It was after one when she pulled into her driveway and saw Adam seated on his porch. She kept her gaze carefully averted from him as she got out of her car and approached her front door.
She'd just reached her front porch when she heard his footsteps coming toward her. She tensed and reached into her purse.
"Please don't tell me you're getting your gun," he said from just behind her. "I keep telling you if you point that at me often enough one of these times you're going to accidentally shoot me."
She turned to look at him as she pulled her keys from her purse. "And what makes you think it would be an accident?" she asked coolly.
She unlocked her door then turned back to face him. It was difficult to look at him and not remember how masterful his mouth had felt against hers. It was difficult not to remember how his naked chest had felt against her own. It was hard to forget how much of a support he'd been to her in the brief time they'd known each other. "What do you want, Adam? It's late."
"We need to talk, Breanna. Can I come in for just a few minutes?"
She wanted to tell him no, she wanted to tell him to just go away and leave her alone, but she knew that sooner or later he would want to talk and decided to just get it over with. "I really can't imagine what you might have to say to me, but I'll give you fifteen minutes."
He followed her inside where she dropped her purse on the sofa, then turned to face him, arms crossed defensively over her chest. "You said we need to talk … so talk."
He frowned, as if aware that she wasn't open to hearing anything he had to say. He took a step forward, his arms stretched out toward her, but stopped as she took a step backward. His arms fell helplessly to his sides.
She didn't want him close enough to her that she would be able to smell his distinctive scent, feel the heat from his body. She didn't want her brain muddied by the desire for him that refused to die despite her wish to the contrary.
"Breanna," he began softly. "Nothing I did from the moment I arrived here was done in an effort to cause you pain in any way."
She eyed him accusingly. "You lied to me by not telling me who you were."
He nodded. "I guess that's true, but the first night I met you, I thought you were a prostitute. I decided to wait to tell you who I was and why I was here until I knew more about you."
"By the next morning you knew I wasn't a prostitute, that I was a cop and came from a good family," she countered.
"I know," he agreed. He dragged a hand across his lower jaw, then raked it through his curly hair. "And I should have told you then, but I didn't. I wanted to make sure you would be open to having a relationship with Uncle Edward and Aunt Anita."
"Have you told them about me … about Maggie?" Fear surged up inside her.
"No. I don't want to tell them until I have your agreement that you'll let them be a part of Maggie's life."
"Then you're going to wait a long time." Exhausted, she sank to the edge of the sofa.
He eyed her in obvious frustration. "Why? Why would you deny a couple the opportunity to bond with their only grandchild? And why would you deny Maggie the opportunity to have more love in her life? Is your hatred for Kurt so great that you would seek revenge on his parents … on your own daughter?"
"I'm not seeking revenge on anyone," she scoffed irritably. "I'm protecting myself … and Maggie."
"From what?" he asked incredulously. He sat down next to her on the sofa, not so close as to be a threat, but as if her words had taken the strength out of his legs. His beautiful blue eyes eyed her searchingly. "What are you afraid of, Bree? For God's sake, tell me what is going through your head."
To her horror, tears stung her eyes. She had tried so hard to forget the horrible things Kurt had said to her when he was leaving. She'd shoved his words deep into the dark recesses of her mind where she believed they would no longer have the power to hurt her. But Adam's questions brought all the pain, all the fear back to the forefront of her mind.
She turned her head away from him, angry that the tears appeared to be out of her control. She felt him move closer to her on the sofa and she wanted to scream at him to get away, to leave her house and allow her the privacy she suddenly needed.
"Bree." His voice was achingly soft and he placed a hand on her arm.
She jerked her arm away, swiped at her falling tears and turned to glare at him. "What difference does it make to you? Why do you care?"
"Because I love my aunt and uncle, because they've lost their only son and I know the knowledge that they have a grandchild will help ease some of their grief, will give them a reason to go on." His eyes grew dark. "My God, Breanna Where's your compassion?" His voice took on a hard edge that stirred the anger in her.
"Where's my compassion?" She jumped up from the sofa and faced him. "Excuse me if my compassion is spent on my daughter rather than two wealthy people who will probably only make her ashamed of her heritage!"
"Ashamed of her heritage?" Adam stood as well, confusion twisting his features. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the two people who raised Kurt." Tears raced frantically down her cheeks. "Before Kurt left, he told me that it was a good thing his parents were dead, that it would kill them if they knew their grandchild was going to be a little papoose from a half-breed.
"Don't you understand? Leaving me wasn't the worst thing Kurt did, but making me ashamed of who I am was, and I won't let his parents do the same to my daughter. I won't!" Sobs choked in her throat at the same time Adam reached out and roughly pulled her tight against his chest.
* * *
Chapter 10
«^»
Adam held her as she cried with a depth of pain that horrified him. He'd always believed his love for his cousin was unconditional.
But as he felt Breanna's pain racking her body with deep sobs, as her words echoed around and around in his head, he realized there was a part of him that didn't like his cousin at all. There was a part of him where a rich anger had been growing for years and now threatened to explode.
