The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO

by Janice Maynard

  They started out slowly, picking their way out of the yard toward the road. It would be the only safe place for what Trent had in mind.

  He bent his head. She felt his breath, warm and intimate, against her ear. “Forget about everything,” he murmured. “Forget Jesse, my dad, your son. Let’s outrun our demons while we can.”

  She nodded slowly. He was right. They both needed this. In the house, they were always tiptoeing, literally and metaphorically, Mac’s welfare foremost in their minds.

  Tonight, in the scented darkness, nothing existed but the two of them.

  Trent urged the horse to a trot and then a gallop. The powerful animal complied eagerly, his hooves pounding the hard-packed earth, kicking up tiny clouds of dust. The speed should have frightened Bryn, but with Trent’s arms around her, she felt invincible.

  The horse ran for miles. The air grew colder as the night waned. Bryn’s nose and fingers were chilled, but everywhere else she was toasty warm. Her head lolled against Trent’s shoulder. She could swear she felt his lips on the side of her neck from time to time.

  Finally, the horse tired. They were miles from home when Trent reined the stallion in and lifted Bryn to set her on the ground. Moments later, he joined her.

  For a few seconds, she was confused, but then her eyes cut through the darkness. They had stumbled across a cabin far out on the property. The ranch hands used it mostly in the summers, either for work or when they wanted to cut loose and have some fun.

  Had this been Trent’s destination all along? Or had he come here subconsciously?

  She swallowed hard. Trent was right. Danger cloaked them, locked them in a vacuum that allowed nothing in, nothing out. Her heart beat in her throat like a frightened bird’s. She wanted him. Even if it led to heartbreak later. Tonight was all that mattered.

  A narrow stream, much of the year nonexistent, flowed beside the cabin. Trent tied the animal with access to grass and water, and then turned to face Bryn. He was little more than a phantom in the dark night. Only his white shirt glowed. When he held out his hand, she stepped forward to take it. Their fingers linked…comfortably, naturally.

  Once inside, Bryn waited impatiently as Trent lit a kerosene lantern and began building a fire. He squatted in front of the fireplace, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of his starched cotton button-down. His jeans were ancient, but the shirt was one of a dozen just like it. The Trent uniform, as she liked to think of it.

  The combination of ragged jeans and pristine dress shirt summed up the mystery that was Trent Sinclair. He could go from polished businessman to rugged rancher in the blink of an eye. And both personas exuded confidence and sexuality.

  Bryn felt the first ribbons of warmth from the fire. The room was small. Trent had created a roaring blaze that soon knocked the chill off the unadorned space. Other than the wooden chair where Bryn perched, the only furnishings were the straw tick mattress and the iron bedstead.

  Trent opened a metal chest—thankfully mouseproof—and extracted a couple of old quilts, clean but worn. Bryn’s pulse jerked. Trent spread one over the mattress and dropped the second one at the end of the bed.

  He stared at her. “You can take off that jacket, Bryn. It’s plenty warm in here.”

  Was there a dare in his voice? She removed the garment slowly, aware that Trent’s narrow gaze tracked every movement.

  She wore jeans like he did, though hers were newer, and a simple, long-sleeved tee. Because of the jacket, she’d decided to forgo a bra. Trent’s hungry expression signaled his approval. Her nipples hardened. He made no pretense of looking away.

  He stalked her then, and she hated herself for backing up against the door. She wasn’t afraid of Trent Sinclair. But tell that to her ragged breath and trembling limbs.

  When they stood toe-to-toe, Trent lifted a hand and touched her chin, just her chin. “Is this want you want? Sex with me?”

  A brutally honest question. No euphemisms about making love. She inhaled sharply. “Do you believe me about Jesse?”

  He stepped back, enough that she could breathe again. “I don’t know. Not yet. It’s too soon to tell.”

  Her head dropped. “I see.”

  He touched the soft fall of her hair. “I’m not sure that you do. He was my brother, Bryn. And I loved him. He died in suspicious circumstances, and I can’t wrap my head around that.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what the future will bring. I’m not convinced of your motives or your reasons for being here. But I can put that aside for the moment if you can.”

  “To have sex.”

  “Yes. We ache for each other. Don’t pretend you don’t know it. We’ve been waiting six years for this. That’s a long time to want something. I need you.”

  I need you. The stark statement was a gift in its own way. The unflappable Trent Sinclair had allowed her a glimpse of his vulnerability. She could throw it in his face…try to hurt him. But any pain she inflicted would ricochet and shred her heart in the process.

  She shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling as if she might fly apart. “And afterward?”

  A flush of color marked his cheekbones, and his dark eyes glittered with desire. “I don’t think once will be enough. I want to take you over and over and over until we’re both too weak to stand.”

  She gasped and covered the sound with a cough. The image painted by his stark words made her tremble with yearning. He wanted her. He needed her. Could she bear it if he turned on her when the deed was done?

  “I’m scared.”

  His wicked grin was a slash of white teeth. “You should be, Bryn. You definitely should be.”

