But watching Connor’s reaction to her body, for the first time, she felt the power of it. This man, this notorious playboy, whose affairs were so legendary people had warned her about him…he wanted her.
She saw it in his face more clearly than he could have told her with a thousand seductive murmurings. His reaction to her filled her with power. And his desire surprised him, too. She also read that in his expression. He was shaken by how much he wanted her. And she’d never seen anything more erotic in her life than that mixture of shock and raw lust.
Need shot through her, zinging every nerve in her body with energy. Her fingers trembled with eagerness as she shimmied out of her dress. A breeze drifted from under the tree, tantalizing her skin as her dress fluttered to the ground, leaving her clad only in her bra and panties.
For a moment, Connor merely stood there, his gaze raking over her exposed body. Then he smiled, looking like a kid on Christmas morning, set loose in FAO Schwartz. Brittney was damn glad that the lingerie she’d always considered her private indulgence was not so private now.
He closed the distance between them, pressing his body to hers, and thoughts of everyone and everything else vanished. Her skin felt overly sensitized, every nerve ending aware of the brush of his hands and the grazing of his clothes. He was still fully dressed and her hands tugged at buttons and fabric, desperate to level the playing field, to expose the smooth expanse of his skin to her touch.
His hands were hot and needy, one cupping her breast, the other her backside. He hitched her up, wedging a leg between hers. The pressure at the juncture of her thighs was an exquisite torture. She rocked her hips forward and back, shuddering with pleasure. His mouth nipped at her neck while he thumbed her nipple through her bra, matching the rhythm of her movements.
She felt her nerves tightening, an orgasm just out of her reach. Sucking in deep breaths, she tried to stay in front of it. “Please, Connor,” she gasped, “tell me you have a condom.”
“I do.”
She was only vaguely aware of him fumbling for it. A moment later, he was thumbing aside the fabric of her thong and thrusting into her. He kept his fingers right at her juncture, rubbing the apex of her desire, pushing her over the edge as he reached his own climax, buried deep inside of her.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Connor’d had it all planned out. He’d sleep with her. Get her out of his system. Move on.
He wasn’t supposed to lose control. She was.
Knowing that they’d both lost control was little consolation.
Her body was still trembling as he pulled away from her. Heart pounding, he straightened his clothes. And then picked up her dress. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face. Picking her dress up off the ground was almost as disconcerting as taking it off had been. Nothing about Brittney was what he expected.
She blinked lazily, her expression dazed, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and red. Anyone who so much as glanced at her would know she’d just been taken up against a wall. Everything about her was erotic and tempting.
So much so that the sight of her might have turned him on all over again. If he hadn’t just had the most fantastic orgasm of his life. And if he weren’t fighting back panic. He got her back into her dress as quickly as he could.
She smiled up at him with dazzling trust. “That was amazing.” Her hands fluttered to her hair and then to her chest, like she was trying to keep her heart from pounding out of it. “Is it always like that?” Then she laughed as she knotted the ties on her dress. “I mean, I know it’s supposed to be good. But I had no idea…”
The tie of her dress was still askance. He reached to straighten it, but the small effort did little to help. “We’ve got to get you out of here. What’s the fastest way back to the parking lot, where we won’t see anyone?”
“Back behind the barn, I think.” She looked confused. “Should we leave?”
“Definitely.” He gripped her elbow and steered her in the opposite direction of the field.
“Can we do it again?” Her breath seemed to catch with excitement. She laughed again, that low, sexy rumble that stirred parts of him that had no business stirring. “Gosh, I sound so naive, don’t I? I just—”
He cut her off, muttering a curse under his breath. “Let’s just get out of here.”
For several steps, she walked along beside him. Then she stumbled, and he could almost feel her tension building. Suddenly she dug in her heels and stopped. “You’re ditching me already, aren’t you.”
“I’m not ditching you,” he countered quickly. Never mind that logic dictated honesty would be the best approach here. She looked too hurt for him to go with honesty. So he hedged. “I’m going to take you home. You said yourself you didn’t want any gossip. If anyone saw you looking like this, there’d be talk.”
She held up her palms as if warding off an attack. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it.” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, and he had the uneasy sensation she’d summed up the breadth of his soul, as well. “This is the kind of guy you are.” Her lips curved in a wry, self-deprecating smile. “I knew it going in. I was warned. I saw it coming from a mile away. And I still fell for it. My mistake.”
Her arms wrapped around her waist and she brushed past, heading for her car without looking back.
Let her go, his logical mind demanded. Just let her walk away. That’ll be easiest on everyone.
And, damn it, that’s what he would have done. If she hadn’t paused and turned back to deliver one last barb.
“And for those in the audience keeping score, I won this point. Even when the sex is good, it’s still not worth it.”
With that she turned and walked away.
He wanted to let her go, wanted to pretend that he hadn’t hurt her, that he wasn’t acting like a complete ass.
But he knew he was.
“Wait a second,” he called out, speeding up to catch her. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”
She eyed him shrewdly. “A chance to what? Dump me in a more humiliating manner?”
