,” she said, and Brand held up both hands, letting the reins, already knotted, fall onto Bourbon’s neck.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Then why’d you let me believe that this was your first time?”
“I didn’t say that. You just assumed.”
They drew up beneath a cottonwood tree hugging the shores of a creek that was nearly dry. “Where’d you learn to ride?” she asked as they let the horses graze on the dry grass and weeds.
“A friend of mine. Bobby Grayhawk’s family had a lot of horses before they moved. He and I used to ride them bareback, pretend we were his ancestors. He claimed to be the great-great-grandson of some big-shot Nez Percé chief, I think, but then Bobby’s imagination had a way of always running away with him. Anyway,” he said, walking to the shade of the tree and leaning against a low branch, “that was a long time ago. Bobby moved when we were in the seventh grade.”
“So why all the bad-mouthing about horses?” She walked up to him, close enough that he slipped a strong arm around her waist.
“I guess I grew out of horses and into cars and motorcycles.”
“You were just giving me a hard time.”
“Trying,” he admitted, slanting her a devilish smile that melted her heart.
“And I fell for it.”
“Hook, line and sinker.” He pulled her closer so that his breath was warm against her face and moved the strands of her hair. One of the horses nickered softly as Brand lowered his head and his lips pressed intimately to hers. Inside she quivered and opened her mouth willingly to the sweet pressure of his tongue. Her hands reached upward to clutch steely shoulders as he kissed her and pulled her snug against him. Big hands, strong fingers, hot skin rubbed her lower back in sweet, seductive circles. She moaned as his fingertips skimmed her rump, then clutched both cheeks hard.
Hot desire stirred her blood. The kiss deepened and she closed her eyes, feeling as if she’d been swept away on some delicious tide of passion. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe, and though warning bells clanged through her mind, she ignored them.
Together they tumbled to the ground, and Brand, as if some keeper had set him free, began undressing her. Hot, feverish hands unbuttoned her blouse and touched the lacy edge of her bra. “Dani,” he whispered, his breath warm through the scanty cloth. They’d never gone this far, but she couldn’t stop him—didn’t want to.
He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, before moving lower and pressing wet lips to her sternum.
Trembling, she cradled his head, holding him close, her insides raging with forbidden fires as he cupped her breast then kissed it. She gasped, her nipple puckering anxiously, wanting more, so much more. He unhooked her bra, letting her breast fall free, kissing the white skin, rimming her dark circle with his tongue. She bucked on the ground, forcing his head closer, and he rolled her on top of him so that he could receive more, so that he could suckle freely while his hands worked with the zipper of her jeans.
“I want you,” he said when at last he looked up at her. His face was flushed and sweaty, his eyes dark with desire.
“I want you, too.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. Oh, Brand, yes, I do,” she said, straddling him and sliding her crotch over the bulge in his jeans. All her doubts and reservations had fled and now desire pumped through her blood, controlled her mind. She moved as if she’d done it a hundred times, though no one had ever touched her. The power of his body, the heat of his skin, made her do things that were new, but felt so right. So natural.
“Dani, listen,” he said, then sighed loudly as he saw her breasts swinging freely above him. With a raw groan he suckled again and his hands struggled with her jeans. Soon she was dressed only in white lace panties and she felt him shift beneath her, his hot lips moving anxiously, lower and lower still. His tongue rimmed her navel and she felt a tremor slide over her as he rubbed her panties with his hands, forcing her legs farther apart. She cried out when one of his fingers slipped beneath the elastic and probed gently but firmly. Hot wax seemed to melt inside her. “That’s a girl,” he whispered against her thigh and she writhed with an ache so deep she felt near to tears. Slowly he moved, expanding her, another finger joining the first.
“Brand, oh, Brand,” she cried, from ecstasy or torment she didn’t know.
“Be patient, darlin’.”
Another finger touched a special spot and she rocked forward. He stripped her of her underwear and then his face, warm and beloved, was between her legs, his breath sweet and hot in her curls. Perspiration sheened across her skin and the world seemed to slip away.
“Wh-what—oh, oh . . .”
The tip of his tongue tickled her and she opened up, feeling him enter her, his hands gripping her buttocks as he kissed her and touched her where no man had dared. Sweet juices flowed and he groaned. She moved against him, rocking, the world splintering as he moved upward, rolled her on her back. And as his lips crashed down on hers, he entered her, thrusting deep, breaking the barrier that was her virginity. She cried out and he withdrew only to thrust again, pushing harder, deeper. Her mind spun in spectacular whirlpools and she moved with him, feeling their bodies join. His tempo increased, faster and faster, and she was with him, clinging to him, screaming his name, a wild thing who knew no bounds.
“Brand, oh, Brand—”
“Love me, Dani, just love me!” He threw back his head and let out a primal yell.
