by Jane Godman
When he’d gone, Esmée moved purposefully toward Brayden, gripping the front of his shirt in both hands. “Now we’re alone, what shall we do with all this grown-up time we have?”
“I have several interesting answers to that question, but I’ve been out in the woods looking at a dead body.” He brushed his lips over her forehead. “I need a shower.”
“Care for some company?”
Drawing her closer, he slid his hands down over her hips. “I can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.”
Brayden headed for his bedroom while Esmée checked on Rhys. A smile touched her lips when she saw him sprawled on his bed with Echo curled up on the rug nearby. Once she reached Brayden’s room, she placed the baby monitor on the bedside locker, sparing a thought for how the definition of spontaneity changed with parenthood.
Following the trail of Brayden’s discarded clothing through to the bathroom, she removed her own garments along the way. Through the mist that already filled the small room, she could see Brayden behind the glass panel of the shower cubicle. He was already standing under strong, hot jets of water when Esmée piled her hair on top of her head, securing it in place before stepping inside to join him.
“Let me do that.” She placed her hand over his as he reached for the bottle of bodywash. The delicious clean, musky scent that she had come to associate with Brayden filled the small space as she coated her hands with the gel before smoothing it over his shoulders and upper arms.
“Are you trying to kill me?” His voice was a despairing growl.
She didn’t reply. Instead, she slid her soapy hands across his chest and stomach. His sharp hiss of indrawn breath told her exactly what her actions were doing to his self-control. With a little smile, Esmée glanced up at him as she slowly traced circles in the bubbles around his nipples.
“Esmée...”
“Stop talking and turn around.”
Although he did as she asked, the warning glance he gave her over his shoulder told her she was pushing him to the limits of his endurance. Ignoring him, Esmée ran her hands over the toned muscles of his back. Dipping lower, she kneaded his tight buttocks.
“That’s enough.”
Brayden swung back to face her. Taking both her hands and holding them behind her back, he pushed her up against the tile wall as he kissed her. Esmée gave a soft moan as she felt him, hard and demanding, pressing up against her.
He released her wrists but kept her firmly against the wall with the weight of his body as he began to caress her. His left hand stroked up her side, brushing her nipples before cupping her breast. The right trailed across her stomach then moved purposefully down.
Parting her thighs, he used his thumb to gently rub her clitoris. Esmée tilted her head back, letting the jets of water wash over her face as she gave herself up to the heavenly sensations triggered by his touch. Continuing the massage movement, he eased two fingers inside her. Almost immediately, convulsions of raw pleasure began to sweep along Esmée’s nerve endings.
She could feel him growing harder and she was desperate to feel more, but her hands were still trapped. Brayden smiled as he held her there a moment or two longer. Leaning in closer, he caught the tender flesh between her neck and shoulder in his teeth, nipping it lightly before he released her. The delicious hint of pain sent Esmée’s senses into a frenzy and she cried out, digging her fingers into his forearms to stay upright.
Regaining her balance, she reached out a hand to grasp his length. Pumping him slowly at first, she increased her pace as she kneeled in front of him. Planting a soft kiss on his head, she lightly circled the tip with her tongue, applying just enough pressure to have him groaning and tangling his hands in her hair. Moving forward gradually, inch by inch, she took him deeper into her mouth. Raising her eyes to his face so she could enjoy his response, she sucked him hard as she swirled her tongue around his tip.
Brayden threw his head back and groaned, his hands tight in her hair and his thigh muscles tense beneath her cheek. After a minute or two, he eased out of her mouth, placing his hands under her arms to lift her up. He pulled her tight to him and kissed her hard.
Grabbing her by the waist, he turned her so she was facing the wall. Placing her hands flat against the tiles, he moved her feet apart so he could stand between them. She saw him reach onto the shelf that contained soap and shampoo and take down a condom. Muttering a curse as he struggled with the foil packaging under the water, he finally got the condom on.
Slowly, he eased into her from behind.
“You feel divine.” His chin was on her shoulder, his lips against her ear. “Warm, tight and all mine.”
He teased her. Inch by inch, the same way she had taken him into her mouth. Esmée responded by letting him feel her muscles tighten and contract around him. As he pressed deeper, she began to moan, unable to resist begging for more.
“Please, Brayden.”
He started to move, the angle of his erection just brushing the exact place that sent her wild with intense, electrifying bliss. Her knees began to tremble and Brayden wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her upright as he reached around to cup and stroke her breasts. Esmée’s moans soon became breathless gasps as he pumped firmly and rhythmically. Her whole body quivered as she felt his full length, hard and thick, brushing that sweet spot inside her with each thrust.
Brayden’s breathing was coming faster now, his movements less controlled. She could feel his thighs pressed hard and tight against her own as the tension grew, mounted, became unbearable.
“I can feel how close you are.” His voice was a breathless whisper. Her legs buckled slightly and he pulled her closer to him, still pounding into her. “Let it happen.”
As soon as he said it, the orgasm started to flow through her. She began to convulse as waves of incredible pleasure radiated out from her clitoris, racing through her body and crashing up her spine and out through the top of her skull. Everything else froze as the sensation ebbed and flowed. Her muscles gave out, her breathing came in short pants and she flopped forward over Brayden’s arm.
