With her hand still caught in his, he walked backward, leading the way to a door she hadn’t yet been through. He pushed it open on its silent hinges, revealing the master bedroom. In the silver-blue shadows, she could barely make out a massive bed. Its black metal posts rose upward nearly to the ceiling. The dark masculinity beckoned her like a den of forbidden pleasure.
A moment ago she’d wanted to surrender everything to Brent without a thought. Somehow this seemed different. More calculated. The sin her father had named it.
She felt Brent’s eyes as he studied her face, sensed his withdrawal in some intangible way. “Laura,” he sighed, brushing the hair back from her forehead, “We don’t have to—”
“No.” Her eyes sprang to his as need and uncertainty warred within her. What if giving herself to him drove him away? What if he found her body lacking? Maybe she should wait. But what if tonight was all she had?
She took a breath for courage. “I want you.” When the doubt didn’t leave his eyes, she cupped his face with her free hand. “And I want this.”
The tension eased from his face as he kissed her briefly, then led her to the center of the room. “Wait here,” he said, and went to the dresser to fumble in a drawer. Watching him in the dark, she placed a hand over her stomach to still her jittery nerves. Please, don’t let this be a mistake.
With the scrape of a match, a tiny flame leapt to life. He touched it to the wick of a candle, softening the room with a romantic glow. Above the flickering light, she saw her reflection in the dresser mirror. She looked more apparition than flesh, all golden and white, floating in the darkness.
He moved to stand behind her, a part of the shadows rather than the light. He was so much taller, broader, more solid than she, and so devastatingly male. She watched, transfixed, as he slipped the blouse from her shoulders. It floated downward and out of sight like a worry soon forgotten.
His hands shook as they came to rest on her shoulders. She watched in the mirror as he lowered his head. His firm-looking lips touched her neck the same instant she felt their softness. The reality of his touch contrasted sweetly with the illusion in the mirror, beguiling her senses. Her eyes drifted closed, and she relaxed against him, absorbing the feel of his hard body and tender hands. She felt the tug and release of her bra and imagined it following her blouse, drifting away like mist in moonlight.
His hands cupped her breasts. The thought of him watching her embarrassed and thrilled her as he fondled her nipples, bringing them to aching peaks.
“I’ve thought about this for so long, wanted to touch you like this.” He breathed the words against her hair. The evidence of that wanting pressed firmly against her backside.
The nervous fear subsided in her stomach, replaced by an empty yearning. This was right. This man, this night. The certainty of it settled over her as his hands traveled downward along her stomach, drawing a quiver from deep within.
As if lost in a dream, she felt him remove the rest of her clothing, until she stood naked with him pressed behind her once again. One of his hands returned to her breast, the other moved lower, holding her firmly against him. She could feel him straining against the confines of his slacks, knew he stood fully clothed, gazing at her nakedness in the mirror.
“My God, Laura,” he breathed against her temple, “you are so beautiful.”
Her eyes drifted open, and she saw herself: pale and thin, yet somehow, wrapped in his solid, dark strength, she was beautiful—ethereal yet earthly. Her breath caught at the expression in her own eyes, at the hunger that glowed beneath her heavy eyelids. When she realized he watched her face, that he too saw the naked hunger, she wanted to turn away. But the image before her held her entranced as his strong hands smoothed over her soft skin.
“Since that night, in the car,” he said, “I’ve wished a hundred times I’d been watching your face when I touched you. That I’d seen your eyes when you came undone.”
His hand moved down her stomach to toy with the patch of golden curls. A whimper escaped her as his hand slipped between her thighs, igniting her desire. Embarrassment won over boldness. She turned in his arms to bury her face against his chest.
“Love me, Brent—I mean—” She raised her gaze to his. “Make love to me.”
A smile flitted across his features as he lowered his mouth to hers. The mind-numbing kiss calmed her down, kept her from thinking. She twined her arms around his neck as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. Even as he laid her on the mattress, she clung to him, kissing him with her whole heart.
“Laura,” he whispered, moving from her mouth to her neck, “do you need me to wear anything?”
“What?” She frowned, thinking he was wearing too much already. Her hands tugged at his shirt, wanting to touch his naked flesh.
“Do I need to wear a condom?” he clarified, helping her with his shift. “I’m okay without one, unless you…”
Embarrassment returned a hundredfold. “No, no, I’m on the Pill. I mean—” She bit her lip, knowing pregnancy was a minor concern compared with the more recent consequences of having sex. “I’m okay, if you are.”
“Clean as a whistle.” He gave her a cocky grin, then climbed off the bed and stripped with provocative slowness. His body emerged, firmly muscled, lean, and sleek. He was every fantasy she’d ever had, dark, alluring, with a hint of danger. But when he came to her, he did so with tenderness and restraint.
The restraint, for Brent, was the hardest won, for never had he had a woman give herself so openly. The trust in her eyes excited him as much as the feel of her skin. She was as soft and fine as cashmere, responding to his slightest touch. He watched her face as he caressed the damp folds between her thighs. Her response embarrassed her—he could tell by the way she bit her lip to suppress a moan—but the pleasure was too tempting for her to resist.
