Everything His Heart Desires

by Patricia Preston

  She parted her lips to accept his kiss, and he drew her tongue against his. She let the world slide away. Anticipation soared through her, and she wondered how the two of them had stayed apart. She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “We should have done this sooner.” He lifted the loose sweater she wore over her soft pants. “What’s that?” His fingers stilled on top of a ridge of flesh on her side.

  “A scar.” She stepped out of her black slippers.

  “What kind of scar?”

  “I’ll show you.” She slid onto the bed. Sitting on the mattress, she grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Her scars made her feel like an old warrior but without the great battle stories.

  After she had tossed the pullover across the footboard, she sat on her knees and showed him the scars. “This one,” she displayed her side, “is a knife wound. Got it during a sudden riot in Cairo. This guy was running with a knife, and we collided.”

  Shifting to her left, she pointed to her back. “From the bombing in Kabul, and up here”—she indicated her upper left arm—“that’s where a bullet went clean through my arm. Came out the back side. I was with a convoy that was unexpectedly attacked on the way to Mosul.” She shrugged. “That’s all I have.”

  “You don’t need any more,” he remarked in a disturbed voice as he removed his shoes. He climbed on the bed.

  “They are special scars.” Beside him on the bed, she tugged his long-sleeve black T-shirt over his head and dropped it over the footboard beside her top. He had wide, thick shoulders, and she’d always been fond of strong shoulders.

  His gaze skirted from her face to her breasts, covered in a black demi bra. “Why are they special scars?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.” She pushed him down on the mattress and straddled him. “The scars are special because they’re proof I’m a badass.” She laughed, dropped forward, and smothered his mouth with a hungry kiss. She pulled back up and saw his glance flick to her breasts again.

  “The way you’re staring at my breasts says a lot for Victoria’s Secret.” She was tempted to strip off the underwire bra for him, but she wanted him to do the honors.

  With mischief in his hazel eyes, he admitted, “I used to look at your breasts a lot.”

  “What?” His remark confused her. “When?”

  “In school.”

  He smiled while she contemplated his answer. “You mean back when we were kids?”

  He sat up so they were facing each other. “We weren’t exactly kids. We were past puberty.” His smile widened. “You were sixteen, with what? A perky C-cup rack? Any boy would notice. In fact, they all did.”

  “No way.” Horrified, she clamored toward the headboard as her cheeks lit up. She had never thought of boys in school checking her out. Especially Brett. “I was never sexy in school. I was never one of the dancers or the cheerleaders.” She had always been on the sidelines with her camera. She gave him a haughty gaze that was reminiscent of her grandmother. “You never looked at me like that.”

  “Sure I did. All the time.” His gaze swung downward, and she grabbed a pillow, covered in a lush sham. She pressed it against her chest and wrapped her arms around it. He continued to tease her. “You had just the right amount of bounce and sway when you walked to give a guy a hard-on.”

  “Stop with the BS.” She snatched up a throw pillow and flung it at him. He caught it and tossed it off the bed. Then he started tossing the other decorative pillows off the bed. “You never looked at me like that. I know better.”

  “Do you?” He pushed the thick comforter and a microfiber blanket down to the footboard. Then he situated himself beside her and rubbed her knee. “You wouldn’t believe how many days I came home from school and jacked off thinking about you.”

  “No!” she wailed as blood rushed to her cheeks, and he laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes. “I could’ve gone forever without that image.”

  “You should see your face. It’s glowing.”

  She clung to the pillow and stuck with denial. “I don’t believe a word of it. Admit it. None of that is true.”

  “It is.” He stroked her cheek and grew serious. “And you know what, it’s still true. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

  The pulse in her throat hammered wildly. For a moment, uncertainty roped its way around her heart and held her back. What had she been thinking when she initiated this?

  Brett was not the same as the others. The men who hadn’t mattered, and her beloved Aidan, who had mattered most of all. She didn’t know where Brett fit in.

