Can’t Get Enough

by Showalter, Gena

  She is mine, and I am hers.

  Rocked to the core by her words, Brock had no defense. Pleasure was a tidal wave crashing through him. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. Suddenly he was standing taller, prouder, his shoulders squared, his spine ramrod straight.

  “Look,” she added when he remained silent, “I know you were disappointed when I said I wouldn’t take your last name. When you pout, you get the most adorable crinkle between your eyes.” She traced the spot in question, sending white lightning shooting through him. “Introduce me to your mother, and I’ll reconsider hyphenating while we’re together.”

  Lyndie Scott-Hudson. Yes! For this, he would do anything. Although, why it so important to him, he didn’t know.

  “Deal,” he said. “And for your information, I do not pout. I brood, all dark and manly like.”

  She snickered, and his heartbeat seemed to…warp. Early onset arrhythmia? He should probably seek medical attention ASAP. Nah. If his number was up, he’d die with a smile. Hopefully in bed with Lyndie.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready.”

  Was he? Didn’t matter, he supposed. Introductions were happening. He led her to the door, and one of his men turned the knob. Though a gentleman would have let a lady go first, Brock entered ahead of Lyndie, just in case Miranda decided to attack.

  His mother had been sitting at the edge of the bed but leaped to her feet as soon as she spotted him. Her pale green eyes narrowed. Jet-black hair without a single strand of gray was cut in a stylish bob. Her skin had few wrinkles. By the time he’d hit his teens, she’d undergone every kind of lift, peel, and laser money could buy. She looked young for her age, but even still, she looked old. Bitterness always demanded its due.

  A formfitting black suit-dress highlighted a slender frame. Too slender. She was nothing but skin and bones.

  “This is kidnapping,” she snapped. “I’ll have you—” Her gaze landed on Lyndie, who moved to his side and linked her fingers with his—in a show of support? Whatever the reason, the action shocked him to his core. And affected him in a way he’d never before experienced. Warming him. Softening him.

  Miranda quieted, her mind clearly whirling with possible ways to play this. Finally she settled on a plan and said, “To marry someone like him, you have to be as dumb as a box of rocks. And you aren’t even his type. Or maybe you are. For all I know, you’re as trashy as the rest of them.”

  Red winked over Brock’s line of sight.

  And his mother wasn’t even done. “Whatever he’s paying you, it’s not enough. No amount of money is worth putting up with him. How about I pay you double to get an annulment?”

  Brock tensed. He hated this woman—so why did her words have the power to wound him?

  “I’m super smart. The smartest!” Lyndie blinked at her, all innocence, as she twirled a lock of silken hair around her finger. “But sometimes when I close my eyes, I can’t see.”

  Just like that, Brock’s tension eased. He had to press his lips together tight to stop a laugh. A laugh in the midst of a terrible family drama. A few seconds ago, he couldn’t even crack a smile. His wife was a miracle worker as well as a soothing balm.

  “Miranda, meet my wife, Lyndie Scott-Hudson. Wife, meet the candidate for worst mother of the years.”

  “Years?” Lyndie asked. “Plural?”

  He nodded. “All the years.”

  Unabashed, Miranda jutted out her chin, her focus remaining on Lyndie. “I’ve done my homework. I know you’ve suffered at the hands of men, Miss Scott.”

  “Mrs. Scott-Hudson to you,” Lyndie grated, and pride nearly burst Brock’s chest. “I’m considering dropping the hyphen though. If Brock proves particularly enjoyable in bed, I’ll definitely drop it. Only time will tell.”

  He grinned. He would ensure she dropped the hyphen by the end of the night.

  Miranda humphed. “Trust me when I tell you that you’ll suffer worse at my son’s hands. His temper is legendary. The only reason he isn’t in jail for assault is because his father always bailed—”

  “Enough!” Brock roared, and Lyndie jumped.

  He deflated instantly, hating himself for frightening her. How dare his mother spread such lies! But then, she had done her homework. She knew just where to strike to drive a wedge between them.