Slowly, methodically, he touched her more deeply, thrilling to every whimper and gasp. She was so close to the peak, so close, he could feel it in his own body’s response. At last, she arched and twisted, reaching for his shoulders. “Oh, Brent. Brent, I—” Her fingers dug into his arms, pulling him toward her.
“Shh, I know.” He tried to gentle her with kisses as he shifted his weight on top of her. Her hands grew more impatient. When her legs came around him, he gritted his teeth in a bid for control. He buried one hand in her hair; the other he wrapped about the small of her back. Her moist heat nudged against him, beckoning him in. Groaning, he broke the kiss.
“Look at me, Laura,” he rasped.
Her heavy eyelids lifted a fraction, just enough for him to witness her dazed wonder as he pressed himself slowly but fully inside her tight heat.
With a gasp, her head arched back. He felt her spasm and watched in awe as she remained arched, suspended in a world of ecstasy. That he could send her soaring so quickly made his chest swell with pure male pride. She sighed and floated back to earth, her body relaxing beneath him. A smile spread across her face as she drifted toward sleep.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he chuckled as he nuzzled her lips. With slow, thorough strokes, he moved inside her. She purred against his mouth, returning his kiss full measure.
God, she excited him. Her blend of boldness and shyness touched something deep inside his chest. A small part of himself that he’d always held apart from the world slipped past his rigid control.
Rising on his arms, he gave himself up to the demands of the flesh. He plunged into her and over the edge, into a free fall of pleasure. As he descended, he realized Laura was right there with him, gasping for breath, arching with pleasure. Her arms opened, and he collapsed into her embrace, letting her hold him through the aftershocks that quaked his body.
When his heartbeat steadied, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. She gave a blissful sigh as she curled against his chest. As the hum of pleasure faded, doubt crept in. He hadn’t meant for their first real date to end in bed. He closed his eyes to block out the memory of how she’d looked at him m
oments ago. There in her eyes he’d seen the one thing he didn’t want to see.
Laura Beth Morgan imagined herself in love with him.
He had no idea what to do about that, what to say. As he lay in the darkness, struggling with his conscience, he heard her breathing even out, felt her body relax into sleep. Turning his head, he marveled at the contentment on her face. Her total trust reached inside him and twisted everything into knots. He didn’t deserve this—and she deserved better.
“Ah, Laura.” He kissed her forehead. “What am I going to do with you?”
—
Laura woke slowly to a delicious soreness in her muscles. Opening her eyes, she saw that Brent had also drifted off to sleep. She slipped her hand beneath her cheek and watched him. He looked so peaceful, she hadn’t the heart to wake him. But Melody was expecting her.
She raised her head enough to see the clock on his nightstand. One A.M.! How had it gotten so late? She glanced about, trying to decide what to do. A phone sat beside the alarm clock, but if she used it, she might wake Brent. If he awoke, would he insist on getting dressed and taking her to Melody’s? For a moment, she was torn, not knowing if he wanted her to stay, but knowing that was what she wanted. Very much.
Only what if her father called Melody’s in the morning, looking for her? While she might be a grown woman, entitled to make her own choices, she had no wish to cause more friction than necessary with her father. And Melody might be worried.
Easing from the bed, she blew out the nearly spent candle, then slipped into what she assumed was the master bathroom. Cringing at the glare of light, she saw that the room was small as most bathrooms were in older homes, but newly remodeled with gray, navy, and burgundy tile. After splashing water on her face and combing her hair, she found a navy-blue robe hanging on the door. The homey feel of terrycloth delighted her skin as the scent of aftershave tickled her nose.
She turned out the light and, in bare feet, tiptoed across the bedroom into the den. A flash of lightning flickered beyond the patio windows. She stopped for a moment, distracted by the rapid-fire lightning and wildly dancing trees. She was tempted to linger, but … But she needed to make her phone call and hurry back to bed.
Rummaging through the dark, she found her purse, retrieved Melody’s phone number, and headed for the phone in the kitchen.
Melody answered on the first ring. “Piper here,” her friend said over the blaring sound of Celtic flutes and drums.
“Melody?” she whispered, glancing toward the bedroom. “It’s me. Laura.”
“Hold on.” The music went down in volume. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I’m sorry to call so late.” Beyond the window over the sink, another shaft of lightning splintered through the sky.
“Is it late?” Melody asked.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“Oh. Well, time flies when you’re working. So what’s up?”
“I wanted you to know, I’m still at Brent’s.”
“Let me guess.” Laura could hear the smile in the other woman’s voice. “You aren’t coming here tonight.”
“Do you mind?”
“Shoot no! In fact, I really didn’t expect you. I take it things are working out between you and the news hunk?”
“I guess. I hope.” Thunder rolled softly over the house.
“You okay?” Melody asked. “You sound kind of down.”
“No, I’m fine.” Laura hesitated. “Although I need to ask you a favor.”
“Sure. Name it.”
“If my father calls in the morning, can you say I’m in the shower or something, then call me here?”
Melody gave a deep throaty chuckle. “God, to feel like a teenager again. Give me the number, kid.”
