One Night Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  Even then, Hannah had known they were each other’s best support system.

  Brock tensed beside her. She didn’t have to see him to know. She could feel it. They were so in tune with each other physically. Would she be losing that with her admission? God, she hoped not.

  “How so?”

  “It’s about that first time we met,” she answered. “The night you don’t remember because of the amnesia. I didn’t tell you everything that happened.” She glanced up to see him watching her, his expression neutral.

  Was he reserving judgment? She wasn’t certain.

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice remote and lacking its usual warmth. “What did you leave out?”

  Her pulse sped faster.

  “I made a split-second decision about not sharing the details when you woke up with no memory. It seemed like the right choice then,” she said quickly, needing to explain.

  “What have you omitted?” he pressed, and she could hear his patience fracturing. There was a tense frustration threaded through the words.

  “We were together that night,” she blurted, glancing up to see his reaction. “Intimately.”

  His eyebrows shot up. But other than that, he showed no reaction, saying nothing for the space of three painfully long heartbeats. She held her breath, waiting.

  Then his mouth went tight for a moment and she knew. This wasn’t going to go well.

  “You took advantage of the amnesia to tell me your own version of events.” His voice was level, but there was a flash of emotion in his blue eyes. Anger. Frustration.

  Both well deserved.

  “I did, and I’m not proud of it.” She twisted the ring around her finger, again and again. “That night was my fault. I instigated what happened, and we hadn’t even—I didn’t even know your name at the time.” She still couldn’t believe it had happened at all. “I never do things like that. It had been a stressful night, and then we shared a horseback ride over here—that part of what I told you was true.”

  His jaw flexed as he listened. He did not interrupt. Instead, he waited. Shadows from the fire danced across his face.

  She pulled in a shaky breath, her emotions all over the place. “The closeness and the touching... I don’t know how to describe what it did to me. But the shoot had been so hellish that day, and then when we touched—”

  “Why?” he demanded, cutting through her confusion and guilt with one simple question.

  “Why did things ignite so fast? I don’t know, we just—”

  “No. Why was the shoot hellish?” he asked more gently. “Because of the director? Because of the long hours in the hay that day?”

  She’d told him those details. Had shared everything right up until he’d taken her back to the cabin.

  Her thumb traced the silver loops in the eternity knot. She couldn’t share the impotent fury she felt every time she looked at Antonio Ventura, let alone took direction from him. She couldn’t confide her sister’s pain when Hope wanted more than anything to keep her ordeal private.

  It tore Hannah up inside, because the secret hurt her, too. But it was a pain she could never share when Hope’s was a thousand times greater.

  “Yes,” Hannah lied, blinking fast and hating herself. “Ventura is mercurial, and the churlishness of his demands make this business far harder than it has to be.”

  That much was true. But it certainly didn’t give a glimpse of the real torment of her time on location in Cheyenne, the burden of it lightened only by Brock’s presence. Her time with him had given her something good to savor in spite of everything ugly around her.

  Still, her throat burned, the weight of what she couldn’t say weighing down her conscience even as she shared.

  “Hannah, look at me.” Brock’s voice wound around her, his hand sliding over hers in an unexpected touch.

  “I didn’t tell you about what happened between us because it felt like a second chance for me to...not get so carried away again.” Her pulse thrummed faster, nerves knotting with agitation. “I thought if you forgot it, I would, too, and we’d both move on.”

  “But here we are. Right back where we started that night.” His thumb brushed back and forth over her palm.

  The tenderness of his touch caught her off guard.

  “You should be raging at me for deceiving you all this time.” She willed away the flare of heat that came with his caress. “I should have told you the truth.”

  “Yes. But I can think of a few times in my life that I would have grabbed the chance to rewrite history.” The warmth in his voice soothed her soul. “That’s forgivable, Hannah.”

  Not daring to believe her ears, she searched for some sign she may have misunderstood him. But the expression on his face appeared open and honest, his body language open and relaxed.

  And hot.

  With his bow tie loosened and the top button unfastened on his shirt, he looked enticingly disheveled. His broad shoulders filled out his jacket, the fabric stretching around his biceps as he leaned forward to touch her. His intent was unmistakable.

  “Is it truly forgivable?” Her heart skipped a beat.

  She hadn’t even considered a scenario where Brock would want to pick up where they’d left off. She melted inside a little to think there might still be a way for them to be together.

  A future that included a second chance.

  “It is. The question I want you to consider is, now that you have a chance to rewrite history, do you still want to forget what we shared ever happened?” He lifted his hand to her face, grazing the back of one knuckle along her jaw. “Or do you want to relive that memory?”

  * * *

  Brock breathed in the scent of her, relishing the way her pupils dilated at his touch. The firelight gave her pale hair a burnished glow, her cheeks even more flushed color.

  He could tell she was surprised that he wasn’t more upset with her. But he searched inside himself and found only...relief. Now, he knew what she’d been keeping from him. He understood the shadows in her eyes sometimes, the nagging sense that she’d been holding something back.