Even through the storm crashing over her, she was aware of him calling her name as he succumbed to his own release. Although he was shaking, he continued to drive into her, trying to lock them both into the moment of ecstasy for as long as possible.
Eventually the sensations ebbed and they both collapsed against the shower wall, barely standing. The warm water was blissful on Esmée’s tingling skin. After a few seconds, she turned to Brayden. He stroked her face with his fingertips before drawing her into a gentle kiss.
“Do you think our dinner guests will notice that I smell of your bodywash?”
“I don’t care.” He started to laugh. “All I know is I will never be able to use that brand again without getting dangerously aroused.”
Esmée was relieved they could lighten the mood with humor. It saved her from the reality of dealing with the depth of her emotions. They had started this knowing they both wanted nothing more than a physical relationship. No entanglements. Nothing long-term. That was what Esmée had sworn her life would look like after Gwyn had treated her so badly.
But that was before she’d met Brayden. Even within such a short space of time, he’d shaken her convictions and changed everything. Every minute spent with him, every exchange of glances, every touch, only reinforced that. It was no good telling herself she could back out at any time. She was already in too deep.
* * *
A few hours later, Brayden felt warm and rested, yet curiously energized. He was also intensely frustrated.
“A car has been found on land near Fenwick Colton’s energy plant. Although an attempt was made to set it on fire, it looks like the black SUV that was used to try to run you down.” Brayden ended the call with his chief, irritation firing through him. Just lately, every lead seemed to take them down a dead end, whether it
was the Groom Killer case or this new one. “It has no plates and no prints have been found, so we’re unlikely to get anything from it.”
“We know it was Keene,” Esmée said.
“But we have to either pin something on him, or find him.” He didn’t add “or he’ll do it again.” She already knew that. It felt like they were on Keene’s agenda, and Brayden wasn’t happy about it.
“I may have cooked too much,” Esmée confessed, turning his attention away from Keene and back toward the evening ahead. She was right. There would be enough time to focus on finding the man who was trying to kill her.
Brayden eyed the number of dishes thoughtfully. “I was starting to wonder if my kitchen table could take the weight.”
She flapped a dishcloth at him and he caught her around the waist. Rhys, wide-awake after his nap, ran over and pulled on the leg of Brayden’s jeans. “Hug.”
Brayden scooped up the little boy and held him between them. Rhys wrapped an arm around each of their necks, planting a kiss on Esmée’s cheek, then one on Brayden’s. The simple gesture sent a shot of liquid warmth straight to Brayden’s chest.
He’d never wondered what it would feel like to hold another man’s child in his arms, or considered the prospect of a ready-made family. Esmée and Rhys came as a package, and he didn’t have to think about, or question, that. The feelings he had for Rhys were as strong as those for Esmée. He was falling for them both in different ways...and his heart stuttered with fright at the thought. Not because he didn’t want it, but because of how much he wanted it.
This was what he had craved all those years ago with Ava. A home and a family. Returning at the end of the day to people who loved him... Warmth. Contentment. Support. His throat tightened as he gazed into the twin pairs of dark brown eyes that were fixed on his face.
He wasn’t afraid that Esmée would hurt him the way Ava had. When he looked at her, he saw her honesty and kindness. No, his fears were about the speed with which he was forgetting his cold, cynical shell. After he had closed himself off from the thought of another relationship for all those years, Esmée and Rhys had burst into Brayden’s life. Despite the danger facing them, they’d brightened his existence with their infectious joy and laughter.
When this is over, and they’ve left, what then? Would everything return to the way it had been before? Was that what he wanted?
Esmée took Rhys and placed him on the floor. Taking Brayden’s face between her hands, she pressed a kiss onto his lips. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Overthinking. It never did anyone any good.”
The front doorbell rang before he could answer and the monitor in the hall showed it was Shane and Quinn. When they stepped inside, Rhys studied them by peeping out from behind Esmée’s legs for a moment or two. Although he’d already met Shane earlier, Quinn was a stranger.
Quinn squatted until she was on his level. “Hi, there.”
Clearly deciding she wasn’t a threat, Rhys took her hand. “I have pigs and ducks.” He led her into the room where his wooden animals were scattered across the floor.
Shane shook his head. “None of my pickup lines ever worked that well.”
“Try that one next time.” Brayden handed him a beer. “Rhys is a generous little guy. He’ll let you borrow his toys.”
Esmée’s chicken pie, baked sweet potatoes and homemade cornbread were a success, and Brayden was more relaxed in the company of his brother and sister than he’d ever been. There was no denying it—with Rhys in his high chair and the two dogs on the alert for crumbs, there was a family mood in his usually soulless kitchen. He contrasted this to other evenings, when he used to come home from work and fix himself a microwave dinner while pouring Echo’s food into his bowl. Some days, he wouldn’t even bother to put the light on in this room.