There was such vulnerability in her gaze, along with a liberal dash of sass. Before logic had a chance to beat him over the head again, he turned her to face him and cupped her face in his hand. “Look, I have a client I have to see tonight.” The lie slipped out cleanly. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her gaze was suspicious. “You don’t really want to see me. You’re just feeling guilty.”
“I do,” he argued. “Promise me you’ll meet me somewhere.”
Now he was begging her to meet him? How the hell had that happened?
She bit down on her lower lip as she considered her options.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he offered.
Finally she shook her head, pulling away from him. “No. Tomorrow night is the Harbor Lights Gala for the local schools. I was on the planning committee for years. If I miss the event, people will notice.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Her expression was blank, but he could tell she was struggling to keep it that way. He walked her the rest of the way to her car, wishing he had a better handle on her emotions. Or, for that matter, on his own.
She swung the door open but paused before climbing in. When she spoke, her tone was even, all traces of suspicion gone. “Look, it’s fine. I knew exactly what I was getting into. You didn’t mislead me.”
There it was again. That blunt honesty. Her gaze met his, her blue eyes almost painfully clear of accusation.
“Brit…” he began, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. She so clearly saw through all his crap. And she was giving him a chance to walk away. Guilt-free.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, he brushed a hand up her arm to her shoulder. He pulled her to him, intending to simply hug her. But at the last second, her face turned up to his and he found himself unable to resist the lure of that tempting mouth. His lips found hers, coaxing them open with the gentle
st of touches.
All those things he couldn’t say, all those emotions he couldn’t even name, he poured them into the kiss. The regret, the apology, even the fear. The sheer awe he felt at her stunning mix of innocence, honesty and sensuality.
She leaned into him and kissed him with knee-weakening passion. He felt the tendrils of her desire taking root deep within him as she arched her body against his, sliding a leg up along the outside of his thigh. It took every ounce of his self-control to break the kiss.
By the time he lifted his mouth, he could see he’d kissed away the last of her suspicion. As she climbed into her car and drove away, Connor was mentally kicking himself. He’d made things worse, not better.
Brittney should send him running for the hills. Yet he’d just promised to see her again. Begged for it, actually. What was it about this woman that turned him into a total idiot?
Four
Once, as a teenager, in a brief burst of curiosity about the mother who had left her, Brittney had spent hours at the local library reading interviews with Kandy Hannon. Most were from the time immediately after her scandalous affair and marriage to Brittney’s father, the then-freshman senator. In those articles, her words were carefully guarded and most likely well rehearsed. But in the few interviews she’d done after leaving her husband and abandoning her three-year-old daughter, Kandy Hannon spoke freely.
To the teenage Brittney, the most memorable quote was, “Why on earth would I be ashamed of having sex? It’s great exercise and makes my skin glow. Why not enjoy it as often as I can?”
For a brief time, Brittney flirted with adopting that philosophy for herself. She hadn’t enjoyed it. At all. Since then, she’d eschewed her mother’s ideas about sex in favor of her own, very conservative views.
One afternoon with Connor had changed all that. Despite her doubts about his intentions, she woke up the next morning with a feeling of smug contentment. She felt more in control of her sexuality than ever before. It almost didn’t matter if he showed up at the gala. Her body hummed, her mind buzzed and her skin glowed. For the first time in her life, she felt like she really was the daughter of Kandy Hannon.
And it was all thanks to Connor and the miraculous things he’d done to her body.
He might not show up to the gala this evening, and if he didn’t, she’d survive. One more life lesson learned.
But if he did show up, what then? Yesterday, she’d been unable to tell if he was motivated by guilt or if he genuinely wanted to see her again. She’d have to play it by ear.
That should be no problem. After all, she’d lived her entire life in the limelight of her father’s political career, playing things by ear. If she could figure out how to get through dinner with the president and first lady at age twelve, she could darn well run into Connor at a gala. She’d made it through that crucial dinner, despite the nausea clutching her stomach, by taking tiny bites and smiling a lot. She’d do the same tonight.
Funny how much of her life she spent thinking about a woman she hadn’t even seen since she was three. After abandoning her husband and daughter, Kandy had spent a few years stirring up trouble and living recklessly. She’d died in a skiing accident when Brittney was ten.
Though Brittney barely remembered her, Kandy had left an indelible mark on her life. They looked so much alike, Brittney felt as though everything her mother had done was a reflection on her. Between dodging her mother’s past and trying not to impinge on her father’s future, sometimes Brittney felt as though she barely had a life of her own. Until yesterday, in Connor’s presence, when she’d forgotten both.
She spent an unproductive day trying not to think about Connor. By late afternoon, when it was time for her to dress for the gala, she was tired of contemplating her future. She was ready to simply be done with the evening.
She was prepared to face whatever met her. Except for what was actually there.
Connor stayed in his room at the B&B where he was staying for most of the day, catching up on world news and his backlog of e-mail on his laptop. He’d even downloaded an action flick and watched that. Anything to keep his mind off Brittney. He also did the unthinkable and kept his phone off. When he finally turned it on, he saw he’d received no fewer than seven phone calls from Tim.
