by Mia Sheridan
Women like that? I studied Belle for a moment, gorgeously disheveled, clothes worn for comfort and function, not style. Did she consider herself less beautiful, less desirable when put next to a woman like Sondra? God, if she only knew. “I’m not interested in her or anyone else, Belle. We dated casually for a short time and she happened to be at the same event as me a couple of weeks ago. Our picture was taken together, that’s all. There’s only one woman I’m hoping like hell will let me take her to dinner tonight and that’s you.”
She tilted her head, still looking skeptical and my chest tightened as I waited for her answer.
“Just dinner,” I said.
“No marriage proposal?” Her lip quirked up slightly.
I laughed. “I’ll try my best.”
Isabelle released a breath, and I could almost hear her mind working through the arguments for and against dinner. She lifted her chin. “All right. Dinner.”
My heart soared and I grinned. “I missed you,” I admitted, both to her and to myself. I’d missed her voice, her laugh, the way she challenged and excited me. I’d missed her strength—the way she could still smile after all she’d lost. Yeah, I’d missed her, and I didn’t want to miss her anymore.
“You did?” she asked. Isabelle clicked her tongue at Pretty Penny, and the horse lifted her head from where she’d been grazing again and moved forward, carrying Isabelle away from me. “I agree to dinner. But I swear, Brant Talbot, if you mention anything about marrying you, the date’s over.”
I laughed, turning and following her as she moved in the direction of the stable.
**********
The restaurant in a small town about half an hour away was just as I remembered it—quaint and inviting with a large fireplace in the center of the room. It was an old farmhouse that had been converted into a restaurant.
The hostess showed us to a table at the edge of the stone hearth, and we both took a seat, the warmth of the fire making me feel relaxed and at ease. I looked at Isabelle across the table, noting for the second time that night how pretty she looked. She’d left her hair down where it curled in soft waves, and it looked like she had some makeup on. She was wearing a black dress that wrapped around her slim body, a tie holding it closed just above her hip. I wanted to pull at that small bow and see if the dress fell off her as I suspected it would. Moving those frustrating thoughts aside, I took a drink of water.
“The first time I met you, you were wearing a blue and white sundress,” I said. “It slipped off your shoulder and I practically had to hold my own hand down not to pull it back up, just to get closer to you, to graze your skin for a moment.”
Belle blinked at me, setting the water glass she’d just taken a sip from on the table. “You were such a jerk to me that day. I thought you hated me.”
“I did, sort of. Because I wanted you and I thought you and my father . . .” I waved my hand, not wanting to even put words to what I’d thought. “I didn’t admit it to myself, but yeah, I was sick with jealousy.”
“Of your father? Oh, Brant.”
“I know, I know.” I grimaced. “I didn’t like it either. In fact, I hated it.”
She tilted her head, her gaze washing over me and seeming to soften as a smile played at her mouth. “So you acted like an ass.”
“Yeah. I acted like an ass. An impulsive, jealous ass.”
She blew out a breath, but there was a small laugh contained within it and her eyes still held that softness. She looked at her menu and we were both quiet for a second as we perused the choices. After a minute she set her menu aside. “You saw your father this morning before he left?”
“Yeah. He told me about the treatment. I hope it brings him some relief. That rattle in his lungs . . . it’s gotta be uncomfortable.” She nodded, her expression full of the unfeigned concern I knew she had for him.
The waitress came and took our order and when she left, Isabelle said, “It’s going to be quiet this weekend at the house. Are you planning on staying?” Our eyes met and something flashed between us, but Isabelle lowered her gaze before I could tell exactly what she might be thinking. My own blood buzzed with the thoughts that suddenly entered my mind. Having Isabelle to myself, the whole house empty, just us, for an entire weekend.
“I’d like to.” My voice sounded deeper—needy—even to my own ears, and I cleared my throat. Color rose in Isabelle’s cheeks as she looked at me, her eyes skittering away as if she’d somehow seen the visions my brain had conjured. Us. Alone. A huge house all to ourselves. So many surfaces.