“I do! Ooooh—” She shuddered, the earth moving, the skies exploding as he fell gasping against her, crushing her breasts, his hands tangling in her hair.
She held him as if she would never let go. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she realized that she was no longer a girl. For now and forever, Brandon Scarlotti had made her a woman.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You should have told me,” he said as they lay entwined together staring at the silvery leaves of the cottonwood tree that were turning in the wind.
“Told you?” she repeated, letting out a sigh of contentment.
“You were a virgin.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Okay, I was a virgin!”
“Jeez, Dani . . .”
She levered up on one elbow and her naked breast touched his chest. “Would it have mattered?”
“Yes . . . no . . . hell, how would I know?” He ran stiff fingers through his hair.
“I take it you weren’t.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” He wanted to be angry with her or himself or anyone, but he couldn’t. Seeing the spark of life in her amber eyes and the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth, his fury dissipated into the summer-sweet air. The white horse snorted and
pawed at the earth as if impatient. “I just assumed that—”
“That I’d done it?” she cut in. “Stupid, Brand. I think you were the one who told me not to assume anything.”
He ignored her nipple brushing the inside of his arm. “Then I don’t suppose you’re on the Pill.”
“Why would I be?” she asked, then the color drained from her face. With a self-deprecating laugh, she shook her head and picked a wildflower, twirled the stem, making the white petals blur like the blades of a helicopter. “I never thought I’d ever have to worry about getting pregnant.”
“I think you . . . we should worry about it now.”
She sighed and bit her lip. “What would you do if it happened—if I was going to have a baby?”
“Marry you,” he said without a second’s hesitation.
“You would?” For a moment, the light of anticipation shone in her eyes.
“I’d never leave my kid,” he said flatly, “regardless of how I felt about his mother.”
“Even if you didn’t love her?”
“Wouldn’t matter,” he admitted, thinking of his own upbringing. “A kid needs a name, a picture, a face to recognize the man who sired him.”
Dani touched his arm. “What if the girl refused to marry you?”
“That wouldn’t be an option.” He stared at her long and hard. “Love doesn’t matter.” Then, as if tired of the conversation, he rolled her onto her back and held her hands over her head. “Now, let’s forget about all that for now. The damage has already been done, right?”
“Right,” she said, and he watched her pulse begin to throb as he raked his gaze down her body, seeing past her fading tan lines, where her bathing-suit top had covered her breasts, and looking at those luscious brown disks. He kissed her nipple and watched her respond, her pelvis tilting upward, her nest of blond curls still dewy from their last encounter. He grew hard again and knew in that instant that he was lost. No matter how much he tried, he wouldn’t be able to get Dani Donahue out of his system. He could make love to her for hours and only end up hungering for more.
Closing his mind to thoughts of pregnancy, he delved into her delicious warmth again and intended to love her until he couldn’t drag in another breath.
* * *
A week later, Brand drove home after an unholy day at work and spied an expensive car pulling out of the driveway. A white Mercedes. Brand’s stomach lurched. As far as he knew, there was only one white Benz in the whole damned valley and that particular car belonged in Jonah McKee’s vast fleet. Teeth on edge, Brand parked his bike and strode through the back door. “Ma?” he yelled, his boot heels ringing as he swept through the covered porch and kitchen. “Ma, you home? What the hell was Jonah McKee doing here?”
He found her in the living room, standing at the window, staring outside. She’d been drinking; a half-filled bottle of wine stood near her empty glass—only one. Apparently, McKee hadn’t been here for a taste of cheap zinfandel.
“What’s going on?” Brand asked when she let out a long sigh.
“Jonah owns this house.”
“What?” Brand just stared at her. He knew that she paid a mortgage every month, but she’d never let him see the payments nor the bank statements; she’d been private about her money or lack of it for as long as he could remember. He just assumed that the house was mortgaged by the bank. “I don’t get it. You have a mortgage . . .”
“I bought this place on contract—a private contract with Jonah McKee. It was all handled through the bank. For a small fee each month they do the paperwork.”
Stunned, Brand just stood in the archway separating the living room from the foyer. “I didn’t even know you knew McKee.”
A nostalgic smile played upon her lips. “Who doesn’t know him around here?”
“But to buy the house from him . . .” Brandon was having trouble keeping up, making sense of all this.
“It’s what he does, Brand. He’s in the business of renting, leasing, selling and buying property. Anyway, the house isn’t paid off yet. He heard through the grapevine that I’m getting married and planning to move, possibly selling, and he wanted to make sure I understood the terms of our agreement.”
The hairs on the back of Brandon’s neck began to rise. Somehow his mother was going to get the raw end of the deal again; he could feel it. Well, not if he had anything to say in the matter. “Terms? What terms?”
“Sell-back terms. There’s a clause in the contract that says I can’t sell the property to anyone else without first contacting McKee Enterprises. They—well, really Jonah—have first option or something to purchase at, and I quote, ‘fair market value.’”
