by Leanne Banks
Felicity feared the worst.
She feared she was falling in love with Brock.
At that moment, Brock glanced up at her. His gaze searched hers. She felt his hunger echo inside her. Unable to breathe for a full moment, she jerked her gaze from his and stumbled to the bathtub. “Bath therapy,” she muttered to herself. Maybe she could wash her crazy thoughts from her head.
After she returned to the guest room, Felicity tried to go to sleep, but her mind and body refused. Surrendering to her insomnia, she tiptoed downstairs and made her way to the study, closing the door behind her. For all the grief in the room, she felt welcomed there, as if the room had been waiting for someone to revive it.
She turned on a lamp and unnecessarily checked the plants she’d placed on the window sills and desk. For lack of anything else to do, she pulled out her tuning instrument and worked on the treble keys. She focused on treble D, frowning at the split sound it produced. She hit it for the tenth time and felt someone’s breath on her hair.
Felicity nearly jumped out of her wits. Spinning around, she instinctively raised her hands in the air.
Brock eyed the tuning instrument warily. “You mind putting that down? I don’t wanna be next after what you’ve done to the piano.”
Felicity glanced at the tuning instrument poised in self-defense and slumped in relief. “You shouldn’t have sneaked up on me.”
He glanced down at his feet clad only in socks. “No boots.”
“No early warning system,” she said. His hair was slightly mussed as if he’d raked his fingers through it. His eyes looked restless and hungry. For her. Felicity’s stomach dipped. The longing in his eyes echoed inside her.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” he murmured, moving closer to her, holding her with his gaze.
The closer he stood, the harder she found it to breathe. “You’re a busy man.”
“You haven’t been at dinner,” he said, tilting his head to one side, considering her. “Why are you avoiding me?”
Her heart stalled, and she felt her cheeks heat. “I’m not,” she lied, not well. She could tell he didn’t believe her.
“Try again,” he said, taking the tuning instrument from her hand and setting it down.
“I—uh—” She swallowed hard over the knot of nerves in her throat. It didn’t feel like a normal nervous, more like a sexual nervous. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. “I haven’t known what to do with you,” she finally admitted.
“I told you I could give you some suggestions.”
Felicity’s heart pounded a mile a minute. She would have to be insane to get any more involved with Brock Logan than she already was. Perhaps, Felicity decided, she was a little insane. “Maybe you should give me some of those suggestions,” she whispered.
“Give me your mouth,” he said.
She barely blinked and his hand cupped her nape while his mouth took hers. Pulling her up on her toes, he kissed her as if she were water and he hadn’t drunk in days. His tongue slid possessively over hers, inviting, compelling her response. Beneath his gentleness, she tasted raw need and urgency.
Brock smoothed his hand down over her bottom, urging her into his hard thighs. The contact of his lower body might as well have been gasoline. Felicity clung to his shoulders, undulating against him, feeling his hardness against her.
Giving a low growl, he picked her up and set her on top of the piano, then stepped between her legs. “You make me want to rush,” he said in a voice dark with sexual intent. He parted her robe with his finger, sliding it from her neck to her thighs. “But I don’t want to miss anything.” He nudged the spaghetti strap of her chemise down with that same calloused, determined finger.
Felicity felt the tips of her breasts bud against the silky material. He pushed down the other strap and the chemise whispered to her waist. Her breasts were bare to his gaze.
He lifted his finger to one of her nipples and drew a circle around it. His touch was seductive and light, and she wanted so much more. Her heart hammering, she closed her eyes, resisting the urge to push her breast against his hand.
“Stop holding back,” he said.
Felicity opened her eyes in surprise. “What?” she managed.
“You said you wanted suggestions about what to do with me.” He dipped his head closer to her breast. “Don’t hold back.”
Felicity curled her toes as he rubbed her nipple with his tongue. “Oh,” she moaned. She felt self-conscious and needy.
“Show me what you want.”
Felicity closed her eyes again and arched against him. He took her more fully into his mouth and rolled her other nipple with his finger and thumb. Each stroke of his tongue tugged at her most tender feminine places. Unable to remain still, she squeezed her inner thighs around his legs and the worn denim of his jeans sensually abraded her sensitive skin. With his mouth still on her breast, he skimmed his fingers down her belly to her wet, swollen core.
Felicity gasped.
“So good, so sweet. Touch me,” Brock told her.
Felicity tried to do his bidding, tugging ineffectually at his shirt. A button popped onto the wooden floor. The tiny noise echoed with her fast breaths.
Brock lifted his head and brushed his mouth across her turgid nipple from side to side. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. She felt as if he was burning her with the heat in his eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her hand to his bare chest. His heart thundered against her palm.
“There you go,” he muttered with a too-sexy tilt of his mouth, “rushing me again.”
She bit her lip and tried to get her mind and body under control. The intensity of her arousal made her feel incredibly vulnerable. Her mouth was dry, her hands shook with wanting, and she couldn’t have joked if her life depended on it.
