by Brenda Mott
His expression was a mixture of irritation and concern. Again, warmth snaked through her, overpowering the damp chill caused by her rain-soaked clothes. The emotion in his eyes spoke louder than words. It wasn’t the horse he was worried about.
God, but it was good to see him. She wanted to fold herself into his arms and hold him close. Instead, she slid the barn door shut, muting the sounds of the storm outside.
Trent put Alysana in his box stall, then faced her. “What were you doing out there, Bailey?” He gripped her shoulders. “You could’ve gotten hurt. Didn’t I tell you not to mess with Alysana?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
Bailey glared at him. “Well, I could hardly leave him out in the storm, could I?” She squared her shoulders beneath Trent’s grasp. “I had the situation under control…”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Pointedly, he swiveled her around and stared at her muddy backside.
Bailey felt her cheeks warm. She must look a sight. She turned toward him, tucked her tongue in her cheek, then laughed. “Welcome home, cowboy.”
Trent stared at her a moment, then he laughed, too, and the sound filled her with pleasure. “You really know how to roll out the welcome mat for a guy,” he said. “I nearly swallowed my teeth when I saw you out there in the middle of the lightning storm, holding on to Alysana for dear life. I wasn’t sure which one of you to be most worried about.” His eyes sparkled playfully.
“Is that right.” Bailey placed her hands on her hips. “Are you telling me your horse means as much to you as I do?”
With another chuckle, Trent placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. “Maybe more like the other way around,” he teased. Then his lips came down upon hers, and Bailey lost herself in the warmth of his arms, her wet clothes and windblown hair forgotten.
Moaning, she wrapped her tongue around his. Trent ran his hands up and down the small of her back, pressing her against him. And as their kiss grew more heated, she could feel his need in the hard length of him, denim against denim. She draped her arms around his neck, feeling the quick beat of his heart as her breasts rubbed his chest.
“Let’s go inside,” he whispered, his forehead against hers. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
Bailey licked her lips. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”
Still kissing, touching, they made their way to the barn door. With one hand, Trent slid it open, his other hand still looped around her waist. Already, the storm had blown over, leaving behind a strong breeze and the clean scent of rain-washed earth.
Bailey felt as though the storm now moved inside her. Her heart raced, and her blood heated as Trent continued to kiss and caress her. On the porch steps, they locked in an embrace, Trent’s leg thrust between hers, their lips seeking hungrily, like lovers sharing a first kiss. She had no doubt where this was leading.
He pushed the door open and scooped her up in his arms. Startled, Bailey let out a gasp, then snuggled against him as he pressed his mouth over hers once more in a kiss that set her soul on fire. He carried her through his bedroom doorway and set her down on the floor next to the queen-size bed.
“Bailey,” he whispered. “I’ve waited for this moment ever since I laid eyes on you.” He ran his hand over her wet hair, looking intently at her. “Are you sure this is what you want, too?”
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Bailey nodded. She slipped her hands inside his jean jacket, running her palms across his chest. “More than you can know,” she said.
Trent shrugged out of the jacket and let it fall to the floor. Bailey took pleasure in the way his muscles rippled as he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. His chest was hard and smooth, sprinkled with a light dusting of hair that veed down and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. The muted light from the window spilled across his skin, making him look like a dream lover who’d come to her, conjured from her wildest fantasies.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes and stood before her, completely naked. Seeing him without clothes excited her, making her tremble. Eagerly, she let him remove her jacket, then her shirt and bra. By the time he’d undressed her, she saw how easy it would be to plunge into an emotional abyss without a second thought. The temptation to give her heart to Trent, even knowing he would likely break it, overwhelmed her.
He laid her down on top of the quilt that covered the bed, as dusk claimed the cloud-studded sky. A half-moon hung high above, breaking up the shadows, just visible through the windowpane.
Trent ran his hand across her bare hip, and his lips curved in a slow, sexy smile. “You wear moonlight even better than the river does,” he said. And with that, he lay down beside her and took her into his arms.
Bailey slid her hands across his bare shoulders and let him pull her close, certain she’d lost her last scrap of good sense. She’d questioned the wisdom of this moment, even when it had been a mere fantasy. Yet she’d known, deep down inside, that it was bound to happen sooner or later. She’d been kidding herself, wanting to believe she could control what she felt for Trent.
As a child, she’d divided her feelings into neat little compartments and locked them away so no one could hurt her. As a young woman, trying to find her way once she’d left her last set of foster parents, she’d done exactly the same thing. She’d been so careful to guard her heart from anyone who could cause her pain. And now, here she was, baring her feelings to a man who fell precisely into that category.
Trent had nothing permanent to offer her—no promise of love and commitment, or of the family Bailey so deeply craved. She knew that. But at the same time, she was drawn to him. It was so easy to love this man who reminded her at times of an injured bird, and at other times of a regal hawk…tough, self-sufficient, needing no one. If she was really smart, she’d leave his bed and never look back.
“Bailey,” Trent said. “I want to make you feel good. I want to kiss every inch of your skin and know the taste of you on my tongue.”