As much as he wanted to avoid talking to anyone, he figured he had no choice but to return the call.
“Connor,” Tim said as soon as he picked up, “did I underestimate you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you said you’d get her into bed within the week, I thought you were full of it. Man, was I wrong. What can I say, other than I owe you a thousand bucks?”
Anxiety clutched at Connor’s chest. He repeated his question slowly. “What. Are. You. Talking. About?”
“Brittney Hannon. You and her hooking up. That picture of you two on Headin-for-the-Hamptons.com was smoking hot.”
Great.
Connor hung up on Tim. By the time he’d set down his iPhone, he was already loading the Web site. And there it was on the front page of the site’s coverage of the polo tournament.
There were actually two pictures. The first was a grainy black-and-white photo that had to be at least thirty years old. A young Senator Hannon, dressed in a suit and looking clean-cut, with a blonde bombshell pressed against him in the risqué costume of an Atlantic City showgirl, her naked limbs entwined with his. The photo’s combination of disheveled business suit and bare skin suggested an illicit embrace.
Connor had seen it before, when he’d searched Google for Brittney after meeting her. It was the photo that had nearly ruined the senator’s career.
But it wasn’t nearly as shocking as the photo beside it.
The second photo also portrayed a well-dressed man and a scantily clad blonde bombshell. But unlike the first photo, this one was in garish bright color. And it wasn’t nearly thirty years old. It was less than twenty-four hours old.
It was a photo of Connor and Brittney, kissing outside her car in the parking lot at the match, her hair mussed, her clothing disheveled.
How the hell had they gotten that shot?
His breath came in short, ragged gusts as he fought to control his anger. His mind raced. He’d find out whoever was responsible. He’d have him fired. He’d sue him. Crush him financially. Hell, he’d kill him.
The prospect of some nameless member of the paparazzi lying trampled under the hooves of polo horses made Connor feel only marginally better. Only once his vision began to clear did he read the headline spanning the width of the two pictures.
Looks Like The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From The Tree!
He quickly scanned the article. Straight gossip would have been bad enough, but the site aimed well below the belt. It liberally referenced the interview that had run in New York Personality. Worse still, it implied Brittney only pretended to practice abstinence to pacify her father’s constituents while actually sleeping around.
He cursed as he dug through his pocket for his car keys. It wasn’t the papparazzi who deserved to die painfully. It was him.
The whispers of gossip were especially fierce when Brittney arrived at the Harbor Lights Gala on Sunday evening. She didn’t pay any mind to the murmurs. Until she noticed that stares of barely veiled curiosity were pointed at her.
First it was just a glance here and there. The glare of a matronly older woman. The nervous snicker of a teenage boy who held her gaze too long. The knowing smile and faint nod of a woman who was known for her sexual escapades. But it was the lewd “Hey, baby” grin of a guy in his twenties that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
Suddenly nervous, she scanned the crowd, looking for a friendly face. She’d been socializing with some of these people for most of her life. But the only person who looked approachable at the moment was Vanessa Hughes. Though she and Vanessa had never been close, they’d been acquaintances for years. Vanessa shot her a look full of sympathy that made the bottom drop out of Brittney’
s stomach. Whatever was going on, Vanessa knew about it.
Brittney quickly crossed the lawn to Vanessa. As always, the beautiful blonde was dressed impeccably in a white sundress, her oversized sunglasses propped on her head. As if they were far closer than they actually were, Brittney gave Vanessa a quick buss on the cheek and then linked arms with her.
“Protect me from the circling vultures?” she asked under her breath.
Vanessa picked up Brittney’s cue and smiled cheerfully. “Absolutely.” Softly she added, “Am I wrong in thinking you don’t yet know why the vultures are circling?”
Brittney’s smile felt tight as she shook her head.
In a voice loud enough for passersby to hear, Vanessa said, “You’ve got to try these canapés.” She guided Brittney to the edge of the lawn where the catering tents were set up. As they walked, Vanessa pulled her iPhone out of her enormous Jimmy Choo bag and surreptitiously pulled up a Web page. She slipped the phone into Brittney’s hand as she loaded up a plate with appetizers.
Brittney recognized the Headin’ for the Hamptons site. Then the world fell away as she saw the pictures. Her blood pounded through her head—all she heard was a distant roaring. She had to concentrate to read the headline. As bad as the photos were, the accompanying article was even worse.
One bad choice, one little mistake, and everything she’d ever stood for was in question. A single scandalous photo wouldn’t be so bad for the average politician’s daughter. But she’d always been so vocal about abstinence. Her entire adult life, she’d advocated women respecting themselves enough to eschew promiscuity and find committed, long-term relationships.
The Web site made sure to point that out. It made it sound as though she’d said those things merely to pander to her father’s more conservative voters, while she was partying and sleeping around with men she barely knew.
And the horrible truth was, it was right. She had betrayed everything she believed in for a few minutes of mindless pleasure in the arms of a man she barely knew.
Winning It All Page 11