  That troubled her, but not enough to make her delve any deeper into her own heart as he leaned toward her. His mouth drew hers into a steamy kiss. She released the pillow and spread her hands on his shoulders, relishing the strength she felt. Pulling her lips from his, she struggled with her own vulnerability as she admitted in a whisper, “I’ve always wanted you, too.”

  He took the pillow from her and tossed it on the floor. She stroked his hair as he placed feathery kisses along her throat while he unhooked her bra. He tossed it aside, and his hands covered her breasts as if they were a special treasure. She gripped his shoulders as a jolt rocked her body.

  A moan escaped her lips as his hands and his mouth savored her breasts. Her body grew hot, tense, and achy. She felt like she had been ready for him forever. But that could not be. None of this could be. It was just one night of weakness. One night when she needed to know the pleasure of being a female.

  The pleasure might be rather intense, she decided, as he glided his hand over her bare midsection. She loved the feel of his hands on her flesh. He made an effort to push her pants over her hips, and she shifted from him to remove her pants and underwear. While she did that, he eagerly dispensed with his jeans and boxers.

  As she dropped the rest of her clothes on the floor, she listened to the sounds of soft music coming from the speaker. Woodwinds, drums, and cellos created an ancient melody that she liked. “That’s Celtic,” she said as she lay on her stomach.

  “You like it?” he asked as he joined her on the bed. He sat beside her, stroking the curve of her back with just the right amount of pressure to be relaxing.

  “Um, right now, I’m liking a lot of things.”

  He planted a kiss on her shoulder blade. “Me too. Come here.” He motioned for her to sit up. “There’s something I need to say.” He took her hand as she sat up.

  “I don’t want to be like the guy in Kabul. All right?” He brought her hand to his lips. “I want this to be real between us, Natalie. Just not some one-nighter because you’re lonely and you need somebody to fill in for your husband. Okay?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. She never thought beyond one-nighters. It was safe that way.

  “I want you to stay the night and be here in the morning. No leaving before dawn so you don’t have to face me.” He touched her face. “Look at me. Can you do that?”

  Unnerved, she gave him a quick glance. “I don’t think I know what real is,” she confessed in a whisper.

  After a quiet moment, he said, “If you can stay with me tonight, put all the ghosts to rest and make love to me, then you know what real is.”

  A longing stirred inside her. She had once known what love was, and it had been real. What was this going to be? One night with a man that her heart had yet to trust. “I don’t know.” Her doubt spilled out. “Maybe this is a bad idea. Me and you. We’re like the world’s most unlikely couple. We have nothing in common.”

  “We’re both sitting on the same bed naked,” he pointed out.

  She smiled. “There’s that.”

  He waited while she struggled with indecision. “I’ll take you home if you want.”

  “No,” she responded instantly. “I don’t want to go home.” She kissed him. “But I can’t make you any promises.”

  “Fair enough.” He reached for her, and she settled tight ag
ainst him.

  She pushed all reasonable thoughts to the back of her mind as he dipped his tongue between her lips. Surrounded by the warmth of his body and the flow of the music, she wanted to dance, slow and easy, all over him. She sank onto the mattress with him. The dim lighting cast the perfect glow over them and the tangled sheets beneath them.

  Exhilaration drummed through her veins as his hands swept over her body, memorizing every curve. The caution that lingered inside her crumbled when he pressed his mouth between her breasts, where her heartbeat thundered. She closed her eyes, and surprisingly enough, Aidan wasn’t her phantom lover tonight. That realization jarred her.

  “Brett,” she spoke his name in amazement. She pinned his back on the bed and straddled his waist, sitting on her haunches. She cupped his face with her hands. “Brett.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “I take it you want to be on top?”

  “Top. Bottom. All over.” She bent and gave him an intimate kiss, brushing her tongue between his lips. She knew he would never comprehend how phenomenal this night was for her.

