One-Click Buy: September 2010 Silhouette Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  Which must mean she had gone without sex for a very long time. And that picture sure as hell didn’t jive with Jesse’s description of Bryn as a seducer and a promiscuous teen.

  He tucked the quilt around her bare shoulder, lingering to smooth the faded fabric against her warm body. He was in deep now. He’d made such a big deal of trusting his brother because of blood ties, but more and more it was becoming apparent that Jesse was not what he seemed.

  Jesse had stolen from the ranch, from Mac. And the money had been used to buy drugs…at least once. Though Trent fought the sickening knowledge with everything in his heart, it only made sense to admit that Jesse had funded a secret addiction via his access to the ranch accounts.

  Jesse had described Bryn as a manipulative, sexually active girl. But the woman to whom Trent had just made love was innocent and inexperienced, her body barely able to accept his at first. So in all likelihood, Jesse had lied about that, as well.

  For the first time, Trent allowed himself to think about Bryn’s little boy. Somewhere in Minnesota there was a kid who might be a Sinclair. If Bryn was telling the truth, then Mac and Trent had treated Bryn abysmally. But what motive would Jesse have had for lying about his relationship with Bryn? Surely Jesse knew that Mac would have welcomed Bryn as a permanent member of the family.

  Perhaps for Jesse the answer was painfully simple. Perhaps Jesse hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a wife and child. Trent would never know for sure.

  Too many questions. Too few answers.

  He eased carefully from the bed and stoked the fire. It was 3:00 a.m. Soon he and Bryn would have to go back to the house. And then what would happen? Nothing was resolved. Was Trent going to confront his sick father with the evidence of Jesse’s perfidy? Or should he clean up the mess and say nothing?

  The trouble was, the Sinclairs had too many secrets already. Secrets that had caused pain and heartache. And Trent was no closer than ever to knowing how to sort it all out.

  He slid back into bed, chilled, and groaned his appreciation when Bryn’s soft, warm body pressed up against his. Unfortunately for her, his cold skin wasn’t nearly as welcoming.

  She stirred and sat up. “Trent?”

  His heart stopped. The firelight danced across her face, her shoulders, her full breasts…painting an impossibly lovely Madonna. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, framing her face. She was like a vision, a fantasy…

  But when he touched her, his heart beat again. She was real. She was here. And he would take what he could, give what he could…as long as the night survived.

  He was on his back looking up at her. All it took was a smile to make him hard. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, her tousled hair a testament to their earlier lovemaking.

  “I’m glad you came with me tonight.” He couldn’t resist stroking her leg.

  “Me, too. I missed you while you were gone.” She pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head on them, regarding him sleepily.

  Despite the awkwardness of the question, he took a deep breath and made himself ask it anyway. “Why was it so difficult for you to…”

  “Have sex with you?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah.”

  “Why do you think?”

  She was asking for something from him. But he felt as if he was traversing a minefield. “I don’t think you’ve been with a man in a very long time. Is that right?”

  Her lashes fell, and he could no longer judge her expression.

  “I’ve had sex in my life a total of five times…all with Jesse. I had already decided to break it off when I found out I was pregnant.” She sighed. “Since then…well, you try being an unwed mother, a full-time student and a grateful niece. Boyfriends were way down on my radar.”

  A sharp pain in his chest made it hard to breathe. She had been through a hell of a lot, and the responsibility for all of it lay firmly at his family’s door. They had all let her down. Mac. Jesse. Trent.

  He couldn’t bear to think of it anymore. Not right now. Not with the epitome of every one of his fantasies just a hand’s width away.

  “Come here, Bryn. It will be better this time, I swear.”

  A smile flitted across her expressive face, but she allowed him to pull her beneath the covers. “It wasn’t all that bad before,” she teased gently.

  She insisted on being the one to put on the condom. Her clumsiness was both amusing and arousing. He moved half on top of her, shuddering at the sense of homecoming. “I can do better.”

