“In that case, would you like something to drink?” Garrett politely asked her. “I promised Brenna a nice cold beer, and I always keep my promises.”
“No, thanks,” Susan replied with a shake of her head. “I have to get the potato salad from the cooler and check on the progress of the kitchen crew.”
“Would you like some help?” Brenna offered, managing to rouse herself.
“No, you stay here and catch your breath. We’ve got plenty of volunteers to help with lunch. But I might take you up on the offer later. We’re going to have a hot dog and marshmallow roast at dusk when the men light the bonfire. That is, if there’s anyone left at the end of the day.” Then Susan scurried off toward the shelterhouse.
“Ugh!” Brenna made a face. “Hot dogs and marsh-mallows?”
Garrett looked down at her with exceedingly good humor. “Yeah, sounds delicious, doesn’t it?”
“You know, it’s not half bad if you smother the bun with enough mustard and ketchup,” Brenna was telling him as she polished off her second hot dog of the evening.
Garrett visibly shuddered. “Mustard and ketchup?”
Her nose went up in the air. “The beauty of the universe is in its infinite variety.”
“I don’t think I’ll ask what that has to do with hot dogs.” He smiled benevolently, studying her profile by the dying light of the bonfire.
“You know, Garrett,” she drawled, leaning back against him, “this weekend has been fun. I mean actually fun.” Her brows knitted together in a thoughtful frown. “I didn’t expect it to be fun.”
“I didn’t either.” He sighed, resting his chin on the crown of her head, his arms finding their way around her middle. Perhaps fun wasn’t quite the word he would have used, but he knew what she meant.
Brenna lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Didn’t Rose look great? And can you imagine Marla married to Herb Bennett? I never would have thought he was her type.”
“I was on the same softball team as Herb this afternoon. He’s a nice guy, but he does seem a bit tame for Marla’s tastes.” He drew a delicate line down her nose with the tip of his finger. “I know somebody who got too much sun in spite of the glop she was putting on her nose all day.”
Brenna raised her hand, trying to cover the area in question. “It wasn’t ‘glop,’” she said. “It was a sunscreen. Whenever I get a little tan on my face, all my freckles come out I hate it.”
“All your freckles?” Garrett gently laughed. “You only have eleven. I counted.”
She turned and looked at him as if to say You didn’t! “That’s eleven too many as far as I’m concerned.” She yawned, turning to gaze into the dying embers of the bonfire.
“Tired?”
“Hmmm … a little, I suppose, but mostly just relaxed. Firelight always seems to have this peculiar mesmerizing effect on me,” she murmured, yawning again.
“I’ll have to remember that,” Garrett suggested smoothly. “But right now I think it’s time I took you back to the motel before you fall asleep in my arms.”
“I guess we’ve said all our good-byes, and just about everyone else has left, anyway. I suppose it’s time we were going, too,” she murmured sleepily, pushing herself upright. “Look, they’re putting out the bonfire.”
“Then I’d say they’re trying to tell us something, wouldn’t you?” he quietly conceded, yet with a growing reluctance to let her go.
They strolled back across the field to the parking lot where they’d left Garrett’s car earlier that day. The soft, warm night was all around them like a mantle of velvet, while overhead a thousand tiny shards of light pierced the darkness. Brenna slipped into the car and put her head back against the leather seat, savoring the moment and the feeling of utter peace that enveloped her….
“Brenna, we’re here.”
The intrusion of the husky masculine whisper into her consciousness told her she had dozed off during the drive back to the motel. She watched through half-lidded eyes as Garrett unfolded his long legs and got out of the sports car, coming around to open the passenger door for her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go to sleep on you like that,” she murmured apologetically, accepting the hand he offered.
“Where’s your key?” he asked in a soft, commanding voice as she leaned against him, her legs strangely unwilling to support her weight.
“My key?” For a moment the question as well as the answer eluded her.
“Your room key,” he insisted gently, taking her arm as they walked the short distance from the car to her door.
