Now where the heck had Knox Brannigan learned that term? She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing.
His expression turned sheepish. “The things you pick up from somewhere,” he said vaguely.
“A ballet position?” He’d likely been with some professional dancer at one point in his life. “Was she a stripper?”
He laughed. “No.”
“Well, I can’t do anything like that in this dress without ripping stitches.”
“We can’t have that.” He inched down the zipper, his mouth tracing each inch of bare flesh he revealed. “No one tastes like you, Erin.”
His big hands brushed the dress off her, and she caught it as it fell toward her knees. Stepping out of it she glanced down at the black lace strapless bra and the cheeky little matching panties.
As a yoga practitioner and instructor, she didn’t have big hang-ups about her body. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about Knox’s reaction to it in the fancy underwear. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
His skin looked stretched over the bones of his face. His hands were clenched into fists. And his gaze felt hot on her skin.
Erin had the silliest impulse to throw an arm over her breasts and a palm over the apex of her thighs. But hadn’t he seen every naked inch of her before?
“Baby,” he said, and there was a dark, longing note in his voice. “Come closer.”
“I have to put away my dress.” She approached her closet on unsteady legs. When she turned from the task of hanging the garment, it was to find him right there, his big body looming between the jambs of the door.
He reached around her and ran his hands over the clothes, making them wave on the pole. “I love this room. Everything smells like you.”
The sudden ache in her chest made her push him back to put some distance between them. “You don’t have to say things like that.”
His frown lasted but a moment then he narrowed his gaze at her. “Second thoughts?” he asked, softly. “Always your choice, Erin.”
“No second thoughts.” Give up his kisses and caresses for what would be the last time in her life? Not a chance. She smiled at him and walked nearer to draw her fingertips down his hard chest. “It’s just…strange to have you in my bedroom.” Was her space ruined forever she wondered with a sudden clutch of worry. Would it always seem incomplete without the addition of Knox Brannigan’s special brand of masculinity?
He put his hands on her waist and drew her closer for his kiss. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth until she was squirming, wishing he’d move his hands and stroke her heated skin.
She drove her fingers into the thick hair at the back of his head and held there, prolonging the deep kiss. It caused his hand to finally move too, sliding down to run over her panties.
“Very nice,” he murmured against her mouth, one fingertip tracing the lower cut of the lace, which left some very sensitive skin bare. She wiggled and he squeezed the curve, drawing her against him so his hard shaft pressed into her belly.
The feel of it made her hotter, wetter. She broke from his mouth to take in great gulps of air, and he pressed his cheek against hers. His whiskers were the barest touch of sandpaper—clearly he’d shaved before their dinner out—but still the tiny scrape caused more chills to flash down her body.
“Beautiful girl,” Knox whispered. He pressed a kiss to her temple, her cheek, her nose. Sweet, soft kisses that made her heart flutter. “My beautiful girl.”
She had a moment to stiffen at the danger of the words and then he soothed her with a soft noise. “My beautiful girl for tonight.”
Everything turned dreamy after that. He pulled her bedcovers down and placed her on the plumped pillows, following her to the sheets where he began stroking and tonguing her skin in long skims and light tickles that turned her feverish. Achy. Ready.
He laughed when she tried directing him with her hands and caught her wrists to hold them over her head.
Delicious capture.
There was no feminine concern at his firm but gentle hold. She didn’t feel weaker or at risk, but instead pushed deeply into the pillows and arched her back in order to do her best to encourage his wandering mouth. His soft laugh was yet another caress, and then he obeyed her unspoken demand and sucked on her hardened nipple through the lace of the sheer bra.
She trusted him, she thought, as a wave of lust rippled her belly and made her arch again. Should she worry about that?
But it was impossible to think clearly when Knox’s clever mouth and hands moved over her. But not merely clever, she thought in that hazy way again. Cherishing.
Cherishing.
That only aroused her more. She undulated in his hold as he drew down her strapless bra with his teeth so it banded below her breasts. Hovering over her, he stared at them, then looked up at her face.
“Everything about you is made for me,” he said.
Pretty talk. Just pretty talk, she assured herself.
Then his mouth was busy at the hard peaks, taking her out of her head until she was only aching sensation and coiling tension. His lips slid down her torso, and he was using his teeth again, a tiny bite on the rim of her navel, on the soft flesh just above the elastic of her panties. They managed to drag that scrap of lace down her hips and thighs, and she wiggled and twisted until she could toss them away with one foot.
He was hovering over her again, now between her spread thighs so he could look at her there and she felt anticipation build, her pulse pounding. “Made for me,” he murmured again, then bent his head to taste her.
She flew, faster than that motorcycle ride. Faster than a shooting star in the sky.
His gentle mouth stayed with her through it all, soothing her as the last contraction twitched away. But then he started licking again, her hips in his big hands, until she was panting again, aching again, needing more.
Needing him.
She urged him up, and he found a condom and then he found her, hot and wet and ready for his first thrust.
They both cried out.
