She’d talked to her father last night. Well, mostly she’d listened while he babbled on and on about his new bride. He thought he was in love. And, truly, he sounded like it. But she knew it wouldn’t last. Which made her wonder how in the world she could ever trust her own feelings.
Right now she felt strongly attracted to Brendan. If she wanted, she could daydream about a house with a white picket fence, two kids and a minivan. The dog was a given. But…
I don’t own him, she reminded herself. Nor do I want to.
Right. Fibber.
She sighed. She couldn’t deny that she found Brendan enormously attractive—
Bang! Bang! Bang! “I know you’re in there.”
Brief silence.
Then the overly enthusiastic knocking—which was, she realized, what the banging sound was—began again. “Open up, Brendan.” The voice was male, deep and colored with frustration. “I just found out about Kendra’s pregnancy, and I know she told you. Are you okay?”
Pregnancy? Kendra who? Why would Brendan be upset about it? A fist clutched her stomach into a painful knot.
Oh, stop it! There could be a dozen explanations.
Feather chose that exact moment to begin to bark.
“Feather!” Lynne hissed the name, trying not to let the visitor know anyone was there. But the dog was beyond hearing. She ran to the door and, in the first such display Lynne had seen her make, began to paw at the kick plate and whine, occasionally stopping switching to high-pitched, happy barks.
The banging on Brendan’s door stopped. Then she jumped a foot in the air as the person in the hallway transferred his fist to her door.
“Feather? Is that you, Feather? Hey, Brendan, if you’re in there, open the damn door!”
She stood. If the dog liked him, the stranger couldn’t be dangerous. Unlocking the dead bolt, she pulled open her door.
The moment the door opened, Feather shoved her way through it and made straight for the man on the other side. He was about as tall as she was, blond, deeply tanned and rugged looking, with thick eyebrows over piercing, blue eyes. If they weren’t in Gettysburg, she’d swear he had just walked off a beach with his surfboard.
“Hey!” he said by way of greeting. He knelt, and Feather rolled over onto her back so that he could vigorously rub her belly. “How’s my best girl?” he crooned. “My Heather-Feather. Have you missed me?”
He glanced up at Lynne and grinned, apparently not caring a bit that she’d just heard him speaking baby talk to a dog. “Sorry. Feather and I are special pals.”
“I see that.” She extended her right hand. “I’m Lynne DeVane.”
He rose and clasped her hand in his for a moment, shaking it firmly. “I’m John Brinkmen, Brink to my friends. Brendan and I work together.” He openly assessed her from head to toe. “You must be new. Brendan’s neighbor, the one I remember who lived here, was small and white-haired, and he, uh—” he grinned “—he sure didn’t look like you.”
She nodded, unsure what to say, but Brendan’s friend barely paused for breath. “Do you know where he is?”
She shook her head. “He was gone when I got back here Friday and I haven’t spoken to him.”
Brink’s easy smile faded a bit. “Then why do you have his dog?”
“Feather’s been staying with me most of the time since I moved in.” And why was she explaining herself to this man whose eyes were growing increasingly suspicious? “She hasn’t been happy about sharing Brendan with Cedar, and she seems to prefer living over here.” She knelt and called the dog, and Feather came to sit obediently at her side. “I love having her.”
Brink’s expression relaxed somewhat as the dog’s relaxed manner registered with him. “I see. He told me he’d been having some problems integrating Cedar into the equation. But I wonder why he never mentioned you.”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing really to mention. He’s a good neighbor.” And my nose is probably growing. Nothing to mention, my foot.
One blond eyebrow rose. “I see.”
She sincerely hoped not. There was nothing worse than looking like a lovesick fool, especially in front of the object of your affection’s closest friends. “I’d be happy to give Brendan a message when he returns.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I stopped by.” Brink waved a mobile phone in the air. “I’ve left him voice mails and texts all day but he hasn’t answered.” Then he paused and looked searchingly at her. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”
An alarm bell sounded. “No.” She spread her hands. “A lot of people say that. I must just have one of those faces.”
Brink was still examining her. “I guess.” Then he smiled and held out his hand again. “Good to meet you, New Neighbor Lynne. Thanks for passing on my message.”
“You’re welcome. Nice to meet you, too.”
But as she took the dog back into her apartment, her thoughts were consumed by what she’d heard. Who was the pregnant Kendra? And why wouldn’t Brendan be okay with it? There was one obvious answer: a man who didn’t want to be a father wouldn’t be pleased at learning he was about to become one.
Seven
An hour later Lynne was about to head for bed when Feather started to bark and she heard Brendan’s footsteps on the stairs. She would let him get settled in, she decided, stifling the urge to run to the door. She would have plenty of time Monday evening to pass on his friend’s message.
He was speaking to someone, and she heard a second set of footsteps, both of which stopped outside his door. Deep, masculine voices rumbled for a few moments, and soon one set of footsteps moved off toward the stairs at the end of the hall.
Then, instead of heading into his own apartment, Brendan’s footsteps crossed to her door. Feather went wild, prancing and leaping, although she didn’t bark as she had earlier.