“Why’d you come back, Brant?” she asked, her finger circling her glass.
I swallowed, wanting her touch on me, circling, exploring. And more. So much more. That one night hadn’t been enough, dammit. Not even close. I needed to experience her again, and again, and again, not just in the dark of night, but in the soft light of morning and the bright afternoon sunshine. I’d wondered before what it would be like to know a woman, really know her, and though the thought had enticed me then, fear had come quick on its heels. But looking at her now . . . there was only that burning desire and nothing else. Why had I come back? “I meant it when I said I missed you.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “And I started thinking about what my father said. It made sense.” At the look of exasperation that flashed in her eyes, I held up my hand. “Don’t get mad. I know now that it’s not what you expect. Let me just explain where my mind was. I was thinking that if we married, we’d both own Graystone Hill. It’d stay in the Talbot name. I would leave the running of it to you, and you’d have no reason to turn it down. And you wouldn’t have had to worry about someone else owning it who might split the place up, or run things in a way you didn’t care for.”
“Brant, if your father left it solely to you, you could just assure me of those things and go on your merry way.”
“My father doesn’t trust me. He trusts you. My father loves you like a daughter already. A marriage would have made it both of ours.”
“A marriage of convenience, Brant? Seriously?”
God, no. “It would have been more than that.”
“Really? It doesn’t sound like it. We don’t know each other.” She huffed out a breath. “We seem to be good at fighting and well . . .” Her cheeks turned pink, her eyelids fluttering down. Fuck, she was so damned pretty. Fighting and fucking, that’s what she meant, but I doubted Belle would have put it like that.
“What else is there?” I asked.
She laughed, but then pressed her lips together. “A lot. There’s a lot, Brant.”
“But that’s a good start, right?” I tilted my head and gave her my best boyish smile. “I’m crazy about you, Belle.”
She shook her head and looked mildly annoyed. “You’re charming me, and I don’t know if I should let you.”
I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “Let me. Let me charm you. I can be better at it. I know I can be an insensitive jerk, but I’m not always. You deserve to be charmed, Isabelle. You deserve happiness and laughter. Give me this weekend. Let me show you how it can be between us for longer than one night. At least that.”
Our food showed up, and as the waitress set down our plates, I watched Isabelle and could tell she was using the brief interruption to form her answer. When the waitress left the table, she looked up at me and I held my breath. “I’d like to spend this weekend with you, Brant.” She rearranged the utensils next to her plate, her brow furrowed. “But not to discuss marriage or your father’s wishes.” She rubbed at her temple. “Or anything weighing on us right now. Truthfully, I’d like to put all that aside for a couple of days . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she was thinking about something specific, something she hadn’t shared with me perhaps, but then she raised her eyes and the heat in them made my own flare in response. “I’d like to let it all go and just enjoy each other.” She bit her lip as if worried I’d say no to that. As if.
So, I had offered her marriage, and she had countered with a we
ekend of . . . enjoying each other. And the funniest part about it was that I was actually a little disappointed. But a weekend of enjoying Isabelle? It was a pretty great consolation prize and I wasn’t about to turn it down. “Check please,” I joked and Isabelle laughed, shooting me a bemused look and then picking up her fork and digging in to her food.
I suddenly wasn’t hungry at all.
At least not for food.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Isabelle
We were both mostly quiet on the ride home from the restaurant, the small space full of the sexual tension that had been flowing between us over dinner now amplified with every mile we drew closer to home.
I’d admitted my desire for him, admitted wanting to act on it, and yet I was nervous. One night with Brant had led to intense feelings for him, despite the way he’d acted afterward. What would an entire weekend do to my heart? Still . . . the excitement I felt at the very idea of . . . enjoying him for two days beat in my chest and sparkled through my veins. A thrill raced through me, settling between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together, biting my lip at the small burst of pleasure. I remembered how glorious it had been that night at the old distillery and I wanted more. I was helpless against the need bubbling up inside me.