All coherent thought fled as he slid his palm along her thigh. She moaned, loving the way his rough hand possessed such a gentle touch, savoring the way it rubbed across her skin. Common sense told her this was a mistake, yet she didn’t care. Her body craved release. She had to know what it was like to lie in his arms and let him love her, if only for a little while.
He paused just long enough to reach into the nightstand and withdraw a box of condoms.
As he tore one open, Bailey raised her eyebrows.
“Planning ahead, cowboy?”
He shot her a smile that made her mouth go dry. “Maybe.” He slid the condom over his erection, and the intimate ritual heated her blood as she watched. Then he stretched out alongside her on the bed once more and took her into his arms.
Bailey locked her arms around Trent’s neck and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He let out a moan, and heat pooled between her legs. He wanted her. She found power in that, and in the fact that she wanted him, too. They were like two forces of nature, coming together to clash and mesh, until all else was lost.
Trent returned her kisses with hot, fervent ones of his own. One hand caressed the base of her neck, while the other found the small of her back. Pressing her against him, he took advantage of her having wrapped her legs around him, and in one silky motion he slid inside her.
The movement was so unexpected, yet so smooth, Bailey gasped. She’d thought he’d engage in fore-play for a while, and she’d thought she wasn’t ready for him yet.
She’d thought wrong.
She was more than ready. She moaned against his mouth, loving the heated way he made her feel, savoring the ache he caused at the center of her core, the throbbing between her legs. Sweet, delicious satisfaction began to pool through her as Trent moved inside her.
Hard, hot, wanting, he stroked her first with his erection, then with his hand, as well. His fingers crept into her nest of curls, and he found the hard nub of
her flesh and began to caress it in slow circles, while his hips kept rhythm with hers.
Bailey climaxed so fast her entire body shook. With a cry, she arched against him, her shoulders pressing into the pillows while her hips thrust to meet his. Moments later, he tumbled over the edge with her, then lay with his head nestled on her shoulder, sprinkling kisses against her collarbone, her neck, her throat.
“Bailey,” he whispered. “You make me crazy.”
“You do a pretty fair job of that yourself,” she said, running her hands over his back and shoulders. Bailey’s mind and body still thrummed with the passion she’d so quickly spent, passion that was already rising to the surface again, as even now, Trent stirred between her legs.
“I didn’t mean to move so fast,” he said, rising onto his elbows to look into her eyes. With his thumbs, he rubbed circles at her temple, then stroked her damp hair away from her face. “I’d meant to take my time with you, Bailey, but you’re so sweet, so sexy, I couldn’t hold back.”
“I’m not complaining,” she said, letting her lips curve into a smile.
“Does that mean you like what you’ve seen so far?” he asked, his smile matching hers.
Bailey put on a contemplative frown. “I think so, but I’m not sure.”
“Not sure?” His eyebrows arched, and he lowered his voice to a growl. “What do you mean, you’re not sure, banker woman?”
“Well, it was all over so quickly,” she teased. “I mean, it was great, but I’d really, really hoped to savor you a while longer.” She trailed the nail of her index finger along his biceps. “It isn’t every day that I crawl into bed with a hot, yummy cowboy.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He nipped her earlobe. “So you want to savor me, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Bailey moaned as his tongue snaked inside her ear.
“That’s good,” he murmured, “because I hadn’t planned on letting you out of here any time soon.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right. It’s not every day I get a hot, sexy city woman into my bed.”
“I should hope not,” Bailey said.
He traced a line of kisses from her ear to her throat, back up to her chin. There he paused, just short of her mouth, his eyes locked on hers. His expression grew serious. “Bailey, I’m not kidding,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to be with a woman. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me feel this way, and I can’t promise you where things will go from here. But right here, right now, I want you.”
Bailey gazed back at him. “Promises often mean nothing,” she said. “Honesty does.” And his honesty cried out to her soul more than anything else he could’ve said or done. Shallow words of love and empty promises were not what she wanted to hear. Like Trent, she wanted only to focus on this moment. She would worry about what came afterward later.
“In that case,” he said, pressing a kiss against her lips, “I can honestly say that you make me feel something no other woman ever has. I just haven’t quite figured out yet what that something is.”
With that he covered her mouth with his and rolled to his side with her wrapped in his arms.
Wasting no further time on words, they lost themselves in each other. This time, their lovemaking was leisurely. Trent took his time pleasuring her with his hands and his mouth, and she took equal opportunity to give back what he gave to her. When Bailey was certain she’d never been more fulfilled in her life, she slipped into an easy, dreamless sleep, knowing that no matter what the next moment brought, for this moment, she was happy and content.
Content lying in Trent’s arms, and pretending for a little while that he was hers.
TRENT WAS STARTLED from the depths of sleep by a nightmare. For a moment he was surprised to find Bailey nestled with her head against his shoulder, her legs tangled with his among the sheets and blankets. The sweet scent of her hair, her perfume and the aftermath of their lovemaking surrounded him—clung to his skin, his bed. He savored them for a moment, then quietly sat up and disengaged himself from Bailey’s warm body.
She sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillows, her features soft, relaxed, as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Dear God, what had he done? He’d led this woman to trust him and to give herself to him, and what could possibly come of it? Like a fool, he’d yielded to the physical desire he felt for Bailey and let all good sense flee his mind. He’d indulged himself in her like some horny teenager, using her body to relieve him of the frustration and wanting he’d known ever since he’d laid eyes on her.
Yet as he watched her sleep, he knew there was more to it than that.
It wasn’t simply physical need that had caused him to take Bailey to bed. He hadn’t treated her like an object of lust, there simply to fulfill his needs. He was in love with her, and that was why he wanted her in his bed. The thought scared the hell out of him. After losing Sarah and seeing his marriage crumble, one would think he’d be smarter this time around.
Trent pushed back the covers, climbed from the bed and slipped into his jeans. He had to get a grip on himself, had to face reality and decide what he was going to do about the mess he’d just made between him and Bailey. Barefoot, he walked quietly down the hall and stood in front of Sarah’s room. His breath lodged in his chest, and he hesitated, wondering if he shouldn’t just turn away. He hadn’t been in the room for weeks.
Closing his hand over the knob, Trent pushed the door open, and memories rushed over him like a flooded river swelling above its banks.
He could still smell Sarah in this room, despite all the time that had passed. He didn’t know if the scent of her was real or imagined, salvaged from his treasury of memories. But as he stepped inside the confines of these walls, it was as though she was here again, alive, real, well. He blocked out the odor of her sickness, and nearly all thoughts of the final days she’d spent curled beneath the canopy of her bed in the corner. Instead, he recalled the lemon-sunshine smell of her blond hair, and the way her clothes always carried the sweet scent of the outdoors, a combination of little girl and horses and wild mountain air.
Crossing to the far corner, Trent sank onto the bed and flicked on the bedside lamp. A soft glow from the Mickey Mouse light flooded the room. The silence gripped Trent as he looked around.
He hadn’t left the room as a shrine. Yet he hadn’t been able to clear out Sarah’s room. It had been another sore spot between him and Amy. She’d thought he should dispose of the haunting memories of those final days of their little girl’s life. She’d told him to donate Sarah’s toys and clothes to charity, that it would be best if he gave away all the furniture and repainted the room.
He’d flat-out refused.
He’d given Macy one of Sarah’s Breyer horses, and some of her things to children in need. He’d even cleaned out the closet, and left only Sarah’s favorite T-shirts in the dresser drawers, her boots under the bed. But he hadn’t been able to completely empty the room of everything that had been a part of his daughter. He didn’t want to. He needed to surround himself with things that kept her memory fresh and clear in his mind, and to have not a shrine but, instead, a place of retreat, where he could come and simply remember.
His gaze traveled the room. A few of Sarah’s Barbie dolls still rode on their horses across the topmost shelf of those he’d built for her; below them, her collection of Goosebumps and Saddle Club books were lined neatly end to end. The two bottom shelves held her stuffed animals, and on her dresser, the trophies she’d won with Misttique in the local saddle club competitions were proudly displayed, ribbons in an array of colors hanging on the wall above them. The closet still held the afghan his mother had crocheted for her one Christmas, and the bed was made up with clean sheets, the ones Sarah loved, with the horses on them.
The pillow was the one where she’d rested her head each night after a long day spent playing, riding or going to school. He’d read her to sleep more times than he could count, sittin
g on this very bed, and held her hand when she’d had the chicken pox, and brought her soup when she’d fallen out of the tree house and broken her arm.
And he’d tried and tried and tried again to let those memories push away all the others. To let them overtake the ones of Sarah’s last days, spent in this bed, her little body wasted away, her beautiful blond hair gone, with only peach fuzz in its place. He didn’t want to think of her that way. He wanted to remember her the way she’d been—happy and healthy and growing—his little girl, living her life, loving every minute of it, with him loving her.
But he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t suppress the memories of what it felt like to sit helplessly by and watch the child he loved and cherished more than his own life, his own soul, suffer and linger, and finally die.
He could never go through that again.
Never.
He didn’t even realize he was crying until he heard the floorboards creak.
He looked up to find Bailey standing in the doorway, wearing only her shirt and panties. A troubled look pulled at her features, and sorrow filled her eyes as tears of her own ran down her face.
“Trent?” She hesitated in the doorway, seemingly unsure whether to step inside or leave him alone.
He wanted her to go. She had to.
He couldn’t give in to the part of him that longed to take her in his arms and simply let her hold him while he allowed his pain to wash away on a wave of tears.
With the back of his hand, he swiped at his eyes, then rubbed his fingers vigorously against them. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said. The words were out before he could stop them. Hell, he didn’t really want her to go. Somehow, Bailey’s presence didn’t feel intrusive, the way anyone else’s would have. But to admit that meant he needed and wanted her, and it was time he remembered he hadn’t planned on feeling that way ever again. He had no choice but to push her away.