Felicity was in way over her head. Past wanting, past longing, she was falling in love with a man who was determined never to commit himself to a woman. When she looked in his eyes, though, she couldn’t fight the sense of destiny.
Eight
“I—uh—don’t have anything,” Felicity said, vaguely, referring to contraceptives.
Brock shook his head and nuzzled his cheek against her thigh. “I do.”
“You do?” she asked, shuddering when he replaced his cheek with his lips.
“I’ve been carrying since last week.” His gaze, sexually dangerous, met and caught hers. “I knew this was going to happen.”
He skimmed his mouth up the inside of her thigh and pressed his lips against her intimately. Shocked, yet unbearably turned on, Felicity tried to pull back, but Brock wouldn’t allow her.
“Lean back. Let me taste you,” he murmured, spreading her thighs further with his hands and setting her feet on the ivory keys of the piano. The sound of her feet on the keys was oddly sensual as his tongue glanced her femininity. She closed her eyes at the incredible sensation of his velvet tongue at her most sensitive place. He stroked and caressed until she felt consumed. The coil inside her grew tighter with each touch. He played her like the piano, pushing her over the top again and again.
“Stop,” she whispered, his caresses taking her past the edge physically and emotionally. “I can’t—”
He pulled her onto his lap and she straddled him, helpless and trembling from the aftershocks.
“Let’s go to the sofa,” he said, and carried her to the long burgundy camelback couch. He set her down, then watching her with a gaze full of fire, he pulled two plastic packets from his pocket, unbuckled his belt and tugged off his jeans and briefs. He was large and aroused, and in the corner of her mind, it occurred to Felicity that she should tell Brock the degree of her inexperience.
When he guided her hand to his hardness, however, every thought left her mind except one—the overwhelming desire to please him. She cupped and stroked his tumescence, feeding on his groans of pleasure. Following her instinct, she kissed him intimately, licking him, taking him into her mouth. The strength of her desire
and need amazed her.
He swore and pulled back. “Too much,” he muttered, his gaze claiming her body, leaving no doubt of his intention. “Not enough. How do you do it?” He put on the protection and thrust inside her.
Too much, she agreed. Her body stiffened in shock at his thorough invasion. Unable to breathe, she stared at him.
He stilled and studied her intently, and Felicity could tell by his expression that he knew her secret. He sighed. “Oh, hell.”
He started to pull away and distress crowded her chest. “No,” she said, instinctively folding her legs around him. She took a careful breath and waited for her body to adjust to his.
“I’m hurting you,” he said.
“Give me a minute,” she said. “You’re so big,” she added, unable to withhold the realization.
Brock closed his eyes and gave a pained half chuckle. When she moved slightly, he swore and met her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Felicity swallowed. “I kinda got carried away.” She lifted her hands to his chest and stroked the corded muscles. “How does it feel?” she asked.
“How does what feel?” His voice was laced with frustration.
“To be inside me.”
Brock swore again. “Too good.”
“You said you would give me suggestions. What do I do now?”
He let out a long hiss of breath. “Hold on.”
She clung to his shoulders as he began to slowly pump inside her. Each stroke stretched her a little more, until she began to move in rhythm with him. She watched him watch her, and the experience was so intimate, so erotic, she was awed by the power of it. She could feel his want and need in every pore of her body. The connection wasn’t purely physical. His gaze demanded everything from her, and Felicity gave it.
His breath quickened with his thrusts. Driving into her one last time, he jerked and moaned with pleasure. Felicity was struck with the wonder that his release had been as fulfilling for her as her own had been. The sense of fate and destiny infused her blood. Was she meant for this man? Was he meant for her?
Silently calling himself every kind of fool, Brock struggled for even breath and a sane mind. He wasn’t going to find it when he was buried in Felicity, he realized, pulling away from her and rising from the couch. His body protesting, he turned away and swore under his breath.
Why hadn’t she told him? Was she trying to trick him? No. In the hazy recesses of his mind, he remembered she’d voiced concern about contraception.
He didn’t know who he was more angry with, himself or her. Had he been so blinded by his desire to take her that he’d ignored signs?
Hearing a slight rustle from the couch, he glanced at her. Her body was nude and bore pink marks from his possession. He wanted her again, and he despised himself for it. Looking into her uncertain gaze, he felt a strange combination of feelings. Frustration, desire, protectiveness.
He sighed. She’d been a virgin. He’d taken her as if she had had the experience of a well-seasoned lover. He walked the few steps to the piano, grabbed her silk robe and returned to the sofa.
He covered her with the robe and put his arm around her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Me either,” she said in a low voice.
“I still don’t understand why you—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“There was never anyone I trusted and wanted enough to go the next step,” she said. “It’s different with you.”
Brock looked into her gaze and felt a sinking sensation. He saw long-term in her eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, he saw something more than passion, and it scared the hell out of him. “I’m not making any more forever promises, Felicity.”
Her green eyes clouded, but she nodded. “I know.”
“Then why me?” he demanded.
She covered her eyes with her hand. He saw her fingers tremble and felt his gut twist.