Suddenly feeling very foolish indeed, Brenna dug into her canvas carryall. “Here it is.”
Garrett took the key from her hand and unlocked the motel room, pushing the door open and standing in the doorway. “I won’t be seeing you again before I leave,” he started to explain, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll be checking out early in the morning. I have an afternoon flight from O’Hare for Tokyo.”
“Tokyo?” For a minute that was all Brenna could think of to say. Then a healthy respect for common propriety came to her rescue. “Well, I want you to know I’ve enjoyed seeing you again, Garrett.” She tried to keep her voice light and casual.
“I’ve enjoyed seeing you too, Brenna.” He mouthed the stock phrase in the same bland tone she’d used herself.
“I… I hope you have a safe trip,” she began, then broke off to wet her lips. “Take care.”
“You, too.” He scowled, his expression hardening. Garrett turned to go, then swung angrily toward her. “Oh, hell! I should have known this would happen. I should have known I’d never be able to keep my hands off you.”
He reached for her in the dark, crushing her to his chest as his mouth unerringly found hers. He literally took her breath away.
Suddenly, the night air crackled with electricity as if a summer storm had blown up out of the west without warning. Brenna thought she heard the distant rumble of thunder, but it was only her own heart beating in a loud, painful cadence.
She remembered her fascination as a child with the storms that moved across the Indiana skies in early summer, black and foreboding, a harbinger of the wild winds and relentless rains that were to come: wind and rain that forced even the tallest and strongest trees to bend before their will. She would stand and watch until the thunderous crash of lightning overhead drove her inside. Even then her mother had to caution her away from the window where she would have stayed, her face pressed to the glass.
It was the same fascination that held her in Garrett’s arms, that same wild song singing in her veins as his hands tangled in her hair like wind in the treetops. She felt strangely alive: threatened, but unafraid.
His kiss was savage in its intensity, as though some inner storm was unleashing its full fury on her. Brenna found herself bending to his will, absorbing the violent need his mouth had of hers. It was a need that fed on itself. The more she gave him, the more he demanded she give. And then, like a bolt of lightning charging through the air, his tongue shot between her parted lips, devouring her. Yet she remained unafraid, undaunted in the face of his raging hunger, knowing that hunger would soon expend itself.
It was only then, when Garrett’s mouth went softly persuasive on hers, that she trembled with fear. His lips were inviting; his tongue gently coaxing, daring her to meet his kiss with her own.
“Don’t be afraid, Brenna,” he urged with hoarse insistence. “Kiss me, Brenna. Please!”
And she did. She had to! It was that final, whispered entreaty that tore at her very heart even as she raised herself up to find his mouth with hers. Her heart was pounding intolerably in her breast, her hands moving convulsively on his shoulders as she brushed her kiss-swollen lips back and forth across his. She watched his dark lashes flutter down to cover eyes that blazed with desire, his desire for her. It was almost as if he couldn’t bear for her to see what was in their dark depths.
She pressed closer, her own eyes closing as she mo
ved against him, her fingers digging into his flesh. There was only this moment, this man, that existed for her out of all the moments, all the men that might have been. He stood without moving, his mouth still beneath hers, the calm in the eye of the storm. She could feel the breath trapped in his chest as if he were awaiting the final verdict.
“Kiss me, Garrett!” She murmured the plea into his mouth, knowing instinctively it was what he wanted, what she wanted.
His answer came like welcome rain on parched earth, feeding the life back into her, the eternal cycle of give-and-take flowing between them from one to the other. Brenna felt her spine pressed against the open door, felt it give with the impact of her weight.
Garrett raised his head for a moment and looked down into her eyes. “I need to touch you, Brenna. Dear God, I need to touch you!” he rasped, startled by his own admission.
She could well understand that need to touch, that need to draw closer in some inexplicable way. A sudden need to touch him made her fingers ache to delve beneath his shirt, to explore in intimate detail every bone and muscle, every magnificent inch of smooth, taut male flesh.
