She should have known how it would end. Once she was in his arms, held dose to the vibrant, virile strength of his body, the long line of his thighs pressing against her, she should have known. Perhaps something did warn her and she simply chose to ignore it, finding her curiosity demanding satisfaction above all else.
Oh God, it felt so good to be held like this in a man’s arms, this man’s arms; to feel like a woman again, to be wanted, to be desired on some elemental level that had nothing to do with who she was or what she was. All pretense had been stripped away from them, leaving only male and female and the age-old awareness they created in each other.
Brenna wasn’t certain of the exact moment when they stopped making any pretext at dancing and instead simply stood there, holding each other. Her arms had somehow become entwined around Garrett’s neck, her hands buried in the thicket of black hair that brushed the top of his collar. His hands were at the small of her back, urging her closer, making occasional little forays down her hips as he pressed her to him.
Then Brenna found herself backed up against the motel room door, caught between its unyielding hardness and his. This was insane. She should break it off and slam the door in his face. She should halt the seductive movement of his hands as they spanned her waist, sliding across her rib cage just below her breasts. But her heart was beating like a wild thing. And she could feel Garrett’s pumping furiously in his chest, giving him life, even as he created it anew in her.
“Garrett—” This was a far greater insanity than merely dancing with him in the dark silence of the night. He seemed to sap her strength, her will, taking it and turning it back on her until she felt the only power she possessed was in his body and not her own.
And then she knew that he was going to kiss her, that she was finally going to feel his lips on hers. She watched as his head descended, and in that moment before everything but Garrett was blocked from her sight, her eyes fluttered closed.
“Oh, lady, there’s a fire in you, deep down inside you, that could consume a man alive. Let me feel its heat Let it burn for me as I burn for you,” he ordered in a husky voice as his mouth found hers.
Brenna trembled at his words, telling herself that his kiss would be no different from that of any other man. She might not be an expert on the subject, but how different could one man be from another, one kiss from another? Yes, there were firm, aggressive kisses; tentative, question-seeking kisses; kisses of friendship and of passion; kisses meant to hurt; kisses reflecting kindness and forgiveness. The list could go on forever. Her personal knowledge might well be limited, but she had a fine mind and an inventive imagination to make up for what she lacked in actual experience.
What Brenna quickly discovered was that nothing had prepared her for Garrett Forsyte’s kiss. His mouth was soft and seductive, firm and questing, all in the same instant; but it was much more and much less than that. It was the taste of him, the way he explored her mouth that gave her infinite pleasure, that thrilled her, that filled her every sense with him. He quenched some thirst in her she hadn’t known existed, all the while creating a hunger that demanded its own satisfaction. A hunger that told her she was capable of the most instinctive responses known to man or woman. It stripped away the veneer of civilization to reveal her own power as a woman.
Brenna had never thought of herself as a sensual creature before. Sensuality was a rare quality that few men or women possessed. It went far beyond anything physical, far beyond any amount of sexual experience or the lack of it. It was a way of thinking, of feeling, of moving, of touching, of simply knowing one was a totally sensual being. It was the unique ability to concentrate the senses all in one moment.
And it was frightening. After all the years of introspection, after all the hard work it had taken to reshape her mental image as well as the physical form of her body, it was frightening to discover such a secret. How could she have kept this from herself? It had taken so long to learn acceptance, to feel comfortable with her self-image. To make this discovery now scared the hell out of her.
She had to put a stop to it before it was too late. And that meant stopping this man as well. For in some inexplicable way, Brenna knew that he had some part in all of this. He was the catalyst, if not the actual source, of her revelation.
“No …” she rasped, attempting to push away the caressing hands that gave her such pleasure. “Please, Garrett, no …”
“Don’t be afraid, Brenna,” he murmured, venturing to lift his head for a moment. “Don’t be afraid of what you feel, of what you make me feel.”
“But I am,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I am afraid.” Then with a supreme effort of will, she pushed at him again. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking,” she said, still shaking with reaction.
“Well, I can tell you what I was thinking,” he said, splaying his hands across the undercurve of her breasts.
“Please…” Brenna repeated in a low, earnest voice, shaking off his hands. “I don’t know you,” she added warily, drawing her delicately marked brows together. “Oh, I may have known the boy you once were, Garrett, but I don’t know anything about the man you’ve become. And you don’t know me. You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know enough. I know you’re a beautiful woman with a lovely body that responds to my touch,” he stated with typical male candor. “And I know what it does to me when I hold you in my arms.”
Brenna inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid that’s not nearly enough.” She took another deep breath and finished on a mirthless laugh. “If you only knew the irony of it.”
“The irony of it?” Garrett returned guardedly.
“Yes, there were so many times as a girl when I wondered what it would be like to have a man want me, desire me, because I was attractive.” She still couldn’t bring herself to use the word beautiful. “I wonder if the dream is always so much better than the reality.” She cocked her head and looked up at him. “Being attractive isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Garrett. I know. I’ve seen it from both sides. People simply don’t or won’t take the time to look beneath the surface, whether that surface is plain or fancy.”
“A man has many faces; the world sees but one,” he drawled.
