BRINGING BENJY HOME

by Kylie Brant

  He rose from his chair and stalked toward her. He sat down very near her, so close she was pressed between the pillowy arm of the couch and his warm, hard body. He slid one hand to the satiny skin beneath her jaw, and when he felt the pulse hammering there, he allowed himself a tiny smile.

  "You can try to pretend, but you can never hide this, Jaida." The prickles of electricity beneath his fingers warmed him. "You can never hide your reaction to me." He covered her lips with his, forcing an even deeper reaction from her, from both of them. Her response was immediate and helplessly complete. He pushed up her top and filled his palms with her lace-covered breasts. Their mouths twisted together, their breathing growing ragged. Long minutes later he raised his head a fraction, savoring the sight of her sprawled half beneath him, her lips swollen, nipples straining against their confines.

  "You don't want to go back to the cabin," he muttered, dropping a kiss on the top of one flushed breast. "You don't want to leave me, any more than I want you to go. You love me, Jaida. A woman like you doesn't make love to a man otherwise. You couldn't." His mouth was at her neck now, drawing her pulse into a more fevered beat. "Tell me," he demanded gutturally. "Tell me you love me."

  She offered the words freely, relishing the chance to say them out loud. "I do," she whispered. "I love you, Trey."

  The words had barely escaped her before his mouth covered hers again, thirstily drinking the words from her lips.

  "Then stay. Marry me, Jaida."

  Her eyelids flickered dazedly. "Marriage? Trey, you don't want to marry me."

  His face was only a fraction from hers, so close she could see the intent in his eyes. "Honey, you're supposed to be psychic. You, better than anyone, should know how I feel."

  "I do." The ache was in her voice, tearing at her throat. His brows came down at the raw emotion. "I knew how you felt the moment you took me in your arms when you raced back to the cabin the night Franken broke in. And I also know how you feel about my … gift." She saw the agreement on his face and could have wept. "You've spent your life shielding your thoughts and feelings from the world. You hate it when I touch you and read something."

  "No," he said bluntly, "I don't like it. I can't deny that it's going to take some getting used to. But I do know your ability works different with me than it does with anyone else. You respond every time I touch you, and your own emotions get in the way, don't they? The closer we get, the more difficult it becomes for you to concentrate on anything except what I make you feel."

  His hand was caressing her nape now, and the shivers racing down her spine were proof of his words. "There's the trade-off," he whispered. "I may not always like the power of your gift, but I damn sure like the effect my touch has on you, the effect it has on both of us."

  She evaded his lips when they would have sealed hers. "I'm not normal, Trey. I made my peace with that a long time ago. I can't live in a city, constantly raising my defenses so I can walk down a crowded street. I can't sustain the kind of shield it would take."

  He listened to her, more to the wistfulness in her tone than to her words, and something inside him softened. "We can live anywhere you'll be comfortable," he promised. "The Arkansas Valley isn't the only remote spot on the map. If you want the mountains, I can live with that. Beachfront?"

  She flinched slightly at the stinging kiss he pressed against the spot beneath her earlobe, before he soothed it with the tip of his tongue.

  "We can do that, too. Just say that you want to stay. Say you'll marry me."

  She cupped his hard jaw wonderingly. She'd spent long years coming to terms with what her ability meant—a lack of love, of intimacy, in her life. To be offered it now, from this man, was a rare gift indeed.

  "Yes," she said simply. She couldn't say more—her throat was too full. But the one word was enough to make his green eyes glitter with suppressed emotion. He sat up, scooped her into his arms and walked swiftly from the room.

  Once there, he let her slide slowly, intimately, down his body. That sense of familiarity was back; the overriding sensuality of finally having her here, in his bedroom, was threatening to engulf him. He rapidly divested her of the rest of her clothes, his progress hampered by her hands dispensing with his. He backed her up to the bed, reached beyond her and yanked off the comforter. Then almost gently, he laid her down, his jaw tightening as he took in the picture she made.

  He followed her down, raising himself on one elbow above her. With one forefinger he traced her lips, her delicate jaw. "I love you, Jaida," he said hoarsely.

  She smiled, a slow, secret smile, against his fingertip. "I know," she whispered.

  Her reply surprised a gust of laughter from him. "Think you know everything, don't you? But you don't. You're not the only who can have visions. I've had one myself. Over and over, of you, me, on this bed. Like this. Just like this."

  Her eyes widened in surprise at his words, and then that Mona Lisa smile crossed her lips again.

  He watched her through slitted eyes. She was as exquisite as any work of art. Her hair spilled across the sheets, the pale color shining like diamonds on a bed of velvet. The black sheets were a perfect foil for her silky body.

  He lowered his head to kiss her. This was one vision that was going to last forever.

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