  He put his hand on her thigh, between her legs. She was wet already and warm, so warm. Being with Bryn was like basking in front of a fire on a rainy winter’s night. She chased away the cold. And she filled him up in places he never knew were empty. Why was he so afraid to take her at face value? What more proof did he need?

  She wasn’t content to be passive. As he caressed her, she set about to drive him over the edge. She was a fast learner, and she was uncannily attuned to his body’s responses. Her small, soft hands touched him everywhere. He burned. He ached. He struggled to breathe.

  He heard her laugh once, and a shiver snaked its way down his spine. It was the sound of a woman discovering her power. And his weakness.

  In the distance, the sound of rain drummed steadily on the tin roof. The seclusion lent a surreal note to the night’s events. A wild, windswept ride, a deserted, ramshackle cabin. A man and a woman discovering each other’s intimate secrets.

  If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was all a dream. He leaned on his elbow, winnowing his fingers through her hair. His body insisted he seal the deal, but he was desperate to make the night stretch beyond its limits. He brushed a thumb across each of her eyelids, replacing urgency with tenderness. Passion slowed to a quiet burn.

  “I wish we could go back and change the past,” he muttered.

  Her expression, even in the firelight, was bleak. “I have a child, Trent. I wouldn’t change that if I could. Whether or not you can come to terms with Allen’s existence will decide how all of this plays out. I won’t hide my son and I won’t apologize for him.”

  He was struck by her quiet confidence. She might be a novice in bed, but she was a mature woman with undeniable strength…an appealing mixture of vulnerability and determination.

  Already her taste was like a drug he couldn’t resist. He slid an arm beneath her neck, pulled her to him and kissed her. He shoved aside all the questions, the problems, the uncertainties. One thing he knew for sure. Bryn Matthews was his. He’d worry later about the details.

  Tonight was not the time.

  Their tongues mated lazily. He was on his side with Bryn tucked to his chest. In this position, he could play with her breasts at will, could caress the inward slope of her waist, the seductive curve of her hip. One of her legs slid between his, and his heart punched in his rib cage.

  The hunger blindsided him, not blunted at all by earlier release. “Bryn,” he said hoarsely, “let me take you.”

  She spread her legs immediately. A rush of primordial exultation burned in his chest. He lost the ability to speak. Softer emotions were incinerated by his drive to find oblivion in her embrace.

  He tried to remember her lack of experience, wanted to be careful with her, but his control had reached the breaking point. He thrust hard and deep, drawing groaning gasps from both of them. Her tight passage accepted him more easily this time, but still he saw her wince.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was raw, his arms quivering as he tried to still the unstoppable pendulum.

  She lifted her hips, driving him a half inch deeper. “Don’t stop.” She whispered it, pleading, demanding. “I want it all.”

  He snapped then, driving into her again and again, feeling the squeeze of her inner muscles as she climaxed, and still he couldn’t stop. Over and over, blind, lost to reason or will.

  The end, when it came, was terrifying in its power. He’d built a life on control…on dominance. But in those last cataclysmic seconds, his body shud
dered and quaked in a release that was like razor blades of sensation flooding his body as he emptied himself into hers. It went on forever. He lost who he was. He forgot where he was.

  All he could see through a haze of exhaustion was Bryn.

  Bryn was everything.

  Nine

  They made it back to the ranch before daybreak, but only barely. The storm had passed on, leaving only faint flashes of light in the distance. Bryn was boneless with exhaustion. Were it not for Trent’s strong arms surrounding her, she might have fallen from the horse.

  The return was no mad gallop. The horse was tired, as well, and they made the trip at a slow amble. Bryn wanted to cry with the knowledge that their stolen moment in time was over. Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, all the problems would still exist. Mac’s illness. Jesse’s tragedy. Allen’s paternity. The letters.