This wasn't just a nasty mess Kurt had left behind. This was a real woman, with real emotions and real pain intentionally inflicted by a man Adam had believed he'd loved.
He held her tight, as if the circle of his arms could somehow staunch the pain, stop her tears. He didn't try to speak to her, knew she was beyond listening. He also knew instinctively that the tears she spilled now had probably been balled up inside of her for years.
She cried with her arms around his neck, her face buried in the front of his shirt as she leaned weakly against him. As his shirt grew damp, he wondered how many tears a woman could cry … a thousand … a million?
As the minutes passed, her sobs became less intense and she finally pulled away from him and once again sank down to the sofa. Her eyes were red-rimmed and utterly hollow.
Adam sat next to her and took her hand in his, grateful when she didn't fight him and pull her hand away. "Over the years, my aunt and uncle and I used many adjectives when describing Kurt. He was flighty and unfocused, adventurous and easily bored. We should have been using the truthful adjectives … like irresponsible and lazy and cruel."
The truth seared through him, destroying any illusions he'd ever entertained about Kurt. It was one thing to grieve a man who had died, quite another to grieve for a man who had never existed.
"I've spent my life following behind Kurt, cleaning up whatever chaos he'd left behind … and there was always plenty of chaos."
A deep-seated anger rose to the surface as he thought of the time, the energy that was spent on Kurt's life. "I tried to be a mentor, a role model of sorts, but instead I became his keeper. But you can't blame my aunt Anita and uncle Edward for the kind of man Kurt was. They are good, decent people who would be appalled by Kurt's words to you."
She sighed and pulled her hand from his. "Kurt told me his parents were dead, but he also told me they had been selfish, mean people who only believed in the almighty dollar.
He told me that, before their deaths, they had tried to control him and if they'd been alive when Maggie was born, they would have used their power and influence to take her away from me, to make her into the image of themselves."
"I neglected to mention another adjective that obviously described Kurt." Pain shot through Adam. "He was a liar who used lies to manipulate people into doing what he wanted."
Breanna leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "I don't know what to believe. I've read articles about Edward and Anita Randolf I know they're wealthy and high-society. How can I trust that they aren't the people Kurt thought they were." She opened her eyes and gazed at Adam once again.
"I'm not going to lie to you. They are wealthy … incredibly wealthy, but that doesn't make them bad people. I was a grieving eleven-year-old when they opened up their house, their hearts to me. They loved me like a son and made me a part of their family."
He could see she still didn't believe him. "Breanna, Kurt lied about them being dead, he apparently lied when he said his marriage vows to you, how can you believe anything he told you?"
She sighed again. "I don't know, Adam. I don't know what to believe about anything anymore."
Once again he reached out and took her hand in his. "I'll make you a deal. I won't tell my aunt and uncle about Maggie until you give me the okay. But, in the meantime, I want you to consider it. They need her, Breanna, and I promise you won't be sorry if you give them a chance to be a part of her life."
"I just … I need some time," she finally said.
He nodded, then tightened his grip on her hand. "I've missed talking to you the past couple of days."
"I've been very angry with you."
"As you should have been," he agreed. "I just need you to understand that I didn't mean to betray your trust. I didn't mean to hurt you."
She said nothing, but the hollow look in her eyes seemed to fill with a touch of warmth. "The phone calls have stopped," she said, changing the subject.
"They have?" He eyed her in surprise.
"I didn't receive another one after I hooked up the caller ID."
"That's odd, isn't it? Who did you tell about the ID?" She seemed to have forgotten that her hand was still in his. He liked the feel of her hand, so small and dainty and swallowed by his bigger one.
"My family … my partner. Why?"
"I just think it's weird that the calls stopped the minute you got the ID box."
"I figured either it was Michael Rivers and our little discussion with him backed him off, or it was somebody pranking and they got bored. I don't care exactly what happened, I'm just grateful the calls have stopped." She pulled her hand away from his and stood. "It's late, Adam, and I think we've said everything that needs to be said."
He stood and followed her to the front door. She looked small and vulnerable and when he thought of the things Kurt had said to her, his blood boiled hot in his veins.
When they got to her front door, he paused just inside, wanting … needing to touch her in some way, erase the memory of Kurt's hurtful words.
She looked up at him, her eyes dark and achingly beautiful. "You said before that you've spent your life cleaning up Kurt's messes. Is that what I am to you? A mess that needs to be taken care of, a problem that had to be resolved?"
A swift denial leaped to his lips, but didn't make it out of his mouth. "I came to Cherokee Corners with that in mind, that you were the final loose end … the final mess that Kurt had left behind." He saw that his words cut her and he quickly continued, "But it took me exactly one day to realize you were far, far more than a mess for me to clean up."
Cautiously, he reached out a hand and touched a strand of her shining hair. "The warmth of your family touched me and Maggie has utterly charmed me. And you … from the moment I saw you, you took my breath away. If I could, I'd take away all the things Kurt said to you that caused you pain. If I could, I'd make it so nobody would ever hurt you again."
