“Uh-huh.”
Bree tried for another smile, and this time one slipped through her nervousness. “Would you like a brownie?” She pointed to the bag on the table. “Chocolate and wine are great together. Do you have any glasses? And a corkscrew?”
“Sorry, no. Besides, remember what happened the last time we shared a bottle of wine?”
What exactly did he mean by that? No doubt she’d have to ask to find out. Bree sipped in a breath and said, “Are you saying you’re trying to forget it?”
His gaze turned smoky, his voice rough. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
“Oh. What then?” It had been much easier to get him thinking about sharing a bed when he didn’t really know her.
That gaze slipped to her lips, her neck, the top of her dress. “I’d say it’s pretty impossible to forget.”
Goodness, that did not sound like disinterest, not one bit. That sounded like want—red, hot, sizzling. “Adam.” She moved toward him, stopped when she was less than a touch away. “What if we had a repeat of that night, except we’ll change the part I thought happened that really didn’t.” She paused, inched closer and stroked his cheek. “This time, it really would happen.” She held his gaze, whispered, “What would you think of that?”
He clutched her hand, eased it away, his expression fierce, almost angry. “I don’t like games, Bree. You’re sending too many mixed messages and if you’re just playing with me, I’m not interested. You know I’m attracted to you; I’ve never pretended I’m not. But I can’t figure you out. You want to sleep with me one minute, the next you want to forget you ever met me. So, what is it now? You’re bored and want a little fun? You’re seeing how far you can push? What exactly do you want?”
Bree leaned on tiptoe, kissed him softly on the mouth. “You, Adam Brandon. I want you.”
He cupped her chin between his fingers, burned her with his gaze. “No games, Bree. Just you and me and no dead husband between us.”
“I promise.” The heat in that gaze burned straight to her belly…trailed lower.
“This is your last chance to get out of here.” His voice was strained, the lines around his mouth deep. “If you don’t leave now, you won’t be leaving until I’ve pleasured you so well, you won’t want to leave my bed.” He traced her lips with his finger, dipped it inside, and touched her tongue.
Sparks and bursts of pleasure shot through her. Goodness, but the man could make her burn and she still had all of her clothes on! Bree thrust her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his, and whispered, “Take me to bed. Show me how good it can be with you.”
When he kissed her, she forgot the pain of heartache and loss, forgot that she would never trust another man again, and certainly never let herself love one. No, she thought of none of this as his hands slid down her back to cup her butt and fit her against him. All that existed was need: white-hot, greedy. Intense. And the need was not just for any man but for this man.
After, she could not remember how they got to the bed, but she knew it involved kisses that made it hard to think and touches that made her want more. So much more. Adam Brandon might be cool and calm in his day-to-day business, but in bed he was a blast of dynamite, giving and taking, with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, his…. Oh, yes, there was that part of him that pleasured her so well, she moaned for more, begged for it, actually, and he did not disappoint. Not the first or second time. Definitely not the third. Brody had never been about finesse or seeing to her needs before his, but Adam showed her a whole new level of satisfaction she didn’t know existed.
Bree lay snuggled against his chest, eyes closed, arm flung over his belly. She could stay here forever, or at least another few hours. Yes, she’d like that. Pure deliciousness. Maybe after they slept a while, they could start all over again and this time... Goodness, what was wrong with her? She’d always enjoyed the physical part of a man-woman relationship, had never been shy about it or afraid, but what she’d experienced tonight was way past enjoyment. Her body tingled with remembering the way he’d touched her, moved inside her until she burst like a thousand tiny stars splitting a dark night. What to call that? There was only one word—ecstasy.
“Bree? You asleep?” He tightened his hold on her, trailed a hand along her back, settled on her hip.
“I was for a bit.” She placed tiny kisses on his chest, breathed in his scent. Pure male. “You?”
“I was out cold.” He sighed and she didn’t miss the humor in his voice when he said, “You wore me out. I think I need a sick day to recover. How about you play hooky with me?”
She swatted his chest and lifted her head to look at him. “Obviously, you’re out of shape.”
His lips curved into that sexy smile that made her all gooey inside. “Obviously, I need you to get me back in shape.”
“Oh?” She planted feather-light kisses along his jaw, trailed her tongue to the sensitive spot behind his ear, sucked.
“Bree.” He squirmed, tried to get away from her. “Stop.”
She laughed and ignored his half attempt to get her to stop. “Guess you’ll have to make me,” she said, working her way to his shoulder with her tongue and teeth.
“Ahhhh.” He flipped her over, pinned her with his right leg. “Now I’m going to have to punish you.”
Bree flung her arms over her head and said in her sultriest voice, “Punish me. Please.”
His smile slipped as his gaze traveled from her eyes, to her mouth, her neck, breasts, belly, lower still. Adam placed a hand on her belly, slid it toward her sex, cupped her. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his earlier teasing gone. “So damn beautiful.”
Words like that wrapped in a voice sweeter than honey could make a girl cry, and Bree was seconds from bursting into tears when he planted a kiss on her belly, then another. When he looked at her, his eyes were bright, and when he spoke, he didn’t try to hide the emotion or the tenderness in his words. “We’re good together, Bree.”