Sighing, she went to the door. Might as well get it over with. Part of her was anxious to see him. Too anxious. The other part was fighting feelings of hurt and insignificance.
“Hello,” she said. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks. I missed you.” He reached for her, but she stepped back and he only caught her hand. After a moment’s awkward silence, he asked, “Did you have a good holiday weekend?” He released her hand and bent to fondle Feather’s ears.
“Yes, very nice. You?”
“Pleasant. I went to visit my family. But it’s a relief to be coming home to my own place again. And I think Cedar had enough of being stalked by my mother’s cat.”
She couldn’t help chuckling at the image of the big black dog backing away from a cat. Then she remembered she was striving for reserved and calm, and she composed her features.
“How did Feather do on your trip?”
She gave him a quick briefing and then took a breath. “A friend of yours came by today.”
“Who?” He didn’t sound more than idly interested.
“John Brinkmen.”
“Oh, Brink. I don’t claim him as a friend.” Brendan grinned, and she sensed that he was determined to keep the conversation easy and pleasant. “Although the line loses some of its punch without him around to hear it.”
“I let Feather go visit with him. She was having conniption fits in here once she heard his voice.”
“I bet. When I got my first dog, some more-experienced guide dog users warned me that almost every dog has some person they react to, some person who makes them lose all common sense and training and act like a total idiot. Brink is Feather’s downfall.”
“It was rather obvious.”
“I finally convinced them both that she had to behave and act like a guide at the office. But at home…” He shook his head in amused dismay.
“He mentioned something about a Kendra, too. He was concerned about you.” She tried hard to keep her voice expressionless.
Brendan went still. “Exactly what did he say?”
“Just that he knew you’d found out she was pregnant and he was worrie
d about you. You should probably call him.”
Brendan exhaled. “Or maybe I’ll just go over there and strangle him.”
“What?” She was startled out of the careful calm she’d been cultivating.
He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brendan. It’s not like we—”
“Lynne.” His voice sliced through her babbling. “Do not finish that sentence.”
She didn’t know what to say in response to that, so she said nothing.
“Give me ten minutes to park the dog and take all my stuff inside. My dad and I set all my suitcases in the hallway.”
“All right.” She would have offered to help but she sensed he needed the time.
“I’m going to stick my head out the door and yell, and when I do, you’re coming over.” It wasn’t a question.
“All right,” she said again. There were times when it just wasn’t worth arguing. For some reason Brendan had taken exception to something she’d said and she was fairly sure she was going to find out exactly what it was in about ten minutes.
He yelled across the hall in exactly nine minutes. When she entered his apartment, there was only one light burning, and the room was dim.
“Sit down,” he said. “I poured us some wine.” He indicated two glasses on the coffee table before the couch.
Silently she took the seat he indicated and shifted to face him as he sat beside her.
Once seated, though, he didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he took her hand and sat, rubbing his thumb across the backs of her much-smaller fingers. Finally he said, “I do owe you an explanation. It just never occurred to me that it was important.”
He picked up his wine with his free hand and took a sip. “I mentioned before that I had a steady girlfriend in college. Her name was Kendra.”
Lynne’s heart sank. So he’d known her for a long, long time.
“We got engaged at Christmas of our senior year. In February I had the accident.” He didn’t have to elaborate; she knew what he meant. “I also told you I was the one who called off the wedding a few months later.”
She managed a noncommittal “Mm-hmm?” to encourage him to continue.
“Kendra got married a couple of years ago. She lives in Chambersburg. I was at the Franklin County Courthouse the other day and I ran into her.” He shrugged. “In all honesty, I never would have known she was there if she hadn’t said something. It was…nice…to talk to her. She’s pregnant and expecting her first child soon.”
She was so relieved she couldn’t speak if she wanted to. It wasn’t his baby! Not that she’d really thought it was…she just hadn’t known what to think.
“Anyway,” he went on, “my obnoxious friend and partner apparently found out, and I guess he thought the news would drive me to suicide. Hence the idiotic trip over here.”
She found her voice. “He was just concerned. It was nice of him.”
“Huh.” In one short syllable, Brendan made it clear what he thought of Brink’s concern.
Then he shifted, drawing her closer and sliding his arm around her. “I apologize for not staying in touch over the past few days. I went to visit my family for Thanksgiving. I intended to come back on Friday but my mother talked me into staying through the weekend. I should have called—but I realized I only have your number at my office.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t owe me—”
“Dammit, Lynne!” His voice was explosive, and she jumped. “Why are you constantly trying to downplay what’s happening between us?”
“I’m not,” she protested. “But I don’t have any claim—”
“Maybe I want you to,” he said in a low, ferocious tone that caught her totally by surprise. And before she knew what was happening, he jerked her toward him and set his mouth on hers.
