In the hall, Lyndie linked her fingers with his and leaned her head against his shoulder in another astonishing show of support. "Your mother is a wretched human being. I'm sorry for all the pain she's caused you. And I stand by what I said before. You are not the person she says you are. You are worth something. You are valued."
"And I'm yours."
She gulped and croaked, "You are mine. For now."
Now would have to be enough. "Have you been drinking wine again?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Not even a sip." She rose on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "You said you want to taste me...and I want to remember every second."
He sucked in a breath, his body suddenly burning up with arousal. Not just a sperm donor but a man desired. If she kept this up, he wouldn't just be putty in her hands. He would be anything she wanted, everything she needed.
No, no. He had it all wrong. They'd have sex, and he would finally calm down. Finally...probably. Whatever. Sex was sex. One encounter had never meant more than another.
He told the soldiers to escort Miranda outside in five minutes, then peered down at the woman who haunted him, waking and sleeping. Do you really think a night with her will be the same as any other?
"Back to the party or home? Lady's choice."
Her gaze dropped to his lips...and she wet her own. Heat radiated from her as tremors rocked her on her feet. Every muscle in his body hardened for the thousandth time that day.
Voice low and husky, she said, "Home. As quickly as possible."
Chapter Nine
Meeting Brock's mother had been a big-time game changer for Lyndie. Oh, she'd known the poor guy had undergone some sort of psychological warfare most of his young life. But she'd had no idea Miranda Hudson was the female equivalent of Harold Scott, using her words rather than her fists.
Compassion blazed inside Lyndie. Poor Brock. Did he sometimes feel the heavy weight of isolation on his shoulders, threatening to shatter his soul? Because Lyndie knew the feeling well. Very few people understood the toll such abuse took.
Need consumed her. Need to comfort Brock. To show him just how much she desired him.
Desire must consume Brock too. He rushed her through the ballroom, never pausing as he called out goodbyes.
People whooped and hollered, then shouted advice.
"If you want this marriage to work, you've got to remember one thing, Brock. A wise man once said--nothing. He kept his mouth zipped, let his woman tell him what's what, and then he put a smile on her face." Virgil winked. "If you know what I mean."
"Don't you go trying to wear the pants in the relationship, Lyndie girl." Edna Mills, owner of Rhinestone Cowgirl, wagged a finger in her direction. "Neither one of you needs to be wearing any pants at all."
"Never go to bed angry." Anthony Rodriguez waited until the crowd had nodded before he added, "Always go to bed naked."
Jessie Kay West, reformed bad girl, shouted, "Take this man by the balls and squeeze. I mean this night. Take this night!"
A flush heated Lyndie's cheeks, and she vacillated between embarrassment and giddiness.
Ryanne and Dorothea waited at the exit. Brock paused long enough for Lyndie to hug her friends.
"You are a treasure, and you deserve happiness," Ryanne said. "Do not, under any circumstances, convince yourself otherwise."
Dorothea nodded and said, "If, at any time, you need us, do not hesitate to call. We'll be there lickety-split."
"I love you guys. So much."
Annnd Brock tugged her outside. A little laugh escaped her. "Eager to get home?"
"Aren't you?"
"Beyond." Cool night air enveloped her. Brock's luxury sedan waited in the roundabout, JUST MARRIED written on the windshield.
He opened the passenger door and practically shoved her in the seat. Then he sprinted around the car, slid into the driver's seat, and said, "I feel as if I've waited forever for you. Don't want to wait any longer."
Her heart leaped at his words. Her core ached.
As he broke speed records to get home, Lyndie distracted herself by studying his profile. Such a beautiful man. Every muscled inch of him. The way his fingers clutched the steering wheel tantalized her. What would those fingers do to her? Shiver. The rigid straightness of his spine as he leaned forward, as if he alone propelled the car forward, left her shifting in her seat. Raw, animal heat radiated from him, caressing every inch of her bare skin.