  Eight

  A violent crack of thunder made them both jump. Bryn’s shaky laugh held nerves. “At least you’re honest.”

  He sighed raggedly, wanting to make her happy, wanting to reassure her. “Nothing on earth could stop me from taking you in the next five minutes, Bryn,” he said. “Unless you change your mind.”

  His outward calm was hard-won. He wanted to ravage her, rip the clothes from her body, and plunge inside her until the torment in his gut subsided.

  “I won’t.” Her gaze was steady.

  Suddenly he was consumed by a wave of tenderness. “Come here,” he said, the simple words guttural and low.

  She hesitated long enough to terrify him, and then she closed the small gap between them. She lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, staring into his eyes as if she could delve the secrets of his heart. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to their makeshift bed. He had imagined having sex with Bryn a million times over the years, but in his fantasies, there was always a luxurious bed, scented sheets, quiet music. Reality was a stark contrast, but he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. His only regret was that Bryn might be disappointed.

  He laid her down carefully and stood over her. “If you want to say no, now is the time.” If she did, it would cripple him. But he was damned if he’d let her accuse him of forcing her.

  She curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. “I won’t say no. But I’m not sure this is wise.”

  He groaned, ripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. “It isn’t wise. It’s insane, Bryn. But to hell with everything else. Surely we deserve this one night.”

  The bed creaked as he knelt and made short work of undressing her. Her skin was smooth, pure cream. Naked, she looked infinitely smaller and more fragile. Innocent. But she had the curves of a woman, and his hands shook as he touched her reverently.

  Her breasts were sensitive, and he spent what seemed like hours kissing them, weighing their plump firmness in his palms, teasing the pert, dark pink nipples with his tongue and teeth. Each gasp and moan fed his hunger.

  When he saw her bite her lip, he put the back of his hand to her hot cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed. I love watching you respond to my touch. You’re b
eautiful. Even more now than when you were eighteen.”

  “I have stretch marks.” Her eyes shadowed with insecurities.

  He stilled, not wanting the intrusion of the past to ruin the present. An unseen little boy came between them for a moment, and Trent’s brain shied away from acknowledging the conflict that lingered just offstage.

  With a shaky hand, he swallowed hard, forcing himself to trace one faint silvery line at her hip. “No mother should ever apologize for that. You are young and lovely and sexy as hell.”

  He wasn’t sure if what he saw in her eyes was gratitude or doubt. “No regrets,” he said huskily. “Tonight’s all about pleasure.”

  The pupils in her eyes were dilated, her breathing rapid. “Then I want to touch you,” she said. She pushed at his shoulders. “Lie on your back.”

  Bryn hadn’t seen a naked man in six years…and in truth, Jesse had been more a boy than a man. So, the reality of Trent’s tough, toned body was enough to make a woman swoon. His skin was a light golden-tan all over except for a paler strip at his hips.

  She paused a moment to wonder jealously if he vacationed in the tropics at some wildly expensive private island with a string of girlfriends, but she doggedly pushed the thought away. He was here with her now.

  He tucked his hands behind his head, leaving her free to explore at will. His chest was firm and lightly sculpted with muscle. A smattering of silky, dark hair emphasized his upper chest, slid between his rib cage, and arrowed all the way down to his… She gulped, feeling gauche and in way over her head. Trent was an experienced man with sophisticated tastes.

  What did she know about pleasing him?

  Hesitantly, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His skin was hot and smooth. His chest rose and fell once…sharply. He closed his eyes. She leaned over him awkwardly, kissing his eyelids, his nose, his full, sensual lips. She didn’t linger at his mouth. Too much danger of him taking over and derailing her mission.

  Even his ears fascinated her. She traced them with a fingertip and repeated the motion with her tongue. She was shocked when her simple caress made him groan and shake.

  His sharp jawline bore the evidence of late-day stubble. She liked the rough texture, because it made him seem more human, less polished. With his eyes closed, he appeared docile, but she was not stupid. Trent Sinclair was powerful in every way. For him to allow her such intimate access was a concession that was only temporary.

  She moved her splayed fingers lightly down his chest, pausing to rub her thumbs over his small, brown nipples. He flinched, but didn’t open his eyes. His jaw could have been chiseled stone.

  Her palms burned from the heat he radiated. She reached his hip bones and lost her courage.

  Trent moaned and, still with his eyes closed, took one hand from behind his head and grasped her wrist. Gently, but inexorably, he placed her fingers on his erection. He was long and thick and fully aroused. She gripped his hard flesh and felt a rush of excitement fill the pit of her stomach.

  Carefully, she stroked him. His flesh tightened and flexed in her grasp. He was hot as fire, hard as velvet-covered steel, and so amazingly alive. Without weighing the consequences, she bent her head and tasted him. His hips came off the bed, and he gasped.

  His eyelids flew open. He looked at her with an expression that sent heat pulsating wildly between her thighs. He managed a tight smile. “That feels good, Bryn. So damned good.”

  The guttural words bolstered her confidence. She had no experience to guide her, but she wanted to know everything about Trent Sinclair. What made him smile, what made him shiver, what made him shudder in passion.

