by Mia Sheridan
He kissed me again for a moment as he began moving, and I was lost to the glorious sensations, lost in the heady amazement of sex. I felt my mouth tip into a smile even though Brant was still kissing me. He leaned back, smiling back at me, his eyes heavy with pleasure. “God, we’re magic together,” he rasped, quickening his movements for a moment, leading me to the edge of orgasm and then slowing. I let out a sound of protest, bringing my hands to the round globes of his ass so I could control his movements myself.
He laughed, rolling me suddenly so I was on top, and I blinked, the lust fog clearing slightly as we both stilled.
“You’ll like it this way,” he said, grabbing my hips. “Sit up and ride me, Belle. You have all the control now.”
Oh. I did as he said, feeling a tinge of nervousness, though my state of arousal was suppressing that. “How do I . . .?”
“Do whatever feels good. Anything you want.”
I began moving tentatively, experimenting, letting out small pants of pleasure each time I came down on him. Oh, I liked that. I leaned forward to get the perfect amount of contact and then moved faster, the beginnings of an orgasm spiraling upward after less than a minute.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Belle. Aw, Jesus, fuck,” he grunted, his fingers digging into my hips, his expression contorting into one of pleasure and pain as if he was trying desperately to hold back.
I slowed my movements, watching his expression relax slightly. His eyes were dark with passion. When I sped up, his jaw clenched again and he tipped his head back slightly, apparently trying not to orgasm before I did. A thrill tumbled through me, the knowledge that I was controlling this, just as he said, and he was completely at my mercy. I slowed, then sped up until he looked so tortured I almost laughed, watching him, learning his every bodily reaction to the pleasure I was eliciting. I, too, was teetering on the edge of orgasm, my playfulness having had the same effect on me as it was having on him.
“You’re the cruelest woman I’ve ever met,” he groaned.
I laughed. “You love it.” My voice was breathless. A gasping moan escaped my lips as I increased the pace of my movements, reaching for the bliss I knew was a heartbeat away.
“I do.” His eyes opened. Speared me. For several intense moments we watched each other as the pleasure grew. Spiraled.
“Fuck, Isabelle . . . I can’t . . .” he gasped, and his crass words coupled with the look on his face spun me over the edge. I sped up my movements just before my body tightened deliciously and pure white bliss exploded inside me.
I let out a choked sob of delight as Brant groaned with pleasure, his hips lifting off the bed and causing small aftershocks to burst through me.
I collapsed on top of him, breathing harshly, his heart pounding in rhythm to my own, our bodies dewy with the best kind of exertion.
When I began to stir, he turned me over, slipping free of my body and pulling me in to his side. “That was . . . I don’t even know if I have words for that.”
I laughed softly, cuddling in to his side and yawning. “Can we do it again?”
Brant chuckled. “I’ll need a few minutes.”
I nudged him. “Not right now. Maybe . . . tomorrow?”
“Beautiful, you can do that to me anytime you want.” He suddenly sat up slightly, leaning over me. “For years to come if you—”
I put a finger on his lips. “Don’t even.”
He laughed, pretending to bite my finger, and then collapsed next to me. The ceiling fan whirred above us, cooling my skin, and after a few minutes and a quick clean up, we got under the covers, holding each other. Brant was a safe, strong heat surrounding me, and my body and mind relaxed . . . drifting. I was asleep in moments.
I woke to the arousing sound of Brant’s masculine groan in my ear, his hot, hard shaft pressing against my butt. I moved back against him, eliciting another groan and letting him know I was awake. He lifted my leg, lowered himself slightly, and I stilled, unsure of what he was doing, but relaxing on a sigh of pleasure when he slid inside me.
He moved lazily, both of us still under the fog of sleepiness. He reached over my hip and found the spot that sent tingles of pleasure through my body. I moaned, and the small sound seemed to excite him as he sped up both his thrusts and the small circles of his finger. He played and moved, controlling his pleasure and my own this time, slowing, speeding up until I was so hot and desperate I thought I’d scream.
I came moments later, crying out and pressing back against him as he groaned his release.
I didn’t remember falling back to sleep, but the next thing I knew the light of dawn was filtering in around the edges of the blinds and birds were rustling in the trees outside the window. I felt slightly sore, but languorous and happy, and . . . ravenous.
Slipping out of bed, I looked over my shoulder at Brant who was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His dark lashes made crescents on his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted. A wave of deep tenderness rolled through me. How easy it would be to fall in love with this man. Despite that he could be arrogant and demanding, he was also caring and protective, and he could be funny and self-deprecating, willing to admit to his mistakes. Even when pointed out to him in a less than gentle manner. He was complicated, making my blood boil with exasperation one minute and with lust the next. He carried deep sadness inside him—I recognized it as a kindred spirit recognizes another. He made me want to get past the cool exterior he presented to the world and know the man underneath—not only his body, but his heart.
Oh, Isabelle. You’re already in trouble. You know that, don’t you?
Standing, I pulled on Brant’s shirt nearby, let myself out of the room quietly, and padded to the kitchen. Normally I wouldn’t walk through the house in nothing but an oversized shirt, but no one was here this weekend, and even if one of the guys came up to the house, they wouldn’t do so this early.