“We are.” She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Very good.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The fierceness in that look turned hotter. “You’ll see.” One more kiss on her belly and then the words that did make her cry. “I promise.”
* * *
Sex with Bree was not just sex. When they were together, his brain didn’t work right. One touch, one heated look from her and the logic he depended upon for judgment and guidance in life vanished. What was it about her that made him forget the order of his life, made him so damn greedy for her that he turned reckless? Desperate? Those words made him squeamish because they indicated a lack of control and above all, Adam Brandon possessed control and common sense. He was a doer, a fixer, a planner; he was not a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-and-hang-on-tight kind of guy. Never had been. Wasn’t in his nature. And yet, wasn’t that exactly what he was doing with Bree? Of course, she had a way of tempting him with that little smile that reminded him what she’d done with that mouth and those hands. Had he ever been so absorbed in a woman’s hands before? Ridiculous. But when Bree toyed with a lock of hair, twirling it between her fingers, he couldn’t help but fantasize about the next time they’d be together.
It had been four days since they first made love, but they’d found a way to have a repeat performance every day since. No wonder he couldn’t look at her desk without thinking of sex. Or his chair. She’d locked the door, hiked her skirt, and straddled him. It had taken a bit of acrobatics but with Bree’s long legs, it hadn’t been too difficult. What was a guy to do when a woman unzipped his pants and eased her hands inside his boxers? Yeah, he’d done what any guy with a drop of testosterone would do. Not that he’d been happy with himself afterward, but right before and during? Well, that was pure fantasy and he wasn’t letting go of that one.
But he wanted more than crazy-hot sex with Bree. He wanted a relationship, time with her kids, dinner at her house. He was a great cook; he’d offered to fix a meal for her and the girls but
she’d turned him down. In fact, she’d turned down a trip to Renova to see a matinee with the girls next Saturday. Sorry, not a good time. Same with the offer for dinner at Harry’s Folly, minus kids, on the off chance she didn’t want him getting involved just yet. Thank you, but my parents are taking us there. How was a guy supposed to get to know a woman if she kept shutting the door in his face?
The one thing she hadn’t turned down was the sex. In fact, she’d been the aggressor, the one seeking him out, making him reckless.
It had to stop. Or it had to change.
Why did he always fall for women with issues? Why couldn’t he pick a woman who would lap up his words and do anything and absolutely everything he asked? She’d tell him how wonderful he was, never question his judgment or his mood, provide unlimited sex, and all she’d ask for in return were the perks that went along with being linked to a man like him: the trips, the clothes, the spa appointments, the cars. So, why couldn’t he just choose one of them? He knew why, didn’t have to spend a second of brainpower on that one. They were boring. It was the complexity and the challenge of unearthing the woman beneath the fear and distrust that intrigued him. It had been that way with Sara and there’d been one or two before her, but they’d turned out to be way more psychological work and, in the end, hadn’t been a good match.
Bree was different. She was a challenge, but he knew from the first time he met her in Chicago, she’d be worth it. He’d convince her to give them a try, in public, as in a real relationship. Who better to lay out the plan than a lawyer whose specialty was mergers and acquisitions? Adam had brokered deals with people who’d vowed they’d never work together; huge complex, multimillion-dollar deals. It might take a bit of effort and an extra personal touch, but he’d make Bree admit they should be together, and not just in the bedroom. He’d make her see she wanted to be with him. Careful planning and execution were the key, and he knew all about that.
* * *
Up until she met Brody Kinkaid, Bree had never been the kind of daughter who fibbed to her parents, not even when the fibbing might have kept her out of a punishment and a harsh scolding. She just didn’t have it in her to look at her mama and daddy and heave out a lie. After Brody walked into her life and stole her heart and her common sense, Bree changed her definition of a fib, and more importantly, the way she told it. If her parents asked where she was going, she could say the library and that would be correct. An answer like that made them happy and while technically correct, was not exactly accurate. She’d be at the library all right, back corner of the parking lot, inside Brody’s truck, sitting on his lap while he reclined the driver’s seat and she climbed all over that muscle-bound body…and… Bree pushed the memories aside, wishing she could erase them, but past deeds lived with a person forever, and all they could hope for was that future deeds would blur them. She had a bigger problem at the moment and it had to do with Daddy’s intuition, which was usually too dang close to right.
“I see the way he looks at you, Bree, like he wants to gobble you up faster than a cherry pie.”
Talk of the man in question made Bree tingle. Oh, Daddy, if you only knew what he does with that mouth… She shook her head, let the fib slip from her lips. “We’re just friends.”
He sat back in the kitchen chair, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and said, “Uh-huh. Is this one of those friends-with-benefits kind of situations?”
“Daddy! What on earth do you know about that?” Goodness, what did her father know about such things? Friends with benefits? Surely not. They were more “physical exploration partners” without the relationship part. Worked out fine for her because she wasn’t looking for the foundation part of the equation, as in a relationship that might extend past the physical part, and while Adam had hinted a few times that he’d like more, that was not happening. There was too much at risk, like her heart and her emotional sanity.