"Just so you know, I haven't been with anyone since James," she confessed. "And I'd never been with anyone before James." She'd feared her father's reaction too much. "I told you that you had better prove you're an expert, but meanwhile, you might be a tad bit disappointed in my performance. James said I was, well, lacking, and that's why he strayed."
The admission nearly got clogged in her throat, but dang it, she had to prepare him just in case James got it right. And oh, crap, maybe she should have confessed before the wedding and given him a way out. Brock liked--no, he loved--sex.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as his hands tightened on the wheel.
When he remained quiet, unease overtook her, and she found herself rushing to fill the silence. "I'm willing and very eager to learn. Obviously. And who better to teach me than you? Just...even if I disappoint you during our make-out session, remember practice makes perfect. Give me a chance or two or twelve, and I'm certain I'll develop all kinds of moves and grooves."
"I'm not worried about your talents or lack thereof." The hard lash of Brock's words might have scared her any other day. "I'm angry with your ex. He was an idiot."
All kinds of feminine power fogged her head. "How do you know?"
"I've kissed you. You are hotter than fire, Scottie. If he failed to make you burn, that's on him. And there's only one reason he cheated. He was a dishonorable, disloyal, disgusting piece of trash."
Um, that might have been the sweetest thing anyone had said to her, ever.
Tires squealed as he came to an abrupt stop in her--their--driveway. Theirs...for now. Her eyes widened as different thoughts crystalized. She was married after swearing to remain a widow forevermore. Her second husband had a go-bag in the back seat of the car, meaning he officially moved in tonight. In as little as two weeks, they could very well conceive a child. In as little as a month, they would divorce.
Time to take stock.
Heart? In no immediate danger, probably.
Mind? A jumble of uncertainties. Had she made the right choice?
Body? Fighting nervousness but still eager for Brock's touch.
As he jammed the car into park, got out, and rushed around to help her out, she twisted the new ring on her finger. A full moon glowed in the sky, painting his bronzed skin with varying shades of gold. No man had ever been so beautiful. Or so experienced.
Hello, nerves. So nice of you to return.
As Lyndie fought a new wave of fear--she had made the right decision, and all would be well--Brock latched onto her hand and rushed her inside the house. Something she noticed: his tremors were as bad as hers.
Another surge of feminine power flowed through her, calm and strength quickly following.
The cats slept peacefully on the couch. Good. Anticipation fizzed in Lyndie's veins. Need Brock. Need him now.
Somehow she had the presence of mind to stop him long enough to lock the front door and code the alarm. Then, fighting tremors, she took the lead and ushered Brock into her bedroom.
"How do you normally do this?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.
"I flirt. They flirt." He rocked on his heels as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "We kiss. Clothes come off. I insert tab A into slot B."
Well, okay then. If she allowed fear to dictate her actions--jumping Brock in order to calm her body and mind--she would miss out on all the precoital perks. "Flirt with me then," she said and waved a royal hand through the air.
Incredulous, he snapped his fingers. "Flirt with you? Just like that?"
"Unless you use
d all your best material on your harem?"
"Harem? Baby doll, I've never kept a woman." He unleashed a mock growl and prowled closer to her. "You're the first and the last."
Heart racing, she backed away. Did he have any idea just how profoundly his words affected her? Of course he did! He was a sexpert. "You've been fully devoted to me for an entire week," she said, realizing she was actually proud of him. "I think you deserve a reward."
He looked at her, his eyes heating, burning her body. No man had ever looked at her the way Brock did. As if he'd finally found everything he'd ever wanted or needed.
An illusion, nothing more. Which was good. Very, very good. If ever Brock developed feelings for her, she would melt faster than--
Don't be silly. He would never develop feelings for her.
He continued to advance, drawing closer, chasing her--and she liked it. "I want a reward," he said with a nod.
"Any requests?" she asked. "Let me guess. Oh, I know. That mouth to groin resuscitation we talked about!"
Though he radiated blatant arousal, he shook his head. "You'll suck me off when you want to suck me off. Not a moment before. Tonight all I want is a chance."
"A chance to...?"