I stood at the counter as the coffee brewed, not able to stop the smile that played at my lips as I thought about all we’d done last night. We still had tonight and at the thought, a shiver of anticipation moved through me. One more night. One more day.
And then what?
Marry me.
I couldn’t, of course.
It was crazy. Ridiculous. Only . . . why did a sparkle of excitement tingle over my nerves whenever I thought about the fact that he’d even asked? Why did the echo of his words whisper through my soul, melting my heart and heating my body? Because you’re impulsive, that’s why. Because you’re prone to giving too much credence to the dictates of your heart, rather than the logic of your mind.
But, oh, my desire to reach for joy wherever it was offered was strong. I knew how fleeting it could be. Take it, take it, Isabelle.
I’d been impulsive before though. Even before that horrific day . . . even before then, the only thing that had kept me from regretting ever meeting Ethan at all was my daughter.
The memory of Elise blowing a shiny, wavering bubble through a red wand rose bright and vivid in my mind. It had popped in front of Ethan’s face and he’d winced and then laughed, one of those rare laughs full of authenticity, the ones that made me realize all his others were insincere. Despite his flaws as a husband, as a man, he’d loved his little girl.
Despair gripped me for a moment and I breathed through it, feeling the painful tension surrounding my heart loosen breath by breath.
But thoughts of Ethan and Elise made me think about the pile of money I’d put in an old trunk in the garage. I hadn’t wanted to cart it through the house and up the stairs. No one ever went in the garage anymore now that Mr. Talbot was too ill to use his tools, the only thing of use in that space.
So there it was until I could figure out what the hell to do with it.
The truth was, I wasn’t even sure why I’d transferred it from the storage shed to the property where I lived, except for the fact that Donna had said the contents would go up for auction in a couple of months. The car
. . . well, I hardly cared about the car, but it felt like I needed to figure out what to do with the money Ethan had obviously been hiding—at least from me. And this way, I had as much time as I needed to do that.
I’d considered calling Hank about the money. But if he knew, he’d have to do something in a professional capacity . . . perhaps I’d have to be interviewed at the police station, questioned. Would my story be splashed all over the news again? It made my stomach cramp to think of going through it all over, even now. And so I’d hesitated . . . putting off any decisions at all.
I heard the sound of the door opening down the hall and footsteps on the wooden floor and got a second mug out of the cabinet for Brant. I’d think about the money in the garage after this weekend. One weekend, one break from reality, and then I would figure something out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brant
We spent that day riding together. I showed her places that had once been my favorite spots, and she showed me her favorites as well. Surprisingly, many were the same. We ate sandwiches on a blanket under a tree by the rushing stream and then made love under the blue autumn sky, the chill causing our skin to erupt in goosebumps, but too turned on to let the cold stop us.
She had no idea what she was doing to me. How could she, when I didn’t either? I’d never felt this way about a woman, like a teenager discovering the joys of sex for the first time, like a man who thought he’d known everything there was to know about the pleasures of the flesh, and was finding out that was far from true. Perhaps I was experiencing things through Isabelle’s eyes, and somehow her wide-eyed joy was infusing me too. Whatever it was, I was lost to it.
We ate dinner by candlelight in the dining room, me regaling her with stories of when I’d been a boy and all the trouble I’d gotten into. She’d laughed, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed with humor, and I’d felt an unusual fluttering in my chest at the simple pleasure of making this woman laugh.
“Did you use to eat family dinners in here?” she asked around a bite of roasted chicken.
I finished chewing, remembering back. “Not often. On holidays. My mother wasn’t much of a cook.” A memory came to me then of running downstairs because the smoke alarm was going off. A black cloud had been billowing out of the oven and my mother had been dancing in front of it. Twirling. Spinning.
My father had rushed into the room and taken whatever was burning out of the oven as my mother laughed. I shook my head clear of the memory. My mother had sometimes been taken to strange behavior.
“What else was she like?” Belle asked, somewhat tentatively.
I played idly with my food. “She was a dreamer, who at times had her head in the clouds. But she was fun and enthusiastic and larger than life.”
Belle smiled warmly. “Funny. That’s how May described you when I first asked.”
A distant feeling of alarm rang through me and the fork slipped out of my fingers, clattering onto the plate. “Sorry,” I murmured. “Speaking of May, she called while you were in the shower. Dad’s doing well.”
Her eyes lingered on me for a moment as if trying to read my thoughts. I glanced away, taking a sip of wine. When I looked back at her, she smiled. “Good.”
That night we made love in the shower, in the bed, with our bodies and with our mouths. Belle’s tentative gaze reached mine as her lips closed over my shaft, and my heartbeat thundered in my chest, a plea repeating in my head: please don’t stop, please don’t stop. She was both innocent and wildly seductive, and I couldn’t get enough of her.
Let it be like this forever. You and me. We belong together.