  Dreams and reality meshed as all the longing of the past combined with present desire, provoking spontaneous reactions between them. He showered the breasts he had always admired with attention and she reveled at the feel of his hands and mouth against her flesh. She stroked his thick hair and trailed her fingers along the contours of his forearm. She liked the firm muscles of his arms as well as his strong hands.

  Her breath hitched as a lazy piano solo came from the speaker and he tapped his fingertips, mapping out her stomach and her scars. She could no longer suppress the longing that she’d kept hidden for so long. Tension knotted deep in her womb, and she grew hot and wet. His mouth stifled the whimpers that came from her as a result of his exploration, and she shuddered against him.

  She dug her fingertips into the back of his shoulders as her body rocked, eager for release from the need that had been building since she’d gotten in his car tonight or maybe before that. Maybe since that kiss at the waterfall. Or maybe since her body had started humming in the elevator on that first day.

  She let out a ragged breath, and he glanced toward the bedside table, where he’d left the condoms. He started to move, and she stopped him. “I’ll get it.”

  She wanted to take a moment to calm the burning itch resonating through her body. Settle down a little so she would have a few minutes to enjoy the union of their bodies, appreciate the weight of his body on hers, the taste of his sweat and the feel of him inside her before she lost all sense or reason.

  She turned to him, taking in his naked body, as he lay stretched out on the bed, his head on a pillow, one knee bent. She scooted across the bed, sitting on her knees beside his torso. “You want me to put the condom on you?” She raked her nails over his thigh and he groaned.

  “Yeah, babe, I’d like that,” he answered, his voice rough.

  “Moi would like that, too,” she did her Miss Piggy imitation, and he grinned.

  “Go for it, Miss Piggy. Just don’t call me Kermy.”

  She laughed as she started to open the foil package but stopped when a lock of her hair fell across her face. She took a moment to finger comb her tousled hair and tuck it behind her ears. He watched. Of course, he had said nothing about her hair. Typical of a man not to notice.

  With her hair out of the way, she glanced toward the speaker, where Celtic drums pounded. Perfect. After she had withdrawn the condom, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I saw this on YouTube. Keep your fingers crossed.” She wet her lips and placed the condom in her mouth.

  His eyes flew open wide as he swore.

  Those were the last coherent words he said. They sprawled on the bed, bodies tangled. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against his chest, kissing her as if all hell had broken loose inside him, his lips hungry and aggressive as he nipped the soft spots on her body.

  She melted into the soft sheets with his body bearing down on hers. She tried not to think, struggling to let this night be real. Or almost real. She had kept love and sex apart for years, each with its own place. Love was for Aidan. Sex was for the rest. Where did that leave the man in her arms?

  “God . . . Natalie,” he murmured her name with a hint of agony as he pressed inside her. The heat of passion was always amazing in the way that it shattered all misgivings.

  She glided her hands over his firm muscles. It’s too late to turn back now. Wheels were in motion, and she had no idea where she was headed with Brett. He was her teenage crush from another time and place. You could never go back in time.

  She closed her eyes. Just feel. She let go of everything else, including being a woman who never made promises.

  They moved together, bodies hot and raging against limitations. She gasped, and the ache winging its way through her had nothing to do with fantasy and everything to do with the certainty that she wanted this. That she wanted him. She needed him.

  “Brett . . .” She touched the damp hair on his chest where his heart thudded. “I know what real is.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured against her lips. “You can’t get any more real than this, sweetheart.” Their tongues met in teasing strokes until their restraint vanished and they rocked with the ancient rhythm of the music.

  She gasped his name again as their bodies reached a feverish peak, and an unbearable climax echoed through them. It was like an implosion in which everything inside them came apart, and he gripped her so tight, she could barely breathe. It was a long while before they moved. Real had been exciting and exhausting, but she made no assumptions about it.

  Afterward, she went through the motions. Cuddling with him and making small talk. He wanted to go to Nashville for the weekend. He said there was a cabin on Covington Lake where they could stay.