"To give you everything you need. If you have a desire, tell me."
Electrical currents seemed to charge the air and every inch of her body.
"Also, if you want to hear my best material," he said, his voice almost a purr, "you'll have to change into something less comfortable."
Less comfortable, huh? Like her own skin?
That heated gaze...again, it made her burn. "A word of warning. My abdomen and back are scarred. If you don't want to look, we can turn off the lights."
"Lights stay on. I have scars too. Inside and out. But I also have a scar fetish."
"You do?" Her legs met the edge of the bed, and she stopped. "Really?"
He offered a slow, languid nod. "I do. Developed it two seconds ago." As he spoke, he rubbed a hand over the erection straining behind his fly. "I want to kiss and lick them."
If she didn't trust him so much, she would have question his motives. Too good to be true! He hadn't asked for details, but he had put her at ease.
He deserves his reward.
Head high, Lyndie pushed the straps of her gown from her shoulders. The entire garment whooshed to the floor, leaving her in a strapless bra and matching panties, two garter belts, and high heels.
Brock sucked in a breath as his gaze raked her once, then twice, only far more slowly. His pupils enlarged, spilling over ice green. Heat radiated from him and stroked her already sensitive skin. Passion fever...
The blood in her veins turned molten. Sweeping waves of excitement held her captive.
"You are so beautiful, Scottie. Perfect in every way. Your scars reveal the depth of your strength."
As she reeled, callused hands caressed her jawline. Those hands were so big, so strong, so different from hers.
He was strength personified, and yet he was so gentle with her. "You are more...everything than I realized. You are smarter, wittier, braver. More beautiful than a sunrise."
Okay. Stick a fork in me. I'm done.
Her defenses melted. "I...don't know what to say. Thank you doesn't seem--" Oh crap! Unless he'd just used a line? She'd told him to flirt.
"I can see the wheels turning in your head." He clasped her hips and effortlessly hefted her onto the mattress. "I'll never lie to you, never offer platitudes. I'll always be honest."
She believed him, because she wanted to believe him. "Thank you," she replied, her tone soft. "Trust is important to me."
"You are important to me."
His words had the same effect as a full-body grind. Her breasts ached. The apex of her thighs ached. Every part of her ached.
"By the way," he said. "I wasn't flirting before. This is flirting." He leaned down, putting his mouth at her ear. After running the lobe through his teeth, he whispered, "Tu m'excites."
French? Melting...
"Te quiero desesperadamente."
Spanish? Melting faster...
"Facciamo l'amore."
Italian? Nothing but a puddle of desire remained.
Voice trembling, she asked, "What did you say?"
"You turn me on. I want you desperately. Make love to me."
A moan escaped her. This man is mine, for now, and I'm taking what belongs to me. Woe to anyone who got in her way.
"Get naked," she commanded, tugging at his jacket. "Hurry."
Chapter Ten
Lyndie dropped the jacket as Brock yanked the lapels of his shirt apart, every movement frantic, buttons flying in every direction. The material gaped in the center, revealing ridge after ridge of muscle and bronzed skin decorated with the most incredibly detailed tattoos she'd ever seen.
Over his heart rested a patch of emerald-green scales. Riveted by the sight, she forced the pace to slow. Wanted time to savor.
Reaching out, tracing a shaky finger over the image, she whispered, "Beautiful." At the moment of contact, his pec jumped.
"A reminder to always have the heart of a dragon. Survival is possible, even as fires rage," he rasped. "Or maybe I hoped I'd look tough."
No way. These images meant something to him. "Heart of a dragon," she said. "What a lovely sentiment." Her fingers descended to his abdomen where a blackbird stretched mighty wings. Chains bound its legs. Or one of its legs. The second chain was split open, hanging uselessly, as if the bird had pecked free. "And this one?"
He pursed his lips but said, "Success in the face of adversity is possible. Our trials might ground us, for now, but one day we will be able to soar as long as we keep fighting."
And he thought she had depth? Hardly. This playboy was deep.