“I’m not sure I can explain it. In your world, you’ve always known your place. It’s always been so clear for you what you would do and who you would be. I haven’t felt that way about much except giving away half of my inheritance.” She dropped her hand and gave a shaky laugh. “I still haven’t figured out exactly what I’m supposed to do with my life unless I follow Jacob’s suggestion and work at the ice-cream shop. I have that clear feeling of doing the right thing about giving away my inheritance.” She took a deep breath and finally met his gaze. “And I had that same feeling about you.”
The profoundness of her gaze rocked his world. Brock began to sweat. “But—”
“It’s okay,” she said, and bit her lip. “I know it’s not the same for you.”
Brock felt as if he’d stomped on a rose, slammed a cat’s tail in the door and kicked a dog all at once. After he’d walked Felicity to the guest room, he returned to his and paced. He’d assumed she was sophisticated, with more sexual experience than any women he’d ever met, let alone bedded. She’d been so responsive that he’d assumed she knew her way around a man. He’d assumed he could take her and it would be no big deal for her emotionally. He’d assumed he could take her and it would be no big deal for him emotionally.
He felt like an ass.
He tossed back a bourbon and hit the sack. It took another endless sixty minutes before he fell asleep and dreams of Felicity flung him from one end of the spectrum to the other. He dreamed he made love to her in his bed. She was hot and sweet, and he couldn’t get enough of her, but she made everything seem okay. Next, she was telling him goodbye as she left for New York, and he watched her leave, feeling empty. He dreamed he heard her play the piano, and it struck him that she had brought the music back into the Logan house. The sound of the old piano filled him with sweet nostalgia and a sense of well-being. He dreamed he fell in love with her, with a love that filled him up and consumed him at the same time. He caught a glimpse of the most incredible happiness he had ever experienced. Then he saw her dead on the ground, her body cold, and his heart stopped. The Logan Curse had struck again.
Brock sat up straight in bed, his heart pounding, his skin slick with sweat. He drew several heaving breaths before he regained his equilibrium.
Felicity. It was all just a dream.
Swearing under his breath, he dropped his head to his hands. Now that he’d taken her and felt her body accept his and seen her eyes make love to him, he wanted her more than ever. He called himself ten kinds of foolish and wondered what in hell he was going to do with her.
Felicity sighed when the doorbell rang for the third time after lunch. Bree and Jacob were off from school and she was giving each of them a piano lesson. They’d mastered “Chopsticks.” and she had them halfway through the treble part of “Heart and Soul.”
Jacob made a face. “It’s probably another dumb guy asking you out for dinner.”
Felicity hoped not. She’d already turned down two dinner invitations. She was grateful for the distraction Brock’s children provided today. Every time she thought about Brock, she was overwhelmed by a complex mix of emotions. She was terrified she was in love with him and self-conscious about their lovemaking experience.
“I don’t think Daddy’s gonna like this,” Bree said.
“Then maybe we don’t need to mention it to him,” Felicity said as the two kids followed her to the door.
She withheld a groan when she saw another unidentified male. He was big, too. She wondered if there were any average-sized men in west Texas. “Is he one of your father’s hands?” she asked in a low voice.
Jacob shook his head.
She sighed again and opened the door. “Good afternoon?”
“Tell Brock Logan I want to see him now or there’s gonna be trouble,” the man demanded. His face looked as if it were set in a permanent scowl.
The back of Felicity’s neck prickled at his tone. She straightened, wishing she’d worn her heels. “Mr. Logan is busy working. It’s calving sea—”
“I know what season it is, dammit. That’s why—”
“Excuse me, sir, but please watch your language in front of the children.”
His face turned red with anger, then he narrowed his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”
“Of course not, since you opened the conversation with a threat.” She forced a social smile and extended her hand. “Shall we begin again? I’m Felicity Chambeau, a friend of the Logan family.”
The man glanced at her hand and dismissed it. “The name’s Adam Coltrane. My property shares a boundary with the Logans.”
“A neighbor,” Felicity said, still trying to raise the civility of the conversation.
“Your word, not mine,” he said. “We haven’t been friendly with the Logans for a long time. You tell Brock if any more of my cattle show up missing, I won’t bother calling the sheriff. I’ll take care of matters myself,” he said, and walked out the door.
Now that pissed her off. Whatever his flaws, Brock was an honorable man.
“I think I should go spit on him,” Jacob said.
“And I’ll scratch him,” Bree said.
And I’ll kick him, Felicity thought. “No. This is the twenty-first century. We use words.”
Propping the door open, Felicity called to him as he swaggered down the porch steps. “Surely you’re not inferring that Mr. Logan is stealing your cows?”
Coltrane turned around. “I ain’t inferring. I’m stating a fact. If he knows what’s good for him—”
“Perhaps you should build a fence if you’re that concerned about it.”
The man cocked his head to one side, looking at her as if she had a loose screw. “Lady, you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t build a fence through a stream.”
“Oh, I don’t know. People build walls and fences all over the places. Take a look at the Great Wall of China.”