He looked up and caught Esmée’s eye. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a half smile and he was lost. Who was he kidding? He could never go back to a time before he’d known her and Rhys. Why would he return his life to its old default setting of loneliness when he’d experienced the alternative? For the first time in his life, he knew what love felt like. He wasn’t letting that go.
The conversation drifted naturally into reminiscences about their childhood. Esmée sat back, content to listen to the stories that would have been unbelievable—if they’d been about anyone other than Rusty.
“He was more like a carefree relative than a dad,” Shane said. “Sailing into our lives and having a good time, but backing out again super fast if ever he was asked to do anything responsible.”
“There were fun things about being with Rusty...no set bed times, no rules about healthy foods, nobody standing over me making sure I did my homework.” Quinn pulled a face. “But I remember the downside as well. Trying to wake him up to take me to school. Looking for him in the audience when he’d promised to come and see me in my school play, knowing he wouldn’t be there.”
“Remember my bike?” The mood shifted from lighthearted to somber as Brayden spoke.
“I know how much you loved it,” Shane said.
“Yeah. My grandpa saved for months to buy it for my tenth birthday.” Brayden could still recall the feeling of pride he had as he rode around town on the shiny bicycle. “I left it at the Pour House one day while I was at school. When I went back, Rusty had taken the wheels off and used them to replace the ones that had broken on the cart he used to move barrels from the yard to the bar.”
“That’s even worse than when Demi was desperate for a T-shirt with a picture of her favorite pop star on it. Rusty promised he’d get it for her, but he left it too late, and when he tried to order one they were all sold out.” Shane turned to Esmée. “You won’t believe this, but Rusty bought a plain white one and drew a picture on the front.”
Esmée’s expressive face registered her shock and she turned to Brayden. “This is a joke, right?”
“No, this is our dad.”
“Nothing beats the jar on the bar.” Quinn gave a laugh that had no humor in it.
“What was that?”
“I was eleven,” Brayden said. “We were all in the bar at the time...me, Quinn, Shane and Demi. The place was full. All the regulars were there and Rusty was in high spirits. Suddenly, he rang the bell over the bar and asked for quiet because he had an announcement to make. He placed a jar on the corner of the counter. It was a collection, he said. All donations welcome. He didn’t want any more ‘little accidents’—his exact words—around the place, so he’d decided to get a vasectomy.”
Quinn took a long slug of her soda. “The whole place erupted into laughter. I just wanted the ground to swallow me up. When I turned to see if Demi was okay, she burst into tears and ran out.”
“Didn’t Rusty realize what he’d done?” Esmée asked. “Surely he must have thought about it and recognized the embarrassment he’d caused you?”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Shane said. “The jar is still there. It’s become a Pour House joke that Rusty’s vasectomy has to be the most expensive medical procedure in history.”
Esmée gave a horrified gasp and Brayden nodded. “If I thought it was serious, I’d be the biggest contributor.”
Shane snorted with laughter. “Don’t waste your money. Rusty empties that jar once a week. It’s his drinking fund.”
“You should all be proud of what you’ve achieved,” Esmée said. “And, although you talk about him with indulgence, you did it in spite of Rusty, not because of him.”
Those simple words made Brayden stop and take a fresh look at his life, and he could see them having a similar effect on Quinn and Shane. Brayden had always accepted his place in Red Ridge society. It had been mapped out for him by the Colton family hierarchy. Rusty was the poorest of the three cousins, looked down on by wealthy Fenwick and successful Judson. In addition, Rusty’s antics made
him, and his family, a regular object of ridicule. His kids had been the target of Red Ridge jokes for so long, they’d taken the role for granted.
Despite all of that, Esmée was right. They’d done okay. Brayden had achieved his dream of becoming a search-and-rescue cop. Quinn was running her own business. Despite a terrible setback that could have ruined his life and put him on the wrong side of the law, Shane was making a success of his life.
“Here’s to us.” He tilted his beer bottle toward his brother and sister. “And that includes Demi.”
It was a solemn moment, an acknowledgment of a bond they’d denied until now...and their concern for their missing sister. Had this been Esmée’s intention all along? Her expression was serene as she watched them, but he had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t surprised at the way the evening was unfolding.
“I wish she’d get in touch.” Quinn’s voice was fretful as she served slices of her apple pie.
“Is there anyone, apart from the three of you, she might contact?” Esmée asked.
“The only other person I can think of is Serena,” Quinn said. “That’s our cousin, Serena Colton. She and Demi had grown close recently and Serena has been one of the few people prepared to say she believes in Demi’s innocence.”
“Will she talk to me?” Esmée asked. “Even though this problem with Keene has surfaced, I’d still like to try to find evidence that helps Demi’s case.”
“I’ll contact Serena. Maybe if we meet with her together, she’ll be willing to give you an interview,” Quinn said.
Their guests left soon after dinner when Rhys, who had been allowed to stay up late, started to show signs of tiredness. As she was leaving, Quinn embraced both Brayden and Esmée. “We need to do this more often.”
Brayden swallowed a momentary obstruction in his throat. He was twenty-nine. Quinn was thirty. That hug was the first voluntary physical contact they’d shared as adults. It felt good. He grasped Shane’s shoulder. “We do.”