“I’m not as ignorant as you think. Just because your mama and I don’t go jabbering on and on about it or put it in the newspaper doesn’t mean we haven’t heard about it.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “You can’t flip the television channel or pick up a magazine that this person isn’t with that person and two days later along comes someone else. They just want the fun part without the work.”
“Some people do.” And some are not willing to open up and get hurt again.
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of like ordering up strawberries and whip cream minus the shortcake.”
“You’ve been hanging around Pop Benito too long because you’re starting to sound like him.”
Her father sighed. “The man makes sense once you learn how to decipher the meaning inside the words. People want the fluff, the sugar, without the biscuit, but it’s the biscuit that fills your belly, makes you think about it long after it’s gone.”
“Daddy, biscuits and strawberries have nothing to do with me and Adam Brandon.” She straightened her shoulders, forced a casualness in her voice when she said, “We’re friends, period.” That was almost true. What were they, actually? Maybe she should find out before her father did.
“Call it whatever you want; that man’s like a dog on the hunt, and I don’t like it.”
“Daddy—”
He leaned toward her, clasped her hand, his eyes bright. “You two are from different worlds, Baby Girl. You don’t belong together. What’s he know about our small-town ways? He’d never make it here without the glitz and lights of the city, and if he tried to cart you and the girls off to Chicago, you’d never make it there.”
A tiny ache pinched her heart. “I know.” The sadness in her voice surprised her. Why did she care that her father’s words were the same ones she’d told herself too many times? She and Adam Brandon might as well live in different universes and if he hadn’t figured that out yet, he needed to open his eyes and take a good look.
“And the girls?” Her father patted her hand, worked up a smile. “We’d never see them except for holidays and special occasions. It would break your mother’s heart.”
Bree nodded. “You don’t have to worry, Daddy. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know, but I want to make sure Mr. West Coast knows, and if those damn eyes settle on any part of your body again that isn’t your face, I swear, I’ll have a talk with him.” He balled his hand into a fist, his lips pulling into a flat line. “That boy wants you, Bree, no different than when my granddaddy’s prize bull went after the heifer. Granddaddy called it the mating dance, taught me how to ‘smell’ it. Well, I smelled it then and I smell it now, and I’ll be damned if my daughter’s going to get caught up in a wild bull’s rampage.”
Bree wanted to defend Adam, but that was tricky, because too much defending would tell her father he was not only on the right track, but dead on. What he didn’t know was her willing and enthusiastic participation with the man he called Mr. West Coast. Daddy was not going to find out. Ever. She offered up a sugar-sweet smile and served it with a whopper of a fib. “Nothing’s going on with me and Adam Brandon, Daddy.”
12
Lying with Bree after they made love was more relaxing than a hot stone massage…her soft skin touching his, her head resting on his chest, the silky hair fanning his arm…the even breaths…the sighs…
“I’m never getting married again.”
But nobody could blow relaxation to hell faster than Bree Kinkaid. His hand stilled. Some women used tactics like saying the opposite of what they meant to get him to beg them to reconsider their stance. Not Bree. “So, no second chances? Once and done?”
She sighed and not in a good way, stroked his arm, and made lazy circles on the center of his bicep. “Pretty much.”
“What if you get pregnant?” It wasn’t like he planned to pop the marriage question in the next two seconds, but a guy wanted to know he was on the right path, that he hadn’t taken a detour and come to a dead end.
“Pregnant?” Bree’s head shot up and her gaze slid to the sheet bunched around his hips, zer
oed in on his crotch. “Why would you say that?”
“It happens.” Sure, they’d been careful and used protection, but there’d been that time a few nights ago, about three in the morning, when he’d forgotten the condom. Not something he’d ever done before, but he’d never been with a woman like Bree. She drove him crazy in a good and bad way, made him forget common sense, logic, and everything in between. Bree Kinkaid made him laugh and believe he didn’t always have to be perfect or right or in charge. He could just be himself and not always have a plan or a goal; he could learn to relax, but he wanted to do those things with Bree and the girls…long-term.
“We’ve been careful.” She nibbled on her lower lip, made him think of those lips and what they’d done to him last night. “Mostly. There was just that one time…”
He wished he could see inside that head because something was going on there and a quick peek would help him. But since he doubted anybody, including the dead cheater husband, had ever seen what was going on in Bree’s head, he stuck with logical. “It only takes one time. Say, it was us, and we got pregnant—”
“We?” She jumped up so fast her hair slapped his face. “It wouldn’t be we. I’ve never seen a man carrying a baby in his belly, throwing up, getting stretch marks, indigestion, spitting out a watermelon, and—”
“Okay. Got it.” Apparently, she didn’t like the we pronoun.
“I just love how men are going around now, saying ‘we’re pregnant’ as if they could pop out the baby. Hah. You’ll never see Nate Desantro saying that or Ben Reed because they know better.”
“Who cares what Nate Desantro and Ben Reed do?” Damn, but she could be annoying. Once that brain got going, she didn’t stop until she’d spilled every thought in it, good and bad.
A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 Page 15