Brenna looked at him thoughtfully. “Who said that?”
Garrett gazed down at her with an air of innocence. “I thought I did.”
She couldn’t prevent the small laugh that escaped. “Well, whoever said it, it happens to be true. We are judged by our physical appearance as if the way we look on the outside is somehow a reflection of the person we are inside. The real danger is that sometimes we begin to believe it ourselves.” Then Brenna shook her head and laughed again, this time at herself. She wasn’t usually quite this serious. It must be the night air or the gin and tonics she’d lost count of halfway through the evening. So much for “false courage.” “Well, aren’t you going to ask how long it took me to come up with that profound conclusion?” she asked, once more feeling in control of herself and the situation.
“Who, me?” Garrett raised his hands in the traditional gesture of surrender. “Not me, lady. I was taught never to argue with a psychology major. Hell, once they start analyzing there’s no stopping them. The next thing you know they’ve got you flat on your back on some damned couch.” Then he grinned at her wickedly. “Of course, that does present some interesting possibilities of its own.”
“Do I detect an element of wishful thinking in your last comment?” she teased.
“Let’s just say it would be a pleasure to park my shoes under your couch anytime, Mrs. Richards.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to forgo that particular pleasure on this trip, Mr. Forsyte. It seems I forgot to bring my couch with me.” Brenna broke off to stifle a yawn. “I think it’s time I said good night. All this philosophizing has made me sleepy.”
“Philosophizing has been known to have that effect on some people,” he drawled, none too subtly.
Ignoring his implicat
ion, Brenna replied evenly, “Thank you for the dance, Garrett.”
“Anytime,” he murmured. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.” She knew by the look in his eyes that he was referring to more than the dance they’d shared. “Why don’t we have breakfast together in the morning before the day’s activities begin?”
“All right, if you like.”
“What I’d like has nothing to do with it, honey. What I’d like is to take you in my arms—”
“I think breakfast will suffice,” she quickly interposed, offering him her hand. “Shall we say eight o’clock?”
Garrett merely smiled back at her. “Don’t you think it’s a little late in the game for us to be shaking hands?”
“I’ve never been very good at games,” she proclaimed, her back stiffening.
“We’ll have to see about that,” he muttered dryly. “Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, then.”
Brenna nodded, watching as he turned and walked two doors down to his own room. She took the key from her handbag for the second time that night and inserted it in the lock. She pushed the door open and then paused, looking back at Garrett.
“Pleasant dreams,” she called out to him softly.
“You too, Brenna.” He seemed about to say more and then changed his mind.
The last sound she heard was the door closing behind him.
“I could have taken my own car,” she was still insisting as they pulled away from the roadside restaurant late the next morning.
Garrett lightly gripped the steering wheel of his sports car and leaned back against the leather seat. “There’s no sense in both of us driving to the picnic.” He seemed disinclined to argue the point with her, but added, “Anytime you want to leave, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll go.”
That wasn’t the point, and he knew it perfectly well. But Brenna was quickly learning that Garrett Forsyte had a stubborn streak in him as wide as the muddy Mississippi itself. There was no doubt in her mind he could prove to be downright infuriating at times. But then, what man wasn’t? She sighed, adjusting the sweater casually draped around her shoulders.
She had to admit his behavior at breakfast had been exemplary. He never once mentioned their encounter at the motel the previous night, setting out to put her at ease with a string of amusing anecdotes that kept her laughing through an overly generous serving of bacon and eggs and three cups of coffee. When she finally glanced at her watch, Brenna was surprised to find they’d managed to linger over breakfast for several hours.
“I would imagine the reunion committee is heaving a collective sigh of relief about now,” Garrett remarked, taking a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses from the dashboard in front of him. With single-handed ease, he slipped them into place on the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, it looks like a perfect day for a picnic,” she agreed, gazing out at one of those blue-skied June days that Indiana did so well.
“I know this is a heck of a time to ask,” Garrett began as they drove up to the entrance of the town’s one large municipal park, “but do you remember exactly where we’re supposed to be going this morning?”
Brenna turned to him with an incredulous look on her face. “I thought you knew.”
“I was sure you would know,” he countered in a slightly dry tone of voice.
“I can’t seem to remember what we were told,” she confessed, tapping her chin as she spoke. “But it must be at that large shelterhouse up by Glen’s Meadow. It’s the only spot big enough to handle a crowd this size.”
“Glen’s Meadow it is, then,” he said as he took the next turn on the left. “The reunion committee did say this was to be a day of fun and games for the entire family, didn’t it?”
“Yup, and I have my entire family right here with me,” she quipped, pointing to herself.
“You’ve never had any children, then?” Garrett asked with apparent nonchalance.
“No, I never have,” she said resignedly. “I knew when I married Daniel that he couldn’t have any more children.” Brenna saw the momentary confusion on his face. “My husband was twenty years older than me, Garrett. He’d been married once before and had three children by his first wife. I don’t think Daniel ever expected to divorce, much less to remarry at the age of forty-eight But he was honest with me right from the start I knew we’d always be a couple.” Her voice stretched into a thin thread of sound. “I just didn’t know that ‘always’ was going to mean two short years.”