On his side, the image of a book with some words etched in a bigger font than others. Love. Friends. Protect. Along the binding rested a cross. A bookmark? "And this?"
"What we focus on is magnified in our lives, every time, without exception. A reminder that we shouldn't think about the things we don't have and can't do. Instead, we should think about the things we do have and can do."
This man absolutely, utterly floored her.
"Thank you for sharing with me, Brock." She walked her fingers across each side of his collarbone. "Want to know a secret? Hearing personal information about you turns me on."
He jutted out his chin and said in a rush, "I'm twenty-eight, and my hobbies include chess, playing the guitar, and restoring old cars. When I go camping, I take minimal supplies and live off the land."
Her chuckle drifted between them. Such a sneaky beast. Somehow he'd managed to provide facts without revealing intimate details about his life.
"I prefer not camping, but if I must, I only go glamping. Glamor camping. I like my creature comforts...and the feel of your skin." She rose on her tiptoes to brush the tip of her nose against the racing pulse at the bottom of his neck. "The scent of you always makes my mouth water."
A hitch in his breath. As she straightened, their gazes met, locked. Light and shadow twined, spilling over the hard cut of his features, making him look beautiful but cruel, haunted and haunting.
Who could have guessed Lyndie Scott would find such a man so...perfect?
Her ovaries seemed to raise their hands and shout, Me, me, me!
Brock looked at her with such blatant longing that those ovaries were momentarily rendered speechless. Then he raked his smoldering gaze over every inch of her for a third time, and she wondered if he was mapping all the places he planned to touch and taste.
Lyndie gulped. I have a few suggestions. But first...
As she traced the other images inked on his body--stars, an hourglass, a compass and a clock resting on the crown of a top hat, a deck of cards rising from the petals of a red rose--he remained quiet, almost rigid, his breathing shallow and quick. How easily she affected him, with so little effort. Feminine power continued to go straight to her head.
"Tattoos wer
e never my thing," she admitted, shamelessly breathless, "but you've converted me. I have a fetish now."
His hands returned to her hips, his grip light but unmistakably there. Hot and firm and deliciously possessive. "Consider my tattoos your personal playground, Red."
Red? "Don't be ridiculous." Eyelids hooded, mouth curling in a half grin, she said, "I consider all of you my personal playground."
"No wonder I like you," he said, nuzzling her ear. "If you want to play, we'll play."
Shivers rocked her, intensifying when he lifted his hands, grazed the sides of her breasts, and cupped her jaw. Little mewling sounds left her as he lowered his head...and fed her an earth-shattering kiss. The kind she'd always considered a fairy tale. He tasted her, laved, licked, and sucked, until no one and nothing existed beyond the bedroom.
His mouth seduced her, body and soul--his mouth owned her.
"Scottie," he said, maddening her. "Never stop playing with me."
Already she was too far gone to measure her words. "Never."
As if to reward her for agreeing, he tilted her head to the side and thrust his tongue deeper, devastating her senses. The calluses on his palms tickled her. The warmth of his breath caressed her skin. The scent of dark spices addicted her while the taste of passion electrified each of her nerve endings.
Yes, oh yes, passion had a taste, and she couldn't get enough.
"You drive me wild." As he shifted forward, urging her backward, he uttered more phrases in different languages until she responded with incoherent pleas.
"Yes...more... Brock...please..."
He cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples through her bra's lace, and she couldn't stop her breathy cry. Sensation overload! Too much, far too much, and yet she needed more.
"Brock!" Lyndie spread her legs to welcome him closer. When the long, hard length of his erection pressed against the throbbing heart of her core, she gasped. He groaned.
What remained of her restraint fled. Control snapped. Desperate for release, she deepened the kiss and kneaded the muscles in his back and his ass, and urged him to rock against her. Yes! Just like that. Coils of pleasure unfurled low in her belly.
"Again," she demanded.
He obeyed, nearly sending her over the edge. Mindless, she arched her hips to meet his next forward thrust.
"Not able to please a man?" Brock grated. "Screw that. You are setting me on fire."