And yet, I had no real experience to draw from, and I didn’t want to disappoint him or embarrass myself.
Brant pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and looked at me. His jaw was rigid with tension and I wondered if he felt the same neediness I did. “Before we go inside, Belle, tell me what you want. I need to hear you say the words.”
My gaze traveled over his face, his eyes burning with desire, his posture stiff, a sort of . . . desperation in his face that both thrilled and scared me. I had never talked about sex before, hadn’t been asked, and didn’t really know the rules, but I took a deep breath, figuring in this matter especially, honesty was the best policy. “I want . . .” I moved my finger along the edge of the seat, nervous and fidgety. “I want you to . . . teach me things.”
A sort of groan came from his chest and my eyes flew to his. He looked pained, that desperation in his eyes glowing brighter and causing my breath to hitch. He turned, opened his door and was pulling me out of mine all in the space of two heartbeats. He was breathing hard though he’d performed no exertion, and it excited me, made my blood pulse hotly. He took me by the arm, and I stumbled slightly as I attempted to keep up. He turned, steadying me and swooping me into his arms. I let out a surprised burst of laughter.
“I can walk,” I said on another laugh.
“Not fast enough,” Brant answered and though his voice was gritty, he shot me a smile. The moonlight played over his face, which only made him look more incredibly gorgeous than normal. And tonight . . . tomorrow . . . he was all mine. So many hours stretched before us, and I already felt sad that with every breath, the moments were slipping away.
“You’re right,” I said. “Hurry.”
Brant let out a tight laugh, fast-walking up the porch steps and setting my feet down as he searched his pocket for the key. We’d locked up earlier since no one was home, and now I regretted the act of safety that cost us seconds. Apparently Brant felt the same way—he swore softly, fumbling in his other pocket and finally producing the key. His hands shook slightly as he opened it and then we were through, the door shutting behind us, the click of the lock echoing in the empty house. Brant turned toward me and without a word, we came together, our moans mingling, his deep, mine breathy, before being cut off by the meeting of our mouths. His lips were hot and soft against my own, his taste so familiar though I’d only experienced him twice before. It was enough, apparently, because I knew exactly how his mouth would taste, remembered the precise way his tongue twisted against my own, knew what to do to elicit those small growls in his throat.
Oh God, kissing him was so good. So, so good. It was wet and hot and it was shooting sparks all throughout my body, making me feel soft and tingly and needy in the most delicious way. Because there was more, much more. I knew that now, and potent excitement rose inside me at the knowledge of what lay ahead. I pulled at his clothes, managing only to untuck the front of his shirt from his pants, and he let out a small, strangled chuckle. “Bed. We need a bed.”
And then his lips were back on mine and we were moving, but I wasn’t sure who was leading the way. Maybe neither of us were. Maybe we’d end up somewhere completely unexpected, and it wouldn’t matter as long as he was on top of me, filling me, and relieving the empty ache pulsating between my legs. But Brant must have had more presence of mind than I did, or maybe his innate sense of direction was better, because I opened my eyes for a moment as we spilled into his bedroom, still kissing, our moans and the wet sounds of our mouths filling the space. He kicked the door closed behind him, and stepped back, our lips coming apart with a wet popping sound as I blinked dazedly at him. The look on his face brought me up short. His eyes were heavy lidded with arousal, trained on me in a way that made me feel deliriously wanted and yet slightly skittish too. No man had ever looked at me that way. Not even the man I’d been married to. And I was suddenly afraid I wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t know enough to live up to the desire burning in his eyes. I wanted him, yes, but when it came down to it, I was so inexperienced. We’d been together once, but that had been under such different circumstances. I’d told him I wanted him to teach me all the things I didn’t know, but now I worried I would bore him.
He moved forward, putting a hand on my cheek as if he could read the doubts suddenly assaulting me. “What are you thinking?” His voice was still raspy, but also held a note of concern.