  He expected Lyndie to run out of the room. Astonishingly enough, she remained in place.

  He squeezed her hand in reassurance, gratitude, and thanks. “I came to tell you that all your efforts to ruin me will be in vain.” His tone was flat, even deadened. She hated him because she’d hated his father. Loved Braydon because she loved his father. The fact that Brock was half hers had never been a factor. Now he wondered why.

  Did she hate…herself? What kind of childhood had shaped her into this?

  Did it really matter? She’d made her choices. Now she would live with the consequences.

  “I will claim my rightful place at the company, and I will restructure as I see fit,” he added. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  Cold calculation twisted Miranda’s expression before she burst into tears. “Please, Brock, please don’t do this. I know I haven’t always been the best mother, but I’ve changed. All I need is a chance to prove it.”

  Are you kidding me?

  Did she think him such a fool he would fall for such an obvious act? Or perhaps she considered him so desperate for a mother’s love he would willingly override battle-honed instincts?

  Even if he were a fool, even if he were desperate, he would not go against his instincts. Besides, he and his mother had passed the time for reconciliation.

  “Goodbye, Miranda. Go home. But not to any of my homes. The moment you reached Strawberry Valley, I had the locks changed at every property.”

  Outrage turned her into a missile. She launched at him, fist raised.

  With one hand, Brock tugged Lyndie behind him. With the other, he caught Miranda by the wrist.

  “You won’t get away with this,” his mother snarled, wrenching free.

  He offered her a cold smile. “I already have.” Turning on his heel, he ushered Lyndie toward the door. He’d known how this meeting would go down. He shouldn’t be hurt. And he wasn’t…much.

  In the hall, Lyndie linked her fingers with his and leaned her head against his shoulder in another astonishing show of support. “Your mother is a wretched human being. I’m sorry for all the pain she’s caused you. And I stand by what I said before. You are not the person she says you are. You are worth something. You are valued.”

  “And I’m yours.”

  She gulped and croaked, “You are mine. For now.”

  Now would have to be enough. “Have you been drinking wine again?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Not even a sip.” She rose on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “You said you want to taste me…and I want to remember every second.”

  He sucked in a breath, his body suddenly burning up with arousal. Not just a sperm donor but a man desired. If she kept this up, he wouldn’t just be putty in her hands. He would be anything she wanted, everything she needed.

  No, no. He had it all wrong. They’d have sex, and he would finally calm down. Finally…probably. Whatever. Sex was sex. One encounter had never meant more than another.

  He told the soldiers to escort Miranda outside in five minutes, then peered down at the woman who haunted him, waking and sleeping. Do you really think a night with her will be the same as any other?

  “Back to the party or home? Lady’s choice.”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips…and she wet her own. Heat radiated from her as tremors rocked her on her feet. Every muscle in his body hardened for the thousandth time that day.

  Voice low and husky, she said, “Home. As quickly as possible.”

  Chapter Nine

  Meeting Brock’s mother had been a big-time game changer for Lyndie. Oh, she’d known the poor guy had undergone some s
ort of psychological warfare most of his young life. But she’d had no idea Miranda Hudson was the female equivalent of Harold Scott, using her words rather than her fists.

  Compassion blazed inside Lyndie. Poor Brock. Did he sometimes feel the heavy weight of isolation on his shoulders, threatening to shatter his soul? Because Lyndie knew the feeling well. Very few people understood the toll such abuse took.

  Need consumed her. Need to comfort Brock. To show him just how much she desired him.

  Desire must consume Brock too. He rushed her through the ballroom, never pausing as he called out goodbyes.

  People whooped and hollered, then shouted advice.

  “If you want this marriage to work, you’ve got to remember one thing, Brock. A wise man once said—nothing. He kept his mouth zipped, let his woman tell him what’s what, and then he put a smile on her face.” Virgil winked. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t you go trying to wear the pants in the relationship, Lyndie girl.” Edna Mills, owner of Rhinestone Cowgirl, wagged a finger in her direction. “Neither one of you needs to be wearing any pants at all.”