  Just before they reached the barn, Bryn turned and buried her lips at Trent’s throat. She felt his heart beating in time with hers. Awkwardly, she curled one arm around his waist, wanting to hold on, craving one last moment of believing that he cared about her.

  Perhaps some of his hostility had been erased for good. But she was under no illusions. Trent hadn’t said he believed her. Not yet.

  He helped her down from the horse and held her close for several seconds before he bent his head and kissed her.

  His voice was hoarse with fatigue. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you later this morning.”

  She knew he had to tend to the animal, but she felt rebuffed even so. Was that how it was going to be? Trent being his usual aloof, self-contained self, Bryn desperate for any scrap of affection he might offer. The picture that painted made her wince. She’d spent six years proving to herself that she was a strong woman who could put her life back in order. She couldn’t let her feelings for Trent make her lose sight of the fact that she was first and foremost Allen’s mother.

  She had come here to secure her son’s future. And to care for Mac. What happened tonight changed nothing.

  Trent recognized the watershed moment in his life. As much as it hurt, he had to admit that Jesse was not what he seemed. Trent’s baby brother had lied to, stolen from and hurt the one woman who had always been dear to the Sinclair family. The woman who above all deserved their support and protection. But Jesse wasn’t the only villain. By their cruel actions, Trent and Mac were partly to blame.

  Mac had begun the process of reconciliation. It was up to Trent to carry it through.

  He decided on the front porch as neutral ground. When Mac headed off for his usual post-lunch nap, Trent lingered for a heart-to-heart with Bryn. She seemed oblivious to the gravity of the moment, and followed him outside without question.

  Trent took her wrist. “Sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

  She sank into a chair, her expression cautious.

  “I realize that you were telling the truth all along about Jesse. Your son is Jesse’s boy.”

  Her smile was watery. “Yes. Thank you for believing me.”

  He shrugged. “I still think we need to do some testing. For legal reasons. But Mac seems reluctant. Do you have any idea why?”

  She shook her head. “I really don’t know. He’s admitted that he believes me, too. But I get the feeling there’s something he’s not telling me.”

  Trent took a deep breath. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

  Her unmistakable hesitation sent an arrow of astonishment to his gut followed by a painful shaft of disappointment. He knew her well enough to see the little flash of guilt…the way her gaze shifted from his. Well, hell.

  The sense of betrayal he felt was crushing. He could persuade himself to believe her response was nothing important, but even his increasing desire for her couldn’t make him ignore her telling reaction.

  He clenched his jaw. “Bryn?”

  She was pale, and her eyes implored him to understand. “There is something we need to talk about…but not in Mac’s hearing.”

  “Well, that’s convenient. When were you going to tell me this big secret?” Acid churned in his stomach.

  She bit her lip. “It’s not that simple. People can be hurt.”

  “People?”

  “You. Mac. Your brothers.”

  His blood pressure spiked. His hands fisted. “Tell me. Now.”

  She held her ground, though she was trembling all over. “I will. I swear. But now is not the time.”

  “Dammit, Bryn.” He slammed a fist on the unforgiving wood of the railing.

  “Your family destroyed my world,” she cried. “And I’ve managed to forgive you all. But I won’t let you boss me around. Your money has spoiled you, Trent Sinclair. It’s turned you into an arrogant jerk. You think you can make everything and everyone dance to your tune. But you can’t. Not me, anyway.”

  When she stood up, he took her arm, halting her progress. “Tell me.”

  She nodded slowly. “I will. Soon.”

  They maintained an unspoken truce throughout the afternoon and during the evening meal. Trent’s frequent absences from the house made things a lot easier, though he did show up at the dinner table on time and carried his end of the conversation.

  Bryn avoided looking at him, her attention fixed on Mac. But she was hyperaware of Trent sitting only a few feet away. He was rumpled and weary, his jeans stained, his white dress shirt no longer crisp. But in a room of tuxedo-clad men, he would still command attention.

