by Mia Sheridan
Brant took my hand and led me to the bed. I sat then licked my lips as I gazed at him. He leaned in and kissed me once, hard and wet, