Page 72 of You'll Find Out
Dizzy sensations of a lost past whirled in her mind. Images of a moonlit night and a cascading waterfall filled her thoughts. “I’ll always love you,” she had heard him say, but that was long ago, in a time before treachery and deceit had ripped the two of them so ruthlessly apart.
His tongue moistened the lace and his lips teased her breast through the gentle barrier of silk and satin. Slowly, he turned their bodies, pulling her over him so that her breasts would fall against him and he could take more of her into his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction when the strap of her slip slid down her shoulder and her breast became unbound. She wore no bra to encumber her, and as the rosy-tipped breast spilled from the slip, Brig captured it in his lips and let his teeth tease the engorged nipple.
“Please love me,” she gasped, praying that he understood her needs were not only physical. She wanted to relive the happiness they had shared. She needed to claim again the time when he was hers.
His hands were warm as they pressed between the slip and her ribcage. So slowly that it seemed pure agony, he pushed the fabric past her hips and onto the floor. He disposed of each piece of her clothing as if it were a useless piece of cloth, used only to impede him in his quest to claim her. When at last she was nude, lying trembling in his arms, he took her hands and guided her to the buttons of his shirt.
With whispering softness he brushed kisses over her eyelids as she opened his shirt and slid her hands under the oxford fabric. Her fingers touched him lightly at first, gently outlining each of the muscles of his chest. His groan of satisfaction as she traced each male nipple made her more bold and she slid the shirt over his shoulders, letting her fingers glide down his arms and trace each hard, lean muscle. When his shirt dropped to the floor he gripped her savagely, pushing her naked breasts against the furry mat of his chest. His lips rained liquid kisses of pulsing fire over the top of her breasts before returning to her mouth. Once more his tongue pushed insistently through her teeth to capture and stroke its feminine counterpart. Becca wanted to blend with him and break the boundary that separated his body from hers. She wanted to become one with him, to feel his heart beat in her blood. An ache, deep and primal, began to burn within her, igniting her blood until she felt it boil in her veins.
Brig had never stopped kissing her and his hands hadn’t halted their gentle, possessive exploration of her body, but he had managed to remove his pants. She didn’t know the exact moment when he had discarded his clothes, but rather became slowly conscious of the fact that he was naked, lying under her and matching her muscles with the rock-hard flesh of his own. His hands moved in slow circles over her back and his lips left none of her untouched as he caressed her.
She felt herself tremble at the familiarity of his touch, the intimacy of his skin on hers. A flush of arousal tinged her skin and she felt the warm glaze of his sweat mingling with her own.
His hand passed over her thigh and her body arched against him, pleading for more of his touch. He wrapped his arms around her and rotated both of their bodies on the comforter, so that once again he was leaning over her, looking at her eyes, misty in moonglow.
Words of love threatened to erupt from her dry throat, but before she could utter them, his knee wedged between her thighs and took her breath away in a rush of desire.
“Becca,” he moaned into the tawny length of her hair, “are you sure this is what you want . . . really sure?” All of his muscles had become rigid with the restraint he placed upon himself. Beads of sweat, tiny droplets of self-denial, formed on his upper lip as he awaited her response.
In answer, she threaded his dark hair between her fingers and pulled his head down on hers. She kissed him with the fervid desire so long repressed. Six years she had waited for him. Six years she had yearned for his caress.
He groaned in relief as he gently came to her and found that portion of her no other man had touched. She seemed to melt into him, joining him in a pulsating rhythm that they alone had explored in the past and had now rekindled in the darkness of his bedroom.
The sweet, gentle agony began to build in her as she captured every movement of his body. The fire within her burned more savagely with each persuasive stroke of love, until she felt herself erupt. When he felt her release, he exploded with a passion that shook both of them and left him drained of the frustration that had been with him for the past few weeks. He held her tightly, softly pressing his lips to her hair.
“Stay with me tonight,” he coaxed.
She sighed in contentment, warm in the cradle of his arms and the luxury of afterglow. It was moments later, when the beating of her heart had slowed, when the reality of what she had done brought her brutally back to the present. Brig’s breathing was regular, but he wasn’t asleep. When she attempted to free herself of his embrace, he tightened his grip on her, imprisoning her against him.
“Brig . . . I think we should talk,” she whispered, hoping to find the courage to bring up her reasons for seeking him out. She felt him stiffen.
“Later.”
“But there are things that I—”
“Not now, Rebecca! Let’s wait, at least until the morning.” Her resolve began to waver. She closed her eyes and tried to content herself by resting her head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.
The image of a dark horse, racing dangerously along the ocean’s shore, hoofbeats thundering against the pale sand, formed in her tired mind. Lather creamed from the horse’s shoulders and foam from the sea clung to the speeding legs. Sentimental Lady ran with the wind. The image of the horse compelled Becca—she had to tell Brig all of her secrets. He had to know about Gypsy Wind.
“Brig, wehaveto talk.”
“I said not now!”
“But it’s important. Remember Sentimental Lady?”
“How could I forget?” His voice was coated in contempt. He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “Let’s just leave this conversation until later.”
“I can’t.”
“We’ve waited for six years, Becca. One more night isn’t going to make much difference.”
“But you don’t understand—”
“And I don’t want to!” His voice was stern, his eyes flashed anger. She felt herself tense at his cutting reprimand.
“I just want to talk to you. Don’t treat me like a child. It didn’t work before, and it won’t work now,” she whispered.
His voice softened. “Look, Becca, the past couple of weeks have been a little rough. I’m only asking that you put whatever it is you want to talk about on hold—until the morning.” He knew what it was she wanted to discuss, but he was too tired to go through the argument of six years past. He didn’t want to think about her deception, nor the ensuing scandal, didn’t want to be reminded of how deep her betrayal had been. All he wanted was to hold her and remember her as she had been before all of the damned controversy. His arms bound her tightly as he tried to forget the lies and anguish. “If you really want to talk about anything right now, of course I’ll listen . . . ” Brig pressed his lips to her eyelids and he felt her begin to relax. If only he could concentrate on anything other than that last hellish race.