As the clock struck midnight and Saturday turned to Sunday, I pulled Belle close, her satiny skin still dewy from our most recent activity. I felt her smile against my skin, her hand running lazily down my arm and back up again. Our weekend was down to a few lingering hours. Tomorrow I’d leave and go back to New York. She sighed and the sound was pure sweetness. She tilted her head and looked at me, and our gazes tangled. I opened my mouth to speak and she brought her fingers to my lips, a small smile dancing over hers. “Don’t even.”
I laughed and kissed her fingers, grabbing her hand in mine as our laughter dwindled, the gravity between us growing heavier. ”I won’t bring up marriage. For now anyway.” My lips tipped but didn’t hold. “But be with me, Belle. Be mine.” The words rolled off my tongue and lingered in the space between us.
Her fingers paused in their slow glide down my arm then resumed again. She leaned her chin on my chest and gazed up at me. She hadn’t said yes, but my heart lurched with hope. The idea itself didn’t seem to cause her hackles to rise and she wasn’t saying no. She sighed. “A commitment, Brant? How would it work exactly? You live in New York and I live in Kentucky—”
“We’ll figure it out.” My heart picked up speed, excitement overcoming me at the fact that she was posing questions at all. “We can go back and forth, or, I don’t know exactly, but we’ll come up with something. So much can be done remotely, Belle. At the very least, come with me to New York for the opening of my bar. Let me show you the city. You said you once wanted to see more of the world. I can show it to you. I’ll take you to see the Yankees play and to Broadway and to the best museums.” Anything seemed possible. Everything seemed possible.
My words faltered for a moment. I wanted so badly to convince her. “You’ll love staying at my penthouse, Belle. It has a chef’s kitchen and an incredible view of the city skyline.” I took a breath, trying to contain the exuberance in my tone. I wasn’t trying to scare her off, but God, I could picture the things I was telling her and the visions caused my heart to thump with want. Be with me. Just be with me. We’ll figure out all the details later.
“I only want to make you happy, Belle,” I said softly when she still didn’t respond. “You see that, don’t you?” I leaned down and brushed my lips over her forehead, breathing in her scent. “It wouldn’t be like your first relationship. I’m not like him.”
She breathed out, her warm breath gusting over my skin. “No . . . I know that.” She paused for a second and then laid her cheek on my chest. “I have to tell you something . . . or ask you, I don’t know. I’ve been struggling and—”
I sat up slightly, taking her chin between my fingers and turning her face back up to me so I could see her. “What is it?”
“That key, Brant, you were right. It was to a storage facility nearby. They changed their name and logo years ago, but it was still on some of the keys.” She shook her head slightly. “Anyway, I went there and discovered that my husband had a unit.”
I sat up a little more and she did as well, pulling the sheet up so it was covering her breasts. “Wait, what? He had a storage unit he never told you about?”
“Never.”
“Okay. What was in it?”
She bit her lip, looking away for a moment. “Money. And a car.”
I blinked in confusion. “Why would he hide it from you? And how much money?”
“I don’t know why he’d hide it from me. That’s what I’ve been asking myself. I have no idea. It’s a lot of money, Brant. About three million dollars, although I didn’t do an exact count. And the car is obviously expensive. I wrote down the number on the dashboard but have no idea what to check.”
“Where would he have gotten that kind of money?”
“I don’t know. I’m at a loss. We had enough, but we weren’t rich by any stretch. I started to wonder if he stole it from the company—or if his business partner was into something shady and Ethan was the one trying to protect the company by hiding money. A lot of scenarios ran through my mind.”
I sat against the headboard and she moved next to me, bringing her legs up under her. I thought about everything she’d told me about the murder of her husband and daughter. “Belle, do you think the crime against your family had something to do with that money? Do you think your husband was involved in something that ended up getting him and your daughter killed?”
&n
bsp; She flinched, a small flash of pain that moved over her face quickly, before she shook her head. “I thought about that too, but the man who broke in to our house never said a word about money. He took what was in our wallets, and the jewelry we were wearing, but that was it. He didn’t ask about any money, and he didn’t do a search of our house. He never left us alone.”
I kept thinking about that, but after a second, had to move the picture of Belle tied up in a basement, terror in her eyes, out of my mind. It made me feel crazy, violent. I moved my palm to her thigh, needing to make contact, needing to remind myself she was safe and unharmed, right next to me. “Do you think your husband was making more money than he told you and was hiding it away so you wouldn’t know?”
She chewed at her lip, looking down at my hand on her thigh. “That’s sort of the conclusion I’ve been coming to. I even think . . . he was planning on leaving me, at some point. He just hadn’t yet, so it would make sense for him to hide money in cash where there was no paper trail connecting it to him.”
My eyes moved over the lines of her face. God, that any man could have had her and not wanted to keep her with every fiber in his being? It was beyond me. “Would the people he worked with be able to confirm that for you? I mean, the part about him making a lot more money than he told you about?”
She nodded. “Probably. But his partner, Aaron, is my best friend’s husband, and she left him a couple of days ago. She told me some things that gave me serious doubts about him—said he’d been violent with her a few times, which made me question his character, his honesty. And the money could have been there longer than three years. Obviously no one is missing it. No.” She shook her head again. “I think you’re right about him lying to me. Hiding it so he wouldn’t lose half in a divorce. I’m just not sure what to do with that money now.”