  He was an alpha male, and he had the confidence of twenty men. She wondered bleakly what it must be like to always be so self-assured. She’d second-guessed herself a hundred times as a new mom, and even now, she often worried at night, when sleep came slowly, if she could give Allen everything he needed.

  Not so much things. Between her and Aunt Beverly, they had a nice life of modest means. But sooner or later, Allen would need a father figure to guide him. Someone to toss a football with, to go on Scout outings, to learn what it meant to be a real man.

  Mac might fill that role in part, if he were willing. But he was getting older, and his heart attack pointed out the reality that he would not always be around. Bryn couldn’t bear to think of the Crooked S without him.

  It was a relief when the two men left her to her own devices and headed off to the study. Bryn decided to make her evening phone call a little earlier than usual. She missed Allen fiercely, and she wanted to listen to his high-pitched voice telling her all the silly inconsequential things that made his day special.

  In her bedroom, she shut the door, not wanting to be overheard. Her throat was tight, and if she got emotional talking to her son, she didn’t need any witnesses.

  Before she could dial the number, her phone rang, and the caller ID was Beverly’s. Bryn smiled to herself. Great minds think alike….

  “Hey, there,” she said, her heart lifting. “What’s up?”

  Beverly’s voice was solemn. “Don’t freak out, my love. Little Allen is in the hospital.”

  Bryn’s legs collapsed beneath her. She sat down hard on the bed. “What happened?”

  “He’s going to be okay. It was a severe asthma attack. I had to call an ambulance. He’s stabilized, but he’s crying for you.”

  Bryn had never felt so helpless. She swallowed hard. “Can you put him on the phone?”

  “Of course.”

  There was a small silence, and then her son’s weak, pitiful voice said, “Hi, Mommy.”

  “Hello, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry you’re sick. Is the hospital taking good care of you?”

  “I got ice cream for supper.”

  She closed her eyes. “That’s nice.”

  “I miss you, Mommy.”

  The knife in her heart twisted. It was hard to speak. “I’m going to get on a plane, and I’ll try to be there when you wake up. I promise.”

  “Okay.” He sounded drowsy now.

  Beverly came back on the line. “Don’t panic, Bryn. He’s perfectly fine. They’ll probably release him in
the morning. But I do think he needs you.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.”

  Trent seated his father in the leather desk chair and pulled up a stool beside him. He put a hand on Mac’s, feeling the slight tremor of his dad’s fingers. Trent had gone back and forth about what to do, but the doctor had reassured him this morning that Mac was more than strong enough to face the truth about Jesse.

  Trent pulled up the file he had saved on the computer and sighed deeply. “Dad, I don’t know how to tell you this without just blurting it out. I’ve been working on the books every day during the last two weeks. I’ve combed through the accounts repeatedly. And I keep coming up with the same answer. Jesse was stealing from the ranch. From you.”

  Mac’s expression didn’t change. He turned his palm upward and squeezed Trent’s hand. “I know, son. I know.”

  Trent gaped. “You knew?”

  Mac took his hand away and leaned back in the chair, his gaze pensive. “I wanted him here so I could keep an eye on him. Offering him the so-called job of keeping the books straight was supposed to give him direction. But I track every column of those ledgers. I saw the first instance where he shifted funds—I knew what was happening from the beginning.”

  “And you couldn’t confront him?”

  “I was scared. He’d developed a terrible temper, exacerbated by the drugs, I’m sure. He was trapped in a downward spiral, but I couldn’t seem to find a way to stop it. I was a helpless old fool.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Gage and Sloan and me for help?”

  Mac rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to think badly of him. You were his big brothers. He idolized all three of you. And I knew how much you loved him in return. If he had managed to get clean, he would have been so embarrassed that you knew, so I kept his secret.”

  “But Bryn knew.”

  Mac winced. “Apparently so. I didn’t know it at the time, but Jesse often called her when he went on one of his binges.”