She was in his arms then, her lips raised to his and he kissed her with a fervor he hadn't known existed inside him. Her mouth was hot and eager against his, but she broke the kiss abruptly and stepped back from him.
She shut the front door and locked them inside, then looked up at him, her eyes filled with a want that made him weak inside.
"I don't know if I really even like you anymore, Adam Spencer," she said softly. "And I certainly don't completely trust you. But I want you, and I haven't wanted a man since Kurt left me years ago. Still, I need you to understand that if we sleep together, it will just be sex … it doesn't change my mind about anything where you are concerned."
For a moment Adam was speechless. "That's fine with me," he finally said. "I told you from the very beginning the last thing I want is any sort of a long-term relationship. But I do want you."
He barely got the words out of his mouth before they were in each other's arms, kissing with a depth of emotion that made second thought impossible, threw caution to the wind.
As his lips possessed hers, he knew nothing and nobody was going to stop them tonight. The world could crash down around their heads, but he was going to make love to Breanna James.
* * *
Breanna would like to believe that she'd been gripped by some sort of temporary insanity, but the truth was she hadn't made love with a man since Kurt had left her nearly six years before. Her body ached with the need to be held, to be caressed, to be loved, and in the six years since Kurt's desertion no man had tempted her in the least … until Adam.
As their lips clung together, he started moving them out of the foyer and toward the stairs, but she stopped him. She didn't want him in her bed, didn't want the implied intimacy of him in her personal space.
Instead she kicked off her shoes and led him into the living room, where she turned out all the lights, leaving the room illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that danced through gauzy curtains.
Their kiss broke and she sank to the floor, motioning him to join her on the soft, lush carpeting. She didn't have to motion twice. He sank down to his knees facing her and cupped her face with his hands. In his eyes she saw a feverish need that would have wiped away any lingering doubts she might have entertained.
It was obvious he wanted her, but she was doing this for herself. It was a selfish act, feeding her own need to be held, to pretend for just a little while that she was loved.
His hands moved from her face down her shoulders, then cupped her breasts. She could feel the heat of his hands through her wispy bra and thin T-shirt. Her nipples tingled and hardened in response to the intimate touch.
She ran her hands across the broad width of his shoulders, over the muscles of his chest and down the flat of his stomach. He sucked in his breath, as if finding her touch a delicious torment.
In one smooth movement, he reached down, grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it off over her head. Her heart raced and she felt as if she were burning up with fever as his lips claimed hers in a deep, hot kiss.
She tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel his naked skin beneath her fingertips. He quickly unbuttoned the shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders, then reached around her to unsnap her bra.
As the wisp of lace fell away, he pulled her tight against him and she reveled in the feel of her naked skin against his. His skin was hot and she felt herself melting into him, as if they were fusing together.
Gently, he laid her back on the carpeting then his fingers worked the snap fastener on her slacks. As he pulled down her slacks, she aided him by raising her hips. He stood, leaving her there clad only in her pink silk bikini panties.
She watched as he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, then tore off his pants, leaving him only in a pair of briefs that did nothing to disguise the extent of his desire for her.
He rejoined her on the floor, gathering her in his arms as his mouth hungrily devoured hers. His hips moved against hers, the friction of his hardness even through the barrier of their underclothing driving her half-wild
with desire.
He raised his head to look at her, his eyes filled with a wildness that thrummed through her. "You are so beautiful," he said, his voice deep and husky.
"So are you," she replied. Her hands splayed across the width of his back, loving the way his muscles bunched and played beneath her fingertips. "I love the way your skin feels against mine."
He slid his mouth down the length of her throat and captured one of her nipples. As he rolled his tongue over the tip, pinpricks of fire exploded in her veins, radiating out from her breast deep into the very center of her being. He looked at her once again. "I love the way you taste," he said, then tasted her some more, moving his mouth to her other breast.
By the time he was finished nipping and licking her skin down to the waistband of her panties, she was delirious with want. But he seemed to be in no hurry to complete the act.
"Breanna," he said, his voice seeming to come from far away. "I … I don't have anything with me."
She frowned, trying to surface from the dizzying haze to understand what he was talking about. When realization set in, rather than upset her, it relieved her. He hadn't come here with a condom in his pocket, which indicated seduction hadn't been on his mind.
"It's all right," she replied. "I'm on the pill." She mentally thanked the doctor who had placed her on the pill three years ago due to irregular periods.
She barely got the words out of her mouth when he touched her through the thin material of her panties and she cried out in exquisite pleasure.
Then her panties were gone and he touched her bareness with quick light strokes that swept her higher and higher, moved her to a release that left her shuddering and clinging to him with panting gasps. Her body felt like liquid, boneless and spent, but more than anything she wanted to return the pleasure.
She plucked at his briefs and he pulled them down and kicked them off, leaving him as naked as her. She gripped him, reveling in his throbbing hardness and as she stroked her hand up the length of him, he moaned deep in the back of his throat.
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