  It was a beautiful place, and he suggested she bring along her camera, which sounded like a good idea. He knew a good place to eat, and there might be a car show in the vicinity. His voice held enthusiasm, and she ignored the restlessness that stirred inside her. On the fringes of her soul, darkness lingered.

  Eventually, they got ready for bed. A shower washed away the scent of sex. In lieu of a nightie, she wore one of his T-shirts with a NASCAR emblem across the front. He was in black boxers. They smoothed the twisted sheets, turned off the lights and the music.

  Covered by the soft blanket, they had mutually decided they didn’t need the comforter as well. The room wasn’t cold, and spooned together, their body heat kept them cozy.

  “Good night.” She rested her arm on top of his.

  “Night.” He patted her belly. “Hey,” he murmured. “I really like your hair. It was pretty before, but it’s sexier now.”

  “Really?” The ego boost was just what any girl would love. “Thank you.”

  He chuckled. “I know you’ve been waiting all night for me to say something about your hair.”

  “Asshole.” She elbowed him. “Go to sleep.”

  Within a few minutes, he had dozed off, and in another ten minutes, his muscles had relaxed and his breathing was steady as he slipped into a deep sleep.

  Her eyes remained open. Tension streamed through her body as the warmth and presence of Brett’s body triggered a memory of the last time a man had slept beside her. It wasn’t a pleasant memory . . .

  Jackson had turned from the window in the drab hotel room, panic in his eyes as he snatched the Glock from his shoulder holster. He grabbed her arm. “Run!”

  They spilled down two flights of stairs. He shoved her toward the rear exit. “Go! Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

  The morning sun hit her face for the last time as she bolted through the door, running hard. A little boy on a bright blue bike pedaled down the street. She screamed at the child, who took off, frightened by the crazy American lady, but there had been no escaping the sudden blast that brought down the hotel or the pain that had engulfed her body.

  Natalie rolled from the bed, her heart thudding in her chest as she
stood in Brett’s dark bedroom. Still asleep, he shifted in the bed, resettling after being disturbed. She rubbed her chest, thinking about Jackson and the boy on the blue bike. She had later recognized the twisted bike in the photographs of the hotel rubble. Bombs were indiscriminate.

  She slipped on her pants since it was too cool for bare legs and eased out of the bedroom. A walk outdoors would have been great, but she wasn’t dressed for a cold autumn night. So she remained inside, following a short hallway lit by the muted glow of night-lights.

  She found her way to a great room with a vaulted ceiling and stone fireplace. Adjoining the great room was a large kitchen. A couple of under-the-counter lights cast enough illumination for her to see that the kitchen had ivory cabinets, sandstone countertops, and a red, brown, and green mosaic tile covering the walls between the countertops and cabinets. It was far too clean and uncluttered to be a kitchen that saw much use. A woman belonged in this kitchen, just as a family belonged in the house. She shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts.

  She wondered if Brett had any booze. The cabinets were almost bare, typical for a guy who rarely ate at home.

  “Yes,” she remarked in triumph when she opened a cabinet where she saw a variety of cocktail mixes, along with rum, gin, and whiskey. She got out the Tom Collins mix, club soda, and gin. After she had found a tall glass and added ice, she made herself a strong drink.

  She left the kitchen and strolled through a large empty room that was probably a formal dining room and into the entrance foyer, where a staircase led to the second floor. She followed a hallway back into the great room, where she turned on a small table lamp and put her drink on a coaster.

  She liked the plate-glass windows at the top of the vaulted ceiling, which provided a view of the night sky. French doors flanked the fireplace, and she looked outside at a wide deck. Beyond the deck, she saw a long white building with three sets of garage doors. She smiled. That’s where he kept his collection of cars. The Girls, as he called them.

  She spotted an orange-and-white UT throw blanket folded on the bottom shelf of a bookcase. Since the room was a bit cool and she was barefoot, she retrieved the throw and spread it over her as she relaxed on the sofa, sipping her drink. She glanced at the coffee table, where a couple of medical journals and a few car magazines had been neatly stacked by the housekeeping services.