He was moving, a sure but slow rhythm, as he pressed kisses on her throat, her jaw, her mouth. Her hands clutched at his hard shoulders, her anchor in the heat and the building bliss.
She moaned, seeming to snap his control, and his breathing turned ragged as the movements of his hips sped up. Wanting to hold all that masculine power in her hands, Erin’s palms slid down his back to his rounded buttocks and the hard, bunched muscles there.
Knox groaned. “Erin…God.” He moved with more urgency, and her own pleasure rose in sharp staggers with each deep lunge.
Then he insinuated his hand between them, touching her on the slippery peak of her sex, nudging her that last distance until she took off again.
Her climax triggered his and he shivered hard and shook on another long groan. Then he collapsed over her, his head on the pillow his face turned in to her throat. His breathing calmed, and he gave a lazy lick to her tender skin. Then another.
It was her turn to shiver.
“I love you, Erin,” he whispered, each syllable a puff of warm air on her damp skin. “I love you.”
Oh, God. With his heavy weight on her, she couldn’t run away. So without a means of escape, she could only lecture herself in a stern mental voice instead. Don’t believe it. Don’t let yourself take seriously the words of a man experienced in pillow talk.
He probably said it to all the women who shared a bed with him—a warm token of affection, not real, not lasting emotion.
“Erin?” he said drowsily, perhaps sensing her dismay.
She had to play this just right. “I had fun too,” she murmured, turning her head away. “You’ve been such a fun man to know.”
Knox steered the Indian into the Farmers’ cul-de-sac. The motorcycle was running like a dream. When he’d paid Cass’s assistant Jolly the bill that morning—the older man had been at an appointment with his rheumatologist—he’d added a couple hundred extra dollars for
the care they’d taken and for the inconvenience of having to return Erin’s Fiat to her.
He’d driven it home the night before when he’d left her bed.
As he’d dressed, she’d made the suggestion herself, claiming she was too sleepy to return him to the Rest Ezy. He suspected she’d wanted their protracted goodbye—the one that had started days before—to finally be over, then and there.
Parking at the curb between the two Farmer homes, Knox released the chin strap on his helmet and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep a wave of exhaustion at bay. On his mattress at the motel, he’d slept in fitful starts between dreams in which he saw his father in the distance but he could never seem to reach the man, whether he was paddling on his surfboard, running down the street, or riding on the Indian. Awake hadn’t been any more pleasant. He couldn’t help reliving those last moments with Erin, her guarded expression, the way her big silver eyes wouldn’t meet his.
His lips had brushed her warm forehead, and for a moment she’d clutched his hand. But then her fingers had slipped from his, and he’d walked away as he had from women before.
Only this time neither one of them had been smiling.
Shit. Trying to leave behind the memory, he swung off the bike and unbuckled one of the saddlebags to retrieve the pink-wrapped gift he’d stashed there. He strolled up the walkway to Marissa and Tom’s front door, wishing he could have found a way to bring flowers for Marissa, too. The tiny present was for the recent arrival.
He made a mental note to order a bouquet to be delivered later in the week for the new mom as well as a selection of beers of the world for the proud papa.
That would be easy to arrange on the road.
The metal mailbox lid squeaked as he opened it, and he slid the package inside. Then, on a second thought, he pulled it back out. Maybe it would be safer in the hands of Deanne and Rob if they were home.
Just as he approached the neighboring house, the garage door began to rise. He stood on the sidewalk and watched a big pick-up back out then come to a stop in the driveway. Rob climbed out of the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” he said, his expression surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Yeah. Hello, Rob.” Then the man’s wife exited the house, and Knox raised his hand to greet her, too. “Hi, Deanne. I hear congratulations are in order. You both have a niece.”
“Yep.” Her friendly smile didn’t convey she knew anything about his date with Erin the night before. Not a flick of an eyelash indicated she knew he’d accosted a stranger. Gone crazy over a closet of cleaning and painting supplies. Come to recognize his symptoms of grief.
And confessed to her best friend that he loved her only to hear Erin dismiss his feelings.
You’ve been such a fun man to know.
He cleared his throat and approached Deanne with the small present in hand. “Can I give this to you to pass on to your niece?”
She took the small box, her expression pleased. “Of course, as long as you tell me what’s inside.”
“A baby bracelet. I found a little jeweler on the main street in Cinnabar—”
“Finley’s?”
He nodded. “They were nice enough to engrave it with her first and middle name while I waited.”
Beaming, Deanne clutched the gift to her heart. “Why am I not surprised you know every girl—even a brand new one—loves jewelry?”
“Great, Brannigan,” Rob complained, but in a good-natured tone, “make the rest of the brotherhood look bad.”
“Hey, I saw the furniture in that little girl’s room that you had a hand in crafting. That’s a gift that will be handed down for generations.”
Now it was Rob’s turn to look pleased. “Well, if you feel that way, maybe you can help me with something.”
Knox lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”
The only thing on his agenda was putting miles between him and Erin and that was going to hurt no matter when he hit the road.