  She loved the intimacy of the act, the feeling of power, the exultation of being able to please him despite her naïveté. But he stopped her too soon, his expression rueful. “Not all the way. Not this time. I want to be inside you when I come.”

  Her face went scarlet. She could feel it. And for a moment, she panicked. Trent was a male in his prime, a dominant animal, a man set on a course with only one possible outcome. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Could she seriously spend one night in Trent Sinclair’s arms and not pay the consequences?

  His smile was more a grimace as he lifted her on top of him. “My turn. And this way I can see all of you.”

  The position made her feel horribly vulnerable. He had not joined their bodies. His erection brushed the folds of her damp sex and made her quiver helplessly.

  He studied her body intently, his gaze drifting from her face to her breasts to the place where their bodies were so close to consummation. His hands gripped her hips. “You’re beautiful, Bryn. But back then you were so young….”

  His voice trailed off, his expression troubled.

  She was the one to take his hand this time. She placed it on her breast. “Nothing matters outside this room, remember? We’re taking this night for us. Don’t think about the past or the future. Touch me. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  Her impassioned speech broke the spell that held him still. He toyed with her breasts, plucked at her taut nipples, tugged them until she cried out. His eyes flashed, and he came to life suddenly, dragging her down to crush her breasts against his chest as he kissed her wildly.

  He thrust his tongue between her teeth, taking what he wanted. She tasted the wine he had drunk earlier in the evening, felt the urgency of his hunger as he explored the recesses of her mouth.

  Her head swam dizzily. The acrid smoke from the lantern and from the fire mingled with the scent of aroused male. She smelled his familiar aftershave and the tang of his soap.

  For a split second, as he put her beneath him, fear pierced her muddled senses. She should tell him…

  “I want you, Bryn.” His voice cracked as he nibbled her earlobe. “I can’t wait.” He reached blindly for his pants on the floor, found his wallet, and extracted three condom packets, still linked.

  Her stomach clenched. “Are you always so prepared?” she asked petulantly.

  “No. Actually, I’m not.” His eyes locked on hers with determination. “But I’ve been carrying these around since the first day you arrived…for insurance. I knew how I felt about you. I’ve always known. And I wasn’t going to let bad planning on my part put you at risk. Do you believe me?”

  His eyes were warm. She saw the essence of the man he was in their depths. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you.”

  She flinched involuntarily as he parted her thighs and she felt the tip of his erection enter her.

  “Relax, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you,” he said gruffly. He stilled and kissed her eyelids.

  But he did. It was inevitable. When he pushed forward, filling her steadily, he met resistance, tightness.

  A half-dozen years of celibacy made her body unused to penetration. She gasped once, and then clenched her teeth. It was getting better already. The painful fullness was morphing into a stinging sensation that might be pleasure.

  He reared back in shock, but didn’t disengage their bodies. “Brynnie?” His incredulous gaze bore a hint of panic.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to concentrate on the incredible sensation of having him fill her completely. “It’s okay,” she panted. “Really. I can handle it.”

  But something changed. He continued to take her in deep, long thrusts, but he was so gentle, so protective, that her eyes stung with tears. He wouldn’t say the words anytime soon, perhaps never, but his body was making love to hers.

  His hips pressed her to the mattress, but he kept his considerable weight on his arms, looming over her in the flickering light. Sweat sheened his chest. He was breathing like a marathon runner, his eyes glazed with hunger. She whimpered as he ground his pelvis into hers, putting maximum pressure on the tiny bundle of nerves that controlled her release.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, needing to be closer still. This was what she wanted, what she had dreamed of for years. And the reality far surpassed her limited imagination. She hovered on the edge of cli
max.

  She wouldn’t have objected if he had maintained the incredible sequence of penetration and release all night. It was that good. But his body got the best of him. She felt his sudden tension, heard his muffled shout, and then groaned with him as he took his release in a rapid-fire series of thrusts that toppled her over the edge, as well, into a starburst of sensation that seemed to last forever. Trent Sinclair was well worth the wait.

  Trent felt remarkably similar to the time he’d been half trampled by one of his father’s prize bulls. He could barely catch his breath and his heartbeat wouldn’t slow down, no matter how much he tried to relax.

  In contrast, Bryn slept in his arms like a limp, weary, dark-haired temptress. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and sighed. He was in big trouble, because now that he’d had her, there was no way in hell he’d be able to let her walk away. She was his. That much he knew with a visceral, inescapable certainty.

  He looked down at their bodies. The way she clung to him was natural. Right. His arm tightened around her waist, and he wondered how long a gentleman would let her sleep before instigating round two.

  He wasn’t a completely terrible son. His cell phone was in his jeans pocket, so if Mac woke and needed anything, Trent was accessible. But the truth was, Trent and Bryn had the whole night to themselves, and some invisible, pivotal moment had occurred…though he wasn’t quite sure what it all meant.

  Bryn was almost a virgin…if there was such a thing. Her body hadn’t accepted his willingly. She’d been fully aroused, no doubt about that. But he’d had a difficult time penetrating her incredibly tight passage.

  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.