Finishing the call, Laura hung up the phone and let out a breath. She was committed to staying now and devoutly hoped Brent wouldn’t take it the wrong way.
Cocking an ear, she listened for him to stir. The quiet of the room settled about her. She had the oddest sense that the house slept, as if it were an extension of its master. And just as she enjoyed watching Brent sleep, she couldn’t resist wandering through the downstairs, smiling at the molding he thought needed to be replaced, running her fingertips along the polished surface of the dining table.
In the den, she saw the movie had run to the end and rewound itself. She ejected the tape from the player and slipped it back into its sleeve. As she set the tape in its proper place, she smiled at the other movies lined up in alphabetical order.
Brent was a man who liked things well ordered, completely opposed to the chaos of his early life.
Turning, she noticed they’d left their wineglasses on the coffee table. She picked up the glasses to put them in the sink before returning to bed. Only when she reached the kitchen, she saw their dinner dishes still in the sink. Brent must have been distracted indeed to have left them unwashed. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Deciding to wash them for him, she reached for the lemon-scented dishwashing liquid and a sponge. Before setting to work, she cracked the window over the sink to enjoy the smell of the rain and the feel of the cool air against her cheeks. Humming softly to herself, she filled the sink with sudsy water.
How ironic that she would so enjoy doing one of the very things she’d wanted to leave behind—being the happy homemaker. But this was Brent’s house. And the simple act of washing his dishes pleased her immensely.
Chapter 14
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Brent stirred as the sound seeped through his layers of sleep, like the echo of angry voices. He tried to shake himself awake, but darkness clung tenaciously to him, trapping him in that cramped spaced filled with old terrors.
Within the darkness, he could still hear his mother’s pleading voice and his grandmother’s angry objection.
“You can’t leave that kid here. Lord, I just got you and your brothers raised. Now you want me to raise him, too?”
“I don’t have any choice, Momma. Wayne and I got married today. He’s my husband now. You know he and Brent don’t get along, but they will. Wayne just needs time to get used to the idea. Brent’s a good boy, mostly. You know that. He won’t be any trouble at all.”
“He better not be, or he’ll feel the back of my hand.”
Light exploded through the room, jolting Brent awake. He bolted upright, panting for breath as the flickering light faded. Thunder rattled the windows.
Jesus. He wiped a hand over his face, feeling the sweat. When was the last time he’d had that nightmare? He glanced sideways, hoping he hadn’t disturbed Laura.
And found her gone.
Cold panic gripped his chest. She’d left him. Without waking him to say good-bye. Just as his mother had.
Realizing the source of his panic, he drew his thoughts up short. Laura wasn’t the type to sneak off in the middle of the night never to return.
So why was his heart still pounding?
He forced the irrational terror back down where it belonged. Grown men did not waste time on little-boy fears. Climbing from the bed, he pulled on his pants and went in search of her. She’d probably just had trouble sleeping, or needed a glass of water. Absently, he rubbed his chest as he crossed the den. Lightning exploded beyond the windows. When it died, he saw the glow coming from the kitchen.
He crossed to the door and stopped at the sight that greeted him. Laura stood at the sink in his navy-blue robe washing dishes and humming a cheerful tune. He watched her for a moment, willing the sight of her to soothe him.
“Laura?” he called.
“Oh!” She whirled, then sagged against the sink. Her neatly combed hair framed her face as she smiled sweetly at him. How could a woman who’d been thoroughly ravished so recently look like a cross between June Cleaver and Pollyanna? “You scared me,” she laughed.
He rubbed harder at the knot in his chest, irritated that the tension persisted. “Next time you can’t sleep, I’d appreciate it if you’d wake me as well.”
“I’m sorry. I—” Lightning flickered in the window behind her. Her brows drew together as she noticed his hand pressed to his chest, “Is something wrong?”
“No. Of course not.” Dropping his hand, he forced himself to forget the nightmare. Laura wasn’t his mother and she certainly hadn’t abandoned him. “Are you coming back to bed?”
“As soon as I dry these last few dishes.”
“Fine.” His jaw tensed around the word. A hurt look flickered across her face, and he cursed himself for his curtness. He started to raise his hand back to his chest but balled it into a fist instead, “Take your time.”
He turned and left her standing there.
In the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and told himself to get a grip. Her inability to sleep in his bed was not a personal insult. Most people had trouble sleeping in strange places.
At the sound of bare footsteps in the doorway, he glanced up and found her silhouetted in the light from the den. She hesitated, as if uncertain whether to enter the darkened room.
“Are you coming to bed?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.
“Perhaps I should go to Melody’s instead.”
A blow from his grandmother had never knocked the air from his lungs so quickly. “Is that what you want? To leave?”
“No…” She folded her arms about her chest, hugging herself. “Brent, what’s this all about? Does my being here upset you?”
“No, your being here doesn’t upset me. I just don’t appreciate waking up and finding you gone, all right?”
She came forward and knelt before him. With a reassuring smile, she took his hands in hers. “I just went into the kitchen to call Melody, to tell her not to expect me till tomorrow.”
He forced his lungs to take shallow breaths as lightning danced about the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” Her eyes chided him as she placed her hand against his cheek. “You were sleeping.”
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