“This way,” Rob said, leading him around the house in the direction of the rear workshop. As they entered, he indicated a beautiful wooden container sitting on a dolly. “It’s a hope chest I’m scheduled to deliver today. I could use some help getting it into my truck.”
The piece was incredible, with dove-tailed joints, a carved scene of a mountain home on the front, and Alicia Faye inscribed on the top.
Knox ghosted his fingers over the letters. “You should be doing this full-time.”
“I told you we’d like to. Maybe someday.”
The two of them trundled it from the workshop to the truck, then rolled it up the ramp the other man fitted to the pick-up’s gate. Knox watched while Rob secured the piece with straps.
“Thanks,” he said, jumping down from the bed. “All set to go.”
Knox rubbed the back of his fingers against his jaw, weighing pros and cons. Then he made a swift decision.
“When your brother’s over the first throes of new daddy delirium, I’d like the both of you to give me a call.”
Rob’s brows rose. “About?”
“I invest in ventures I find interesting.” The entire thing could be managed long distance if he liked, so he’d never have to encounter Erin. “Maybe I could do something for you and Tom. With you and Tom.”
Rob looked intrigued, but cautious. “We’re very small—”
“How I like things,” Knox said, “to start.”
“Okay,” the other man said slowly. “We’ll call.”
“Let me get you my contact info.” He walked to the Indian to fish a card from the saddlebags.
Rob shoved it in his back pocket, but his gaze didn’t leave the bike. “You never said your broken motorcycle looked like this.”
“1953 Indian Chief.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“In a storage locker. It belonged to my father.”
“Man, I bet it has stories to tell.”
“Yeah.” But since it couldn’t speak, he’d likely never know what possessed Colin to bequeath it to his sixth son.
Except, Knox thought now, rubbing his forehead, he’d never pumped Cass for any information he might—even unwittingly—hold. After hearing Mickey had passed on, Knox had assumed that lead was a dead end. And then he’d been distracted by yoga girl and the confusion of falling in love. But her father could know something…
Huh. He and the Indian had another stop to make before leaving the area for good.
After a firm handshake from Rob and a warm hug from Deanne, Knox turned the bike toward Mickey’s Motorcycle Sales & Repair.
“I thought I’d missed you,” Cass said, walking out of one of the bays as Knox pulled into the lot and parked near the office. “Bike running all right?”
“Running great.”
“Saw that extra you paid,” Cass said. “That wasn’t necessary.”
Knox waved it off, then glanced at Erin’s Fiat, sitting in a space nearby. “You haven’t returned it to her yet? Sorry for the trouble.”
“Never trouble to look in on my girl. Jolly and I’ll do it later.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Knox hoped he wasn’t going to sound like a fool. “I know it’s a long shot, but do you know anything about the Indian?”
“Only a few hundred were manufactured.”
“Six-hundred, actually.” Knox cast a look over his shoulder at the vintage machine. “But I mean about this particular Indian. About this particular Indian and my father, Colin Brannigan.”
“Well.” Cass crossed his arms over his chest. “I wondered when you’d get around to asking.”
Knox stared. “You know something? You…did my dad buy it from you?”
“Not me. My brother Mickey. And Colin Brannigan didn’t exactly buy it from him.”
“Wow.” Knox stumbled back and sat sideways on the motorcycle seat. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to.” Cass shrugged. “Sometime toward the end of the summer, your
dad called here. Said you might come calling and, if you did, I should tell you what I knew…but only if you sought out the information.”
Hell. Knox forked a hand through his hair. “Why?”
“I got the impression things might have been strained between you. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t be curious.”
You never take anything seriously! Bitterness crawled up Knox’s throat.
“Maybe he thought you wouldn’t care to know a little bit more about your dad,” Cass continued.
More confused than ever, Knox frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“The Indian was repayment for the seed money your dad put into Mickey’s business.”
“Huh?”
“According to my brother, they met on a fishing trip in Alaska quite a while back.”
Okay, Knox thought, that was something his dad did religiously, to the surprise of his sons. “He went every year.” Finn got to accompany him once, when he was thirteen, but none of the other brothers ever got an invite.
“That’s where Mickey ran into him. Your father didn’t use his real name when he was on those trips—Mick discovered it later—but I guess in the course of talking, Colin offered my brother a chance to start his business.”
Colin? Backing a repair shop in the middle of nowhere? Because though tourism had caught on recently, years back this area would have been quiet with a capital Q. Mogul Colin Brannigan had made a mom-and-pop style investment?
Wow.
And what was with the fake name?
“Mickey told me that over the years Colin met other people on those trips and he helped them get started on their dreams too.”
Now stunned, Knox stared off into the distance, hearing Erin’s voice echoing in his head. Knox, don’t you see? You give people their dreams.
“He said you get people started in businesses as well,” Cass said.
Knox’s gaze shot to the other man. “He knew?”
Cass shrugged. “Seems so. A bar? Something about shoelaces? Said you do real well.”
Tension pounded at Knox’s temples.
“Sounded like he was real proud of you, son. And he told me he thought that you, of all his boys, would get a big kick out of owning the Indian. He hoped you would, anyway.”
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