  “Never go to bed angry.” Anthony Rodriguez waited until the crowd had nodded before he added, “Always go to bed naked.”

  Jessie Kay West, reformed bad girl, shouted, “Take this man by the balls and squeeze. I mean this night. Take this night!”

  A flush heated Lyndie’s cheeks, and she vacillated between embarrassment and giddiness.

  Ryanne and Dorothea waited at the exit. Brock paused long enough for Lyndie to hug her friends.

  “You are a treasure, and you deserve happiness,” Ryanne said. “Do not, under any circumstances, convince yourself otherwise.”

  Dorothea nodded and said, “If, at any time, you need us, do not hesitate to call. We’ll be there lickety-split.”

  “I love you guys. So much.”

  Annnd Brock tugged her outside. A little laugh escaped her. “Eager to get home?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Beyond.” Cool night air enveloped her. Brock’s luxury sedan waited in the roundabout, JUST MARRIED written on the windshield.

  He opened the passenger door and practically shoved her in the seat. Then he sprinted around the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and said, “I feel as if I’ve waited forever for you. Don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Her heart leaped at his words. Her core ached.

  As he broke speed records to get home, Lyndie distracted herself by studying his profile. Such a beautiful man. Every muscled inch of him. The way his fingers clutched the steering wheel tantalized her. What would those fingers do to her? Shiver. The rigid straightness of his spine as he leaned forward, as if he alone propelled the car forward, left her shifting in her seat. Raw, animal heat radiated from him, caressing every inch of her bare skin.

  “Just so you know, I haven’t been with anyone since James,” she confessed. “And I’d never been with anyone before James.” She’d feared her father’s reaction too much. “I told you that you had better prove you’re an expert, but meanwhile, you might be a tad bit disappointed in my performance. James said I was, well, lacking, and that’s why he strayed.”

  The admission nearly got clogged in her throat, but dang it, she had to prepare him just in case James got it right. And oh, crap, maybe she should have confessed before the wedding and given him a way out. Brock liked—no, he loved—sex.

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as his hands tightened on the wheel.

  When he remained quiet, unease overtook her, and she found herself rushing to fill the silence. “I’m willing and very eager to learn. Obviously. And who better to teach me than you? Just…even if I disappoint you during our make-out session, remember practice makes perfect. Give me a chance or two or twelve, and I’m certain I’ll develop all kinds of moves and grooves.”

  “I’m not worried about your talents or lack thereof.” The hard lash of Brock’s words might have scared her any other day. “I’m angry with your ex. He was an idiot.”

  All kinds of feminine power fogged her head. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve kissed you. You are hotter than fire, Scottie. If he failed to make you burn, that’s on him. And there’s only one reason he cheated. He was a dishonorable, disloyal, disgusting piece of trash.”

  Um, that might have been the sweetest thing anyone had said to her, ever.

  Tires squealed as he came to an abrupt stop in her—their—driveway. Theirs…for now. Her eyes widened as different thoughts crystalized. She was married after swearing to remain a widow forevermore. Her second husband had a go-bag in the back seat of the car, meaning he officially moved in tonight. In as little as two weeks, they could very well conceive a child. In as little as a month, they would divorce.

  Time to take stock.

  Heart? In no immediate danger, probably.

  Mind? A jumble of uncertainties. Had she made the right choice?

  Body? Fighting nervousness but still eager for Brock’s touch.

  As he jammed the car into park, got out, and rushed around to help her out, she twisted the new ring on her finger. A full moon glowed in the sky, painting his bronzed skin with varying shades of gold. No man had ever been so beautiful. Or so experienced.

  Hello, nerves. So nice of you to return.

  As Lyndie fought a new wave of fear—she had made the right decision, and all would be well—Brock latched onto her hand and rushed her inside the house. Something she noticed: his tremors were as bad as hers.