“Which is?” Brandon asked.
She waved as if to brush his concerns away. “Oh, he’ll take care of that.”
“I just bet he will.”
“He’s got appraisers on his payroll who’ll come up with a fair price.”
“I’d double-check that if I were you, Ma. Anyone on McKee’s payroll will be looking out for his best interests. You should have your own appraisal.”
She sighed heavily. “That’s what Al says.”
“For once we agree.”
She looked out the window one last time, then snapped the blinds shut. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going to California anyway, so what does it matter?”
“Right,” he said, unable to shake the feeling of impending doom. Jonah McKee only looked out for himself. He didn’t give a damn about a woman who had spent her life raising a bastard son. One way or another, the old man was going to try to fleece Venitia out of her money. “I just don’t trust McKee. He’s only interested in number one.”
Deep furrows cut across her brow. “You don’t even know him.”
“Just of him.”
“Careful now,” she warned. “Sometimes, because of gossip, people are slapped with names they haven’t earned.”
The remark hit deep and close to home. His own tarnished reputation was about half truth and half the imagination of the good citizens of Dawson City and Rimrock.
She found her bottle of wine and slowly refilled her glass.
“So how come you didn’t tell me you knew McKee?”
“I never wanted to bother you with business or money matters.”
“Has he ever been here before?”
She hesitated and her fingers seemed to clamp so hard around the stem of her glass, Brandon thought it might shatter. “A couple of times—when there were questions with the property taxes and when the house next door was being added on to.” Taking a sip of her wine, she closed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I think it’s strange,” he said. “Why bother with this himself? Why not send a flunky? A big shot like him, he must have a dozen on his payroll.”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.”
Brandon fingered a framed photo that was proudly displayed on a shelf in the living room. It had been taken years ago, when he was about seven. Only one front tooth had come in and Venitia was still young and pretty in a seductive, voluptuous way—a way Brand never liked to think of his mother. She and Brand were both grinning into the camera and the ocean stretched out behind them—a vast sea of gray-green complete with thundering waves crashing against the rocky shore. The photo had been taken on one of their rare vacations, this one to Cannon Beach. He set the photo aside. “Maybe you shouldn’t sell the place.”
“What? So now you’re nostalgic?” she said with a laugh as she downed more wine.
“Nah, but ... I know I thought you should get rid of it, but now I’m not so sure.” The thought that McKee wanted this old house made Brand think it had more value than he’d first guessed. “You know, what if things don’t work out with Al?”
“They’ll work out,” she said firmly, her eyes snapping suddenly at her son’s insolence.
“You don’t know that, Ma. You could keep this place, rent it to someone, maybe make a couple of hundred bucks a month. Make Al buy the ne
w house in Washington.”
“But we agreed—”
“I know, I know.” He held up a hand, cutting off further argument. “Just talk to him about it and think about the future, okay? If something happens to Al—maybe he gets injured, or laid off or even dies—”
“Brand!”
“Well, or you guys split up, you’d still have the house. By that time, even the mortgage to McKee might be paid off.”
Swirling the wine in her glass, she seemed to consider his line of reasoning. “I’ll think about it,” she finally agreed, her huge eyes meeting his. “I’ll check the mortgage, see if it’s possible, and if it isn’t, I’ll talk to Jonah ... if Al agrees.”
“Good.” He felt as if he’d made a little progress.
“So, where have you been?” she finally asked as she finished her glass and set it down.
“Out.” Since Dani wasn’t telling her mother about their relationship, Brand had decided to keep it quiet on his end. No telling what that old busybody, Bess Jamison, might hear from Venitia and pass along to Dani’s mother.
Venitia straightened a stack of magazines, then dumped the ashtray into the fireplace. “You’re ‘out’ a lot these days.” Slanting him a knowing glance, she added, “My guess is you’re involved with a girl again.”
Brandon didn’t answer.
“Well, just be careful, all right?”
He ignored the jab, knowing she was referring to Miranda, the police chief’s daughter, and their hot, short-lived affair. He didn’t want to think about that mess again. “I’m always careful,” he said, lying a little. With Dani he’d been more reckless than he should have, letting his passion cloud his judgment, giving in to the pure ecstasy of loving her without thinking of the consequences.
“I guess I won’t have to worry about you.”
“Never should. I can handle myself,” he said tightly.
“Good. And I guess this new girl doesn’t mind you moving away?” She eyed her son as she wiped the ashtray with a tissue and placed the dish back on the table.
“Guess not,” he said, but continued to hold his tongue because he hadn’t yet told Dani of his plans. She’d changed everything. He’d thought he could leave Dawson City and never look over his shoulder, but then she’d come into his life and brought light into an otherwise dark existence. For the first time since he could remember, he doubted the wisdom of saying goodbye to this part of the country. All because of one whiskey-eyed strawberry blond woman who could touch his soul.