  Hearing what that secret had been, that she’d second-guessed herself after being with him, was a weight off his shoulders. A worry off his mind. That, he could deal with. He could still see a way forward with her. And hell yes, he still wanted her.

  “Are you...sure?” She placed a hand over his where he touched her cheek, holding his fingers captive while her eyes tracked his, searching for answers. “That is, yes, I would relive the memory with you. But it’s still not fair to you since you don’t remember us together.”

  Her “yes” rang through him, igniting a primal, chest-thumping roar inside. It felt like he’d been waiting for her forever. He’d hardly slept after the dinner at his house. After the meteor shower and the kiss under the stars. She’d invaded his every thought. Dominated his dreams.

  “I’ve imagined it so many times, it’s almost real.” He tugged her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. Lingered on the base of her thumb where he could feel her pulse race. “Besides, how many people get to have a ‘first time’ all over again?”

  She tipped her head to one side, her hair falling away to reveal the vulnerable skin of her neck. More places he wanted to taste her.

  “I’m not sure if we can top the first first time.” Her fingers walked up his chest, slipping under the tuxedo jacket.

  “I love a good challenge.” His blood surged hot as he envisioned how things might have happened that night after he’d brought her home. “But tonight is going to have a whole different feel to it since we know each other better now. I’ve had a lot of time to think about us. To plot the best approach.”

  He brushed a kiss over the base of her throat and down to her shoulder, sweeping aside the strap of her silky gown for a better taste. She edged closer to hi
m, her knee bumping his, her thigh pressing against him.

  Heat seared him. He wrapped her in his arms, dragging her into his lap. She was so soft and fragrant, her hair and her dress tickling and teasing when he wanted to strip everything away and sink inside her.

  Already, her fingers were at the fastenings on his shirt. He shrugged out of his jacket for her and realized they’d never pull this off here, on the couch. At least, not the way he wanted.

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her toward the only bedroom in the place. He knew the layout. But there was also something familiar about stepping into the darkened bedroom with her. Almost as if the memory wanted to surface.

  For a moment, he chased it. But then, what did it matter compared to the here and now?

  Gently, he set her on her feet. She’d kicked off her shoes at some point, her bare toes visible in the moonlight slanting through the blinds. He wanted to see her better, and he reached back to flick the wall switch that worked the fireplace here.

  Another action that felt familiar.

  “Brock?” Hannah’s hand stilled on his chest; his shirt was already half off. “Are you okay?”

  He fought off the déjà vu that wasn’t real since he didn’t remember that first night with her. Instead, he focused on her lips swollen from his kiss. Her dress already sliding off one shoulder where the strap had fallen, a hint of pink lace visible along with the curve of her breast.

  * * *

  Hannah waited, breathing in the scent of Brock’s aftershave, a woodsy spice that she knew would make her knees weak for the rest of her days. He seemed on board with being together, but it worried her that his hand had gone to his temple. A pain? It hadn’t been that long ago that he took a blow to the head.

  “I’m better than okay,” he assured her, lifting both her hands and twining his fingers through hers as he kissed his way down her neck. “I’m so damned good I might die from it.”

  His words vibrated along her neck, sending ribbons of pleasure down her back and making her skin tingle. Her breasts pebbled, the heat between her thighs impossible to ignore.

  Just like the first time. Things were getting out of hand so fast she couldn’t even keep track of all the ways he made her feel delicious. Feminine. Wanted.

  Before she could ask for more, he was unfastening the other strap on her dress, lowering the bodice and feasting on one taut nipple right through the lace bra she wore. Sensation coiled tighter. Hotter. She gripped his shoulders, nails digging in lightly before she caught herself and eased up.

  With a growl, he shrugged the rest of the way out of his shirt, his chest a pure pleasure to see and touch. Her hands roamed all over him, feeling every inch while he unzipped the rest of her dress. When the silk pooled at her feet, she tipped him back on the white duvet, falling on top of him and pinning him to the mattress.

  For a moment, he watched her in the firelight, his blue gaze tracking her every move as she kissed her way down his chest to trace the muscles of his abs.

  Hannah hadn’t expected their new first time together to be even more intense. But it was. Mind-blowingly so. And she intended to savor every second of it.

  She worked the clasp of his belt with anxious fingers while he unhooked her bra with a clever flick. She took all new pleasure from the feel of his hot skin against her bare breasts as she slid off his pants. His boxers.

  But then, a new light flared in his eyes, his shoulders tensing as sweat rose along his back. He flipped her so that she was beneath him, pinning her there while he kissed her. And kissed her.

  When both of their breathing had turned ragged, he pulled himself away long enough to find a condom in a pocket of his jacket. She didn’t wait for him to undress her. She eased the lace panties down with a swivel of her hips and a little help from one hand, savoring the way he watched.

  Desperately hungry to have him.

  He sheathed himself, and she was so incredibly ready. He kneed apart her thighs, positioning himself between them, driving himself...home.