  Another surge of feminine power flowed through her, calm and strength quickly following.

  The cats slept peacefully on the couch. Good. Anticipation fizzed in Lyndie’s veins. Need Brock. Need him now.

  Somehow she had the presence of mind to stop him long enough to lock the front door and code the alarm. Then, fighting tremors, she took the lead and ushered Brock into her bedroom.

  “How do you normally do this?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  “I flirt. They flirt.” He rocked on his heels as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “We kiss. Clothes come off. I insert tab A into slot B.”

  Well, okay then. If she allowed fear to dictate her actions—jumping Brock in order to calm her body and mind—she would miss out on all the precoital perks. “Flirt with me then,” she said and waved a royal hand through the air.

  Incredulous, he snapped his fingers. “Flirt with you? Just like that?”

  “Unless you used all your best material on your harem?”

  “Harem? Baby doll, I’ve never kept a woman.” He unleashed a mock growl and prowled closer to her. “You’re the first and the last.”

  Heart racing, she backed away. Did he have any idea just how profoundly his words affected her? Of course he did! He was a sexpert. “You’ve been fully devoted to me for an entire week,” she said, realizing she was actually proud of him. “I think you deserve a reward.”

  He looked at her, his eyes heating, burning her body. No man had ever looked at her the way Brock did. As if he’d finally found everything he’d ever wanted or needed.

  An illusion, nothing more. Which was good. Very, very good. If ever Brock developed feelings for her, she would melt faster than—

  Don’t be silly. He would never develop feelings for her.

  He continued to advance, drawing closer, chasing her—and she liked it. “I want a reward,” he said with a nod.

  “Any requests?” she asked. “Let me guess. Oh, I know. That mouth to groin resuscitation we talked about!”

  Though he radiated blatant arousal, he shook his head. “You’ll suck me off when you want to suck me off. Not a moment before. Tonight all I want is a chance.”

  “A chance to…?”

  “To give you everything you need. If you have a desire, tell me.”

  Electrical currents seemed to charge the air and every inch of her body.

  “Also, if you want to hear my best material,” he said, his voice almost a purr, “you’ll have t
o change into something less comfortable.”

  Less comfortable, huh? Like her own skin?

  That heated gaze…again, it made her burn. “A word of warning. My abdomen and back are scarred. If you don’t want to look, we can turn off the lights.”

  “Lights stay on. I have scars too. Inside and out. But I also have a scar fetish.”

  “You do?” Her legs met the edge of the bed, and she stopped. “Really?”

  He offered a slow, languid nod. “I do. Developed it two seconds ago.” As he spoke, he rubbed a hand over the erection straining behind his fly. “I want to kiss and lick them.”

  If she didn’t trust him so much, she would have question his motives. Too good to be true! He hadn’t asked for details, but he had put her at ease.

  He deserves his reward.

  Head high, Lyndie pushed the straps of her gown from her shoulders. The entire garment whooshed to the floor, leaving her in a strapless bra and matching panties, two garter belts, and high heels.

  Brock sucked in a breath as his gaze raked her once, then twice, only far more slowly. His pupils enlarged, spilling over ice green. Heat radiated from him and stroked her already sensitive skin. Passion fever…

  The blood in her veins turned molten. Sweeping waves of excitement held her captive.

  “You are so beautiful, Scottie. Perfect in every way. Your scars reveal the depth of your strength.”

  As she reeled, callused hands caressed her jawline. Those hands were so big, so strong, so different from hers.

  He was strength personified, and yet he was so gentle with her. “You are more…everything than I realized. You are smarter, wittier, braver. More beautiful than a sunrise.”

  Okay. Stick a fork in me. I’m done.

  Her defenses melted. “I…don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem—” Oh crap! Unless he’d just used a line? She’d told him to flirt.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head.” He clasped her hips and effortlessly hefted her onto the mattress. “I’ll never lie to you, never offer platitudes. I’ll always be honest.”