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 beautiful. 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 climax.
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.
Jesse had stolen from the ranch, from Mac. And the money had been used to buy drugs…at least once. Though Trent fought the sickening knowledge with everything in his heart, it only made sense to admit that Jesse had funded a secret addiction via his access to the ranch accounts.
Jesse had described Bryn as a manipulative, sexually active girl. But the woman to whom Trent had just made love was innocent and inexperienced, her body barely able to accept his at first. So in all likelihood, Jesse had lied about that, as well.
For the first time, Trent allowed himself to think about Bryn’s little boy. Somewhere in Minnesota there was a kid who might be a Sinclair. If Bryn was telling the truth, then Mac and Trent had treated Bryn abysmally. But what motive would Jesse have had for lying about his relationship with Bryn? Surely Jesse knew that Mac would have welcomed Bryn as a permanent member of the family.
Perhaps for Jesse the answer was painfully simple. Perhaps Jesse hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a wife and child. Trent would never know for sure.
Too many questions. Too few answers.
He eased carefully from the bed and stoked the fire. It was 3:00 a.m. Soon he and Bryn would have to go back to the house. And then what would happen? Nothing was resolved. Was Trent going to confront his sick father with the evidence of Jesse’s perfidy? Or should he clean up the mess and say nothing?
The trouble was, the Sinclairs had too many secrets already. Secrets that had caused pain and heartache. And Trent was no closer than ever to knowing how to sort it all out.
He slid back into bed, chilled, and groaned his appreciation when Bryn’s soft, warm body pressed up against his. Unfortunately for her, his cold skin wasn’t nearly as welcoming.
She stirred and sat up. “Trent?”
His heart stopped. The firelight danced across her face, her shoulders, her full breasts…painting an impossibly lovely Madonna. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, framing her face. She was like a vision, a fantasy…
But when he touched her, his heart beat again. She was real. She was here. And he would take what he could, give what he could…as long as the night survived.
He was on his back looking up at her. All it took was a smile to make him hard. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, her tousled hair a testament to their earlier lovemaking.
“I’m glad you came with me tonight.” He couldn’t resist stroking her leg.
“Me, too. I missed you while you were gone.” She pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head on them, regarding him sleepily.
Despite the awkwardness of the question, he took a deep breath and made himself ask it anyway. “Why was it so difficult for you to…”
“Have sex with you?”
He grimaced. “Yeah.”
“Why do you think?”
She was asking for something from him. But he felt as if he was traversing a minefield. “I don’t think you’ve been with a man in a very long time. Is that right?”
Her lashes fell, and he could no longer judge her expression.
“I’ve had sex in my life a total of five times…all with Jesse. I had already decided to break it off when I found out I was pregnant.” She sighed. “Since then…well, you try being an unwed mother, a full-time student and a grateful niece. Boyfriends were way down on my radar.”
A sharp pain in his chest made it hard to breathe. She had been through a hell of a lot, and the responsibility for all of it lay firmly at his family’s door. They had all let her down. Mac. Jesse. Trent.
He couldn’t bear to think of it anymore. Not right now. Not with the epitome of every one of his fantasies just a hand’s width away.
“Come here, Bryn. It will be better this time, I swear.”
A smile flitted across her expressive face, but she allowed him to pull her beneath the covers. “It wasn’t all that bad before,” she teased gently.
She insisted on being the one to put on the condom. Her clumsiness was both amusing and arousing. He moved half on top of her, shuddering at the sense of homecoming. “I can do better.”
He put his hand on her thigh, between her legs. She was wet already and warm, so warm. Being with Bryn was like basking in front of a fire on a rainy winter’s night. She chased away the cold. And she filled him up in places he never knew were empty. Why was he so afraid to take her at face value? What more proof did he need?
She wasn’t content to be passive. As he caressed her, she set about to drive him over the edge. She was a fast learner, and she was uncannily attuned to his body’s responses. Her small, soft hands touched him everywhere. He burned. He ached. He struggled to breathe.
He heard her laugh once, and a shiver snaked its way down his spine. It was the sound of a woman discovering her power. And his weakness.
In the distance, the sound of rain drummed steadily on the tin roof. The seclusion lent a surreal note to the night’s events. A wild, windswept ride, a deserted, ramshackle cabin. A man and a woman discovering each other’s intimate secrets.
If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was all a dream. He leaned on his elbow, winnowing his fingers through her hair. His body insisted he seal the deal, but he was desperate to make the night stretch beyond its limits. He brushed a thumb across each of her eyelids, replacing urgency with tenderness. Passion slowed to a quiet burn.
“I wish we could go back and change the past,” he muttered.
Her expression, even in the firelight, was bleak. “I have a child, Trent. I wouldn’t change that if I could. Whether or not you can come to terms with Allen’s existence will decide how all of this plays out. I won’t hide my son and I won’t apologize for him.”
He was struck by her quiet confidence. She might be a novice in bed, but she was a mature woman with undeniable strength…an appealing mixture of vulnerability and determination.
Already her taste was like a drug he couldn’t resist. He slid an arm beneath her neck, pulled her to him and kissed her. He shoved aside all the questions, the problems, the uncertainties. One thing he knew for sure. Bryn Matthews was his. He’d worry later about the details.
Tonight was not the time.
Their tongues mated lazily. He was on his side with Bryn tucked to his chest. In this position, he could play with her breasts at will, could caress the inward slope of her waist, the seductive curve of her hip. One of her legs slid between his, and his heart punched in his rib cage.
The hunger blindsided him, not blunted at all by earlier release. “Bryn,” he said hoarsely, “let me take you.”
She spread her legs immediately. A rush of primordial exultation burned in his chest. He lost the ability to speak. Softer emotions were incinerated by his drive to find oblivion in her embrace.
He tried to remember her lack of experience, wanted to be careful with her, but his control had reached the breaking point. He thrust hard and deep, drawing groaning gasps from both of them. Her tight passage accepted him more easily this time, but still he saw her wince.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was raw, his arms quivering as he tried to still the unstoppable pendulum.
She lifted her hips, driving him a half inch deeper. “Don’t stop.” She whispered it, pleading, demanding. “I want it all.”
He snapped then, driving into her again and again, feeling the squeeze of her inner muscles as she climaxed, and still he couldn’t stop. Over and over, blind, lost to reason or will.
The end, when it came, was terrifying in its power. He’d built a life on control…on dominance. But in those last cataclysmic seconds, his body shuddered and quaked in a release that was like razor blades of sensation flooding his body as he emptied himself into hers. It went on forever. He lost who he was. He forgot where he was.
All he could see through a haze of exhaustion was Bryn.
Bryn was everything.