  The cry she made was a sound she didn’t recognize, a throaty moan of completion when they were only just beginning. She wrapped her legs around him, losing herself in him. In this moment.

  In a “first time” that, yes, was even better than the first time.

  She stroked her fingers through his hair, whispering in his ear how much she liked every single thing he did to her, asking for more, giving him everything in return.

  The sensations heightened even when she thought they couldn’t possibly go higher. Her heels dug into his hips, her arms wrapping around him to hold him close. When he reached between them to stroke the juncture of her thighs, right where she needed him most, she went utterly still. A riot of sensation crashed through her, waves of pleasure coursing so hard she could only close her eyes and hold on.

  Before she could even think how to give him that incredible sensual gift in return, he found his own peak. His thighs tensed, his shoulders and arms going rigid with the same bliss that had rolled over her.

  She kissed his neck and chest, clinging to him. Lost with him.

  She hadn’t imagined he would possibly give her a second chance after the secret she’d kept from him, but the real possibility of more with him tantalized her now. Defenses nonexistent, she let herself feel all the delicious aftermath of being with him. The secret, joyful hope that this could be...everything.

  When he rolled to her side, taking her with him to lie next to him, she tucked into his chest as if they’d been sleeping together for a lifetime. The rightness of the moment surrounding her, she savored the first sense of total well-being since the night her sister came home in tears.

  The memory struck a painful note, but she pushed it to the side, promising herself she was going to find a way to avenge Hope. If anything, she felt stronger than ever in the shelter of Brock’s arms.

  Surely Hope would understand how much Brock meant to Hannah, and give her blessing to share the last of the secret Hannah had kept from him.

  * * *

  She was everything he ever wanted.

  Even in his dreams, Brock relived the night with Hannah. The haze of slumber and sensation drew him deeper in, immersing him in her with an intensity that made him loath to wake up...

  He lifted her in his arms, skimming off the scrap of blue lace around her hips before he pulled her down to the white duvet with him.

  She made soft, sexy sounds of approval in his ear as she speared her fingers into his hair and drew him down to kiss her. Shadows flickered across the bed beside them in the firelight, the need for her—for this—ratcheting higher.

  He’d never bedded a woman so fast. Never imagined a night like this where desire smoked away reason and sensual hunger roared with predatory demand. But Hannah was right there with him, her hands shifting lower to smooth down his chest, back up his arms. All the while she urged him faster, whispering soft commands to touch her. Taste her.

  He couldn’t get enough of her...

  Waking with a start, Brock glanced down to see Hannah asleep by him, her blond hair covering her shoulder like a blanket. He eased aside the strands to stare down at her in sleep, the remnants of his dream still clinging to the edges of his memory.

  Their night together had been incredible. But as his gaze snagged on her pink lace panties on the end of the bed, he thought back to his dream. He’d been so sure they were blue.

  He could picture them perfectly. Bright, peacock blue.

  Even her bra had been blue.

  Not pink.

  Head aching, a rush of images assailed him. Of a horseback ride with Hannah. She was wearing a dark T-shirt, a black ball cap and a pair of leggings that helped him to feel every nuance of her curves when they’d been on the horse.

  It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. A memory.

  He remembered.

  The re
alization was so welcome, such a relief, he nearly woke her up to share the good news. Except that, with his memory came a sucker punch that landed squarely in his chest.

  He’d gone to see her on set the morning after their first time, specifically to ask her about her guarded reaction to learning his name. He recalled vividly that Hannah had been upset to learn he was a McNeill. Why?

  He’d asked her point-blank.

  She hadn’t been honest with him then. And she sure as hell hadn’t told him the whole truth now. As much as he wanted it not to matter—it did.

  Shifting away from her, he needed to get to the bottom of it. Before he could wake her, however, his cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. Lifting it, he saw a text from his oldest brother, Cody.

  The words on the screen couldn’t have shocked him more. The private investigator the family had hired wanted to talk to Hannah.

  Twelve

  “Hannah.” Brock heard the ice in his voice but was powerless to fix it. Soften it. The realizations about Hannah were too damning. “We need to get dressed.”

  Already stepping out of bed, he had no choice but to slide on his tuxedo pants and shirt from the wedding.

  “What’s going on?” she asked sleepily, sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her.

  “Two things.” He buttoned the tuxedo shirt with impatient fingers, needing to get outside into the fresh air. Clear his head. “First, Cody asked us to come to the Black Creek Ranch main house. There have been some developments in the blackmail case, and apparently the private investigator has asked to speak to you.”

  He watched as she came fully awake, her face draining of color. “Me?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed his shoes and headed for the door. “And in other news, I’ve got my memory back.”

  He didn’t wait to hear her reaction or her explanations. He couldn’t process what was happening or why she was doing this to him, drawing him back into her life when she had purposely tried to distance herself from him after he’d gotten amnesia. Right now, all he could think about was getting to his brother’s house fast and finally getting to the bottom of the scandal, the blackmail and—most painful of all to him personally—Hannah Ryder’s deceit.