The man beside her stirred uneasily. “I wasn’t trying to pry, Brenna,” he told her gently, apologetically.
She reached out across the short distance that separated them and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know you weren’t, Garrett I wanted to tell you.” It was true. For reasons she didn’t fully comprehend, she wanted to tell this man about Daniel. She wanted him to somehow understand, but that would have to wait until another time.
“Would you take a look at that!”
At the sound of his voice, Brenna jerked her head up. It was only then that she realized Garrett had stopped the car. They both sat there speechless, staring straight ahead at the sight that awaited them in Glen’s Meadow.
The park was a riotous carnival of sight and sound and color that morning. A huge banner welcoming the alumni and their families hung across the front of the large shelterhouse. There was a softball game already in progress on a nearby playing field. There were horseshoes and Ping-Pong and balloons; badminton and volleyball. For those who preferred less strenuous activities, there was an assortment of lawn chairs and picnic tables set up in the shade of a large grove of trees. Brightly colored awnings shaded the front of several concession stands selling soft drinks and cold beer. And there were people everywhere!
“Good Lord!” Brenna exclaimed. “Someone must have been here since dawn to get all this ready.”
“I’d say a number of someones,” Garrett observed, looking suitably impressed. “Something like this takes a lot of planning and hard work.”
“You know, I think I’m beginning to feel a little guilty about this whole thing.” She glanced up at him with a contrite expression on her face. “The sum total of my contribution to this reunion has been simply coming. And I was reluctant even about that.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” he conceded in a growl, one hand shoved in the front pocket of his jeans, the other raking the lush, dark hair at the back of his neck. “Well, there isn’t anything we can do about it now but enjoy ourselves. So, dust yourself off, Mrs. Richards.” His voice snapped with authority. “We’re about to join the party.”
Brenna quickly turned her head, looking behind her to see if she had bumped up against something dusty without knowing it. After several contorted twists and turns, not to mention a few strategic swipes at her backside with Garrett’s help, she came to the conclusion the man was putting her on.
With hands planted on her hips, she gave him an exasperated look. “That wasn’t very nice,” she grated, enunciating each word very distinctly.
“Hey …” He shrugged, throwing his hands up as if he were nothing more than an innocent bystander. “It was only a figure of speech, honey. You look fine.” His eyes cruised the length of her, taking in the double-faced cotton shirt neatly tucked into a pair of fitted jeans, the sweater loosely tied about her shoulders, the dark hair that hung free around her face. “In fact, you look good enough—” he swooped down and briefly caught her mouth “—to eat.”
A wild rush of color flooded her cheeks. “Garrett, somebody might see us!” she protested. But Brenna knew her heart wasn’t in the rebuke. How could it be when he looked so good himself? Last night he’d been the picture of urbane sophistication in that elegant navy blue blazer. Dressed as he was now in jeans and a casual western-style shirt, he seemed younger somehow, less imposing, if no less disturbing to her peace of mind.
“Don’t scold, Brenna,” he said softly. “Nobody’s watching us. They’re all too busy throwing horseshoes and chasing runaw
ay balloons. Besides, if anything, I should be commended for my self-control. I’ve been wanting to do that since you walked out of your motel room this morning. I don’t mind telling you I had one hell of a time keeping my mind on that plate of bacon and eggs, with you sitting across from me.”
“I didn’t notice it having any adverse effect on your appetite,” she drawled, thinking of the huge breakfast he’d consumed before her amazed eyes.
He made a disparaging sound and moved toward her. “And what would you know about my appetite?” he mocked.
“Don’t look now,” she hissed in warning, glancing over his shoulder, “but here comes Susan Whitfield; and from what I can see, she has not only Robert, but three little Whitfields with her.” Brenna turned with a smile on her face and called out to the approaching figure. “Good morning, Susan!”
“Hello, you two!” Susan cheerfully called back, waving one hand above her head. “We were wondering when you’d get here. Although, in this crowd, it’s hard to tell who’s here and who’s not,” she acknowledged.
“Someone sure has put in a lot of time and work on this picnic,” Garrett was saying as he shook hands with the other man.
“It’s all in who organizes something of this magnitude, you know,” Susan started to explain. “We were lucky to get Rhonda Wells to take the chairmanship. I know she’s helped Lance tremendously.”
“Rhonda Wells?” Brenna repeated quizzically. The name did seem familiar.
“Rhonda is the physical education teacher at the high school now,” Robert announced perfunctorily. “You might remember her better as Ronnie Wells.”
Brenna and Garrett exchanged a look. “Ronnie Wells!” they burst out in unison.
“Of course I remember Ronnie Wells,” Brenna declared. “She was the star of the girls’ basketball team.”
“And apparently one heck of a fine organizer,” Garrett commented dryly.
“I’d like you both to meet our children,” Susan began as two young boys and a girl obediently lined up in front of her. “This is our daughter, Lynn. She was seven just last week. Jason, who’s nine; and Rob, age ten.” She gave affectionate pats to them as she said their names. “Children, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Richards and Mr. Forsyte. We all went to high school together,” she told them.
Only This Night (Silhouette Reissued) Page 5