Then his hands were on her, hot and insistent, seeking the sensitive spot at the small of her back, searing a path down to the curve of her rounded bottom, urging her into the cradle of his thighs. His arousal was there between them, wholly, utterly, undeniably masculine in its expression. Slowly and inexorably, he sought the vulnerable warmth between her legs, gently caressing her through the layers of clothing.
“Garrett, no! Please … don’t!” But her face was buried in his shirt, her protest quickly muffled by the soft material.
Before she could rally her defenses, before she could think of a way to stop him, his hands glided upward to her breasts. The air was trapped in her lungs as Brenna felt his touch on her. He simply held his hand there for a moment, then circled back to the soft underside in excruciating slow motion.
Then a small gasp escaped her half-parted lips as his fingers probed for the taut nipple, finding it through barriers that proved no barriers at all. He gave a gentle tug, and felt her body’s response as the nipple puckered.
It was not enough, not nearly enough. They longed to meet with no encumbrance between them, with nothing to separate them but the fine film of perspiration that dampened their skin. Locating the row of tiny buttons down the front of her blouse, Garrett released them one by one. He slipped his hand beneath her collar, skimming first the delicate curve of her shoulder and then inching lower to the swell of one silky white breast. His fingers dipped beneath the edge of the lacy bra to find the tight bud. His caress feathered back and forth across the highly sensitized tip, bringing it to life under his impassioned tutelage.
With his free hand, Garrett moved her to one side and eased the door shut behind them. They stood in the dimly lit room for a moment, the only light cast by a small bedside lamp Brenna had left on. Then, without taking his eyes from hers, he reached out and slipped the blouse down her shoulders until it lay draped about her arms. He painstakingly undid the front closure of the lacy bra, sucking his breath in sharply as he beheld her for the first time.
“You’re beautiful, honey, more beautiful than I imagined,” he breathed in a husky voice.
He raised his hands and touched her, his caress eager yet reverent as he lightly circled the rosy areola surrounding each tender-tipped nipple. With slow, soothing strokes he ran his fingers down to the satiny-smooth skin of her abdomen. Brenna felt herself shiver in spite of the white-hot need his touch ignited in her. Her head limply fell back as he sought and invariably found each point of exquisite pleasure.
She was caught up in a storm of their own creation, a raging, whirling storm in which the only reality was this man and the sensations he aroused in her. And they were sensations unlike any Brenna had ever known. There was no hope of escape, no thought of escape. It was too late now. She was pure feeling, her mind and body perfectly, sensuously attuned to this man and this man alone.
He lowered his head and she felt his tongue on her skin, leaving a sizzling trail of wet heat from her shoulder down to the sloping valley between her breasts. He seemed intent on drawing out that moment when his tongue would find her, tease her, drive her to the very edge of madness. Then urgent hands were propelling her into him as his mouth sought the hardened nipple that seemed to beg to be taken into his moist warmth.
“Garrett!” She cried out in torment, his name on her lips as he took the tip of her breast into his mouth, savoring the taste, the texture of her with his lips and tongue and teeth.
She writhed against him, inadvertently driving her breast deeper and deeper into that sweet, encompassing warmth, wanting nothing more than to feel him tasting her, satiating the awful ache that seemed to come from deep down inside of her body.
Oh, dear God, she wanted him as she had never before wanted a man! She wanted to be caught up in the storm of their passion, to abandon herself to its wild, reckless will. She clung to him as wave after wave of desire racked her body. And he wanted her! He couldn’t seem to get enough of her as he buried his face in her warm, willing flesh.
“Touch me, Brenna!” Garrett softly commanded, forcing her closer, trembling as she placed her hands on him.
Awkward in her haste, she could feel the violent tempo of his heartbeat as she struggled with the buttons of his shirt. With growing urgency, she pulled the material free from the waistband of his jeans. Then the moment of discovery was hers. She ran her fingers across the muscled wall of his chest and abdomen, felt his response as his breathing suddenly came hard and fast. And when she found first one and then the other of the brown masculine nipples with her fingertips, Garrett could no longer restrain the fierce groan of need that slipped through his lips.
She was crushed against his bare chest, knew at last the wondrous feel of his hair-roughened skin against hers. Brenna wanted to bury herself in him, get inside his skin, his head, his very body. She needed to know every inch of him, every thought he had ever had, every feeling he had ever felt in his heart. It was a need that drove her to arch into him, bringing forth yet another outcry.
“Dear God, Brenna, we can’t!” he ground out against her mouth. “I never meant for it to go this far. I don’t have any way of protecting you,” he cried as she ran her hands along his back and around to his flat, taut stomach.
“Of protecting me?” she heard herself murmur in a low, husky voice.
Garrett caught her face in his hands and forced her to look up into his eyes. “I want to make love to you, but I can’t. We aren’t a couple of hot-blooded kids rushing into this without any thought of the consequences. I don’t have anything with me to use for protection. Don’t you understand? I could make you pregnant!” It was a shout of pure masculine frustration.
At his words, Brenna felt a strange chill settle over her. “Pregnant?” she repeated through numb lips.
Then she understood at last the enormity of what she had been about to do. It hit her in the face like a bucket of ice water. She had nearly made love with this man, or perhaps more accurately, she had nearly had sex with him. What in the name of God could she have been thinking of? She wasn’t the kind of woman to engage in a one-night stand. Not with this man, not with any man.
A physical relationship between two people should grow out of their mutual love and respect for each other. It should be warm and caring, an expression of their desire to share the most intimate of thoughts through the most intimate of acts. There was neither love nor respect between herself and this man. There was only the desire to gratify their physical needs by using each other. Lust was never a pretty word, but lust it must surely have been.
And yet, if she was totally honest with herself, Brenna had to admit she felt something there in Garrett’s arms she had never felt before. Perhaps it wasn’t love, but neither was it as base as physical lust. Suddenly, she trembled, trembled with some unnamed fear, with confusion; trembled in the aftershock of her unreserved response to t
his man.
“You know I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Garrett grated fiercely, his fingers clenching her shoulders.
“I know,” Brenna sighed in a small voice, suddenly conscious of her state of undress and his. The tips of her breasts were still tingling from his caress, from the erotic contact with his bare chest. She pulled the loose ends of her blouse together with hands that simply would not stop shaking. When she looked up, she found Garrett watching her with curious intensity.
“Dammit, honey, don’t look at me like that!” he swore in a softly belligerent tone.
“Like what?” she finally managed, her eyes wide, her voice a mere whisper. She continued to search his face, waiting for the pain she felt to increase to anguish.
“Don’t look at me as if I’d deliberately led you on, as if I’d somehow betrayed you!” He took two deep, shuddering breaths and went on in a self-deprecating tone. “I’m not a man who starts what he knows he can’t finish, but I lost control. Damn it all, Brenna, I’m only human!”
“I know, I know,” she mumbled, her tongue thick in her mouth.
“Are you going to be all right?” Garrett began, then swallowed roughly, his voice growing soft with concern. “I can stay, Brenna. There are other ways, you know.”
“Other ways?” she repeated without thinking.
He put a hand to her burning face, his eyes never leaving hers. “There are other ways for a man and a woman to make love,” he said gently.
Then she understood and frantically jerked away, embarrassed by her own naiveté as much as by the intimacy of his suggestion. “No!” she rasped, fighting for control, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “No, please … just leave me alone!”
“I don’t want to leave you like this,” Garrett said in a hoarse whisper as he reached out for her.
She opened her eyes and stared down at his hands clutching her arms, the knuckles white against her skin, then up at his tense features. “I… I’m all right.” After a long pause, she inhaled deeply and whispered, “I think you’d better go now, Garrett.” Dear God, make him go before she made an even bigger fool of herself than she already had!
Only This Night (Silhouette Reissued) Page 7