He kissed her with a stunning, single-minded intensity that rendered her too shocked to move for a moment. His tongue boldly sought hers, his lips dominated and devastated her pitiful defenses. Finally she put her hands up to his shoulders—to push him away?—but he only reached up with one hand and dragged her arm up behind his head. At the same time he pushed her backward onto the couch, using the broad planes of his chest to lay her down as he slid one hand unerringly up beneath the thin sweater she wore. There was nothing tentative about his touch as he pushed her lacy bra aside and filled his palm with her breast.
And still he didn’t speak as he rolled and rubbed her sensitive nipple, fanning a wildfire of desire deep inside her.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t think; she could only lie there and feel. Brendan slid one muscled knee between her legs, dragging the fabric of her skirt aside so that she felt a rush of cooler air over her lower limbs. He was kissing her again, sapping her will and dragging her under a crashing wave of wanting.
“Brendan.” It was the gasp of a drowning woman.
“Lynne. I want you,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “I’ve been going crazy wondering if you’ve thought of me as much as I’ve thought of you.”
The words melted any resistance she might have offered. “I did. I have.” But he already had his mouth on hers again, kissing her almost frantically. He slid his lips along the line of her jaw and she felt the hot blast of his breath on her sensitive earlobe a moment before he sucked it into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. An unexpected bolt of white-hot desire flashed through her, and she sucked in a breath as her body arched against him.
“Wait!” she gasped, not entirely sure what she even meant.
But he only shook his head as his mouth traveled down her throat and sought her breast, beginning to suckle her, right through the fabric of her shirt and bra. “Can’t.”
A distant part of her felt him reach down, his big hand moving purposefully between them, and then suddenly, shockingly, his hard body was there, the steely length of him pushing at the moist, tender entrance to her body as he pulled aside her thong.
Instinctively she tried to close her legs but he controlled her easily, one big hand pulling her thigh up around his waist. He pushed, pushed, and suddenly her body gave way and he slid into her, pressing steadily forward as her body accepted his hard possession. She felt a slight pinch of discomfort and then her slick readiness eased his path. As he surged heavily into her, she groaned, sure she could take no more.
Just as steadily he withdrew and thrust forward again. She clung to him, her body overwhelmed by his hard aggression, the rough delight of his urgency tightening the need coiling in her belly as he repeated his actions. She lifted her legs higher around his waist, her heels pulling him to her, and the shift in position exposed her to his thrusts in an even more intimate way that caught her off guard as waves of heated pleasure rolled through her in rhythm with his movements.
He pounded into her faster and faster, his slick muscles hot beneath her hands as she pulled his shirt out of the way and ran her hands up his back.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t breath, couldn’t do anything but let the spiraling excitement build. Then she screamed, the sound muffled against his shoulder, as he slid one hand between them and pressed a finger firmly against her. Her back arched and she convulsed beneath him as rhythmic waves of release shuddered through her. Above her, she dimly heard him make a deep sound of pleasure as her body squeezed and clenched his swollen shaft. And then his motions disintegrated into frantic intensity until he froze above her, his arms shaking as he held himself still, pouring himself into her in long, liquid jets of heat until he collapsed onto her in boneless satisfaction, turning his face into her neck and pressing his lips against her.
His back heaved beneath her hands as he gasped for breath. His body was heavy, but when he would have moved she made an incoherent sound of denial and pulled him closer.
He gave a low laugh as he nuzzled her neck and then sought her lips. “Can a person die of pleasure?”
&n
bsp; She smiled. “I never thought so before tonight.”
He did move then, though she protested, sliding out of her and rolling to one side. Before she had time to feel bereft, he turned and pulled her into his arms. Her body felt heavy and lethargic, and her last thought before her eyes closed was that she would be happy for the rest of her life if she never had to move from this spot again.
A while later—she had no idea how much time had passed—Brendan stirred, his muscled chest moving beneath her head. A finger slipped under her chin and lifted her face to his, and she responded wholeheartedly as he kissed her again and again.
Finally he pulled his head back a fraction. “What have you been thinking for the past couple of hours?” he whispered against her mouth.
“I thought you might be in love with someone else,” she blurted. The moment the words hit the air she wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. She couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud.
Brendan had gone perfectly still. She couldn’t blame him. Sex, especially to men, didn’t necessarily have anything to do with love.
Then he shifted, pinning her beneath him again. “And that bothered you?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Yes.” She’d already blundered; why try to fix it now?
“That’s good,” he said with great satisfaction, and his hands were tender as they traced the bones of her face. “Because I’m falling in love with you and I’d hate to think I was the only one affected.”
“Oh, Brendan…” Her throat closed up and she couldn’t speak. She was too happy. It was scary to be this happy, to know that another person could hold your world on the tip of one finger.
He kissed her again, and against her belly she felt his body stirring to life. She reached down between them, and he groaned with pleasure as her seeking fingers circled him, tracing the hard flesh she found from the tip to the crisp thatch of curls at its base.
She forgot any thought of talking then as he lay back and reached for her, drawing her up to straddle his hips. An involuntary shiver of excitement rushed through her at the feel of him solidly nestled against her soft, wet flesh, and he gave a low chuckle of lazy pleasure. “We can talk later. Right now I can think of better things to do.”
Holiday Confessions Page 9
