Page 74 of You'll Find Out
“Dean lied.”
“Dean lied and the newspapers lied?” she repeated sarcastically. “What kind of a fool do you take me for?”
“A woman who’s foolish enough not to be able to sort fact from fiction or truth from lies.”
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“Then why did you come?” His thumbs slid slowly up her ribcage, outlining each delicate bone as it wrapped around her torso. “Did you come here to seduce me?”
“No!”
“No?” His fingers inched upward until they touched the underside of her breast, teasing the sensitive skin.
“I came here to explain about the money—and about Gypsy Wind.”
“The horse?”
“Yes—please, don’t touch me. I can’t think when you touch me.”
“Don’t think,” he persuaded, his lips and tongue stroking the flesh behind her ear. Her breath became ragged as much from desire as from the frustration she was beginning to feel.
“But I want you to know about the money . . . I want you to understand about Gypsy Wind . . . I want . . .”
“You want me.”
How could she deny what her body so plainly displayed? Her nipples had hardened, anticipating his soft caress, her skin quivered beneath his touch and the fire in her veins was spreading silently to every part of her body. “Oh, Brig, of course I want you,” she said. “I’ve wanted you for so long . . .”
Desire lowered his voice. “I don’t care about the money and I don’t give a damn about your horse—”
“But you will. In the morning, when you’re sober—”
“I am sober and the only thing I care about is that you’re with me. I don’t care how you got here, and I’m not all that concerned with why you came. It only matters that you’re here, with me, beside me . . . alone. Just let me love you tonight and tomorrow we’ll discuss whatever you want to.”
“I just wanted you to know why I had to see you.”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you did.” His lips touched her familiarly, softly tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. His hands gently shaped her breasts, feeling anew the silky flesh beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t hurried when his mouth descended to her nipple. It was as if the slow deliberation of the act increased its intensity and meaning. Becca turned her head and groaned into the pillow as his lips molded over her breast.
“Just love me, Brig!” she cried desperately as his hands slid leisurely down her backside to rest on her buttocks.
“I will, Rebecca,” he vowed, moving his body over hers and gently parting her legs. “I will.”
Chapter 4
Brig had long since fallen asleep, but Becca was restless. She had tried to unwind in the comfort of Brig’s embrace, but found it impossible. Continuing doubts plagued her. Though she had tried to tell him about Gypsy Wind, she was sure that she hadn’t really gotten through to him. In the morning, when the scotch he had consumed wouldn’t cloud his mind, he would see things in a different light. Nothing would change. If anything, the doubts he felt for her would only be reinforced. He wouldn’t forget the agony of the past, nor would he be able to rise above his long-festering suspicions of her. The night had only softened the blow slightly. Under the light of a new day his old doubts would resurface.
Becca shuddered as she anticipated his response to the fact that she owed him more than fifty thousand dollars for a horse that would remind him of the tragedy of Sentimental Lady. The fact that Becca had planned Gypsy Wind’s conception and borrowed money from Brig’s father to have her conceived would feed Brig’s gnawing doubts. Becca closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, attempted to be lulled by the sound of Brig’s rhythmic breathing. But sleep was elusive; her fear kept it at bay.
Her love for Brig was as deep as it had ever been, his just as shallow. If Becca had hoped to find a way back into his heart, she had destroyed it herself. Gypsy Wind would become the living proof of Becca’s deceit, a reminder of the grim past. Tears of frustration burned hotly behind Becca’s eyes and slid silently over her cheeks.
Sleep refused to come. Becca was still awake when the first ghostly rays of dawn crept into the room and colored it in uneven gray shadows. Slowly she extracted herself from Brig’s arms, careful so as not to disturb him. She reached for a blue terry robe hanging on a nearby chair and pulled it over her shivering body. Without the warmth of Brig’s arms around her, the room seemed frigid and sterile. She rolled up the sleeves of the robe, cinched the tie around her waist, and walked across the thick, ivory pile of the carpet to stand at the bay window. After pulling the heavy folds of cloth around her neck, she sat on the window ledge and stared vacantly out the window to watch the sunrise.
The sun crested the horizon and flooded the mountainside with golden rays that caught in the dewdrops and reflected in the snow of the higher elevations. Becca restlessly ran her fingers over the moisture that had collected on the panes of the windows. How many nights had she dreamed of falling back into Brig’s arms? How many unanswered prayers had she uttered that she would find a way back into his heart? And now that she was here, what could she do to stay in his warm embrace? Brig’s words of the night before came back to taunt her:“Why did we let it go so sour?”If only she knew. How had something so beautiful turned ugly? Becca smiled grimly to herself as she reconstructed the events that had drawn Brig to her, only to cruelly push him away.
* * *
The party had been Dean’s idea, a way to gain more national press coverage for his sister and the filly. Until that night, not much attention had been given the tall girl from California with the small stables and what was rumored to be the fastest Thoroughbred filly ever bred on California soil. The wiser, more sophisticated breeders in the East had considered Becca Peters and Starlight Breeding Farm much the way they did with any new West Coast contender: a lot of California hype. Until the untried filly had proved herself, few gave her much notice, with the one glaring exception of Brig Chambers.
When Becca had received word that Brig Chambers, himself a horse breeder of considerable reputation, wanted to see Sentimental Lady, she had agreed and Dean had suggested the party. Dean’s arguments had included the fact that news coverage would be good business for the Lady as well as Starlight Breeding Farm. He had also mentioned that Brig Chambers, part of the elite racing social set, deserved more than a smile and a handshake for flying across the continent to see Becca’s horse. Becca had reluctantly agreed.