I glanced to the side. “It’s just, you’re used to women who are much more—”
“Belle, no. Don’t. I’m not thinking of anyone except you right now.” He chuckled and it sounded pained. “Please believe me when I tell you there’s literally nothing you can do wrong here, okay?”
I searched his eyes and saw only honesty, only the same desire, not dimmed in the slightest by my sudden insecurity. I nodded and he brought his hands to the tie at the side of my dress, undoing it and watching as the material fell open, his eyes—impossibly—heating even more.
Our movements slowed, but my heartbeat sped up, my breaths increasing.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” Brant said, pulling my dress open and over my shoulders so it slipped down my body and pooled on the floor at my feet. I resisted the urge to cover myself, my confidence aided by the blatant lust on his face as his eyes raked my near-naked body.
Leaning in, he trailed his lips down my neck and I let my head fall back on a moan, the warm slide of his mouth on my skin sweet torment. “I looked for you,” he murmured against my skin, “while I was away.” I felt my bra slip down my arms, even though I hadn’t noticed Brant unhooking it, so lost in the sensations he was eliciting with his mouth.
“You . . . you looked for me?” I asked, confused.
“Yes. In every room I entered.” His voice was low, deep, his breath whispering over the skin of my throat as he spoke. “I knew you wouldn’t be there. I knew you were here, far away, and yet . . . it was the first thing I did. I found myself looking for you in every room I walked into. I wanted so much for you to be there.”
Oh, God. A shiver—warm and tingly—rippled over my skin. “Brant,” I murmured just as his tongue flicked my nipple, I let out a gasp, weaving my fingers through his thick hair. “Yes,” I breathed, the self-doubt I’d felt only moments before melting away under his touch, the romance of his words. I looked for you.
He licked slowly, tortuously around one hardened peak, and sparks shot downward, a surge of wetness between my legs making me squirm. I brought my head forward and our gazes tangled, heat ricocheting between us. My lips parted on another strangled gasp as he moved to the other breast, not breaking eye contact. Watching him watch me as he pleasured me in that way was so sexy I thought I’d climax right then and there. “Brant,” I moaned, so many questi
ons contained within that one word.
His mouth came off my breast and he stood, taking my face in his hands and kissing me on the mouth quickly before moving back to shrug off his shirt that was mostly unbuttoned. Dear God in Heaven. His chest was a work of art. I’d seen it in the very dim light of the distillery, knew he was fit, but hadn’t been able to see the shadows and highlights of his sleek muscles, the masculine breadth of his shoulders, the smoothness of his skin, and the very light sprinkling of hair. Unable to resist, I reached a finger out and traced the lines of his stomach muscles. He hissed in a breath. “Belle,” he said, his voice ragged right before he kissed me again.
The backs of my legs hit the bed, and I lay back as Brant stood over me, removing his pants. His erection sprang free, a drop of moisture beading the tip, and I swallowed, squirming again at the knowledge that he’d be inside me soon. “Jesus, Belle,” he murmured as if he had read my mind yet again. He pulled something from the pocket of his discarded jeans, tore it open with his teeth, and then pulled a condom over his hard length, his eyes watching me as I watched him. I was captivated by the action. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined such a thing could be so sexy. My breath quickened as I dragged more air into my lungs. Brant’s expression was strained as he pulled my underwear down my legs, coming down on top of me, his skin hot and smooth.
He kissed me again, his mouth demanding, his tongue dancing with mine and then probing in and out in an imitation of the sex act. An inferno raced through my veins and I clutched the blankets beneath me, wanting more, needing more. I broke from his mouth, the sound of my desire bursting from my lungs as a half gasp, half groan. I lifted my hips, and wrapped a leg around his upper thighs, my body seeking his. Brant let out a strangled chuckle, and then I felt the nudge of his hardness at my entrance and used my leg to apply pressure to the backs of his legs. He hissed out another small laugh and then pressed all the way inside, filling me, and I let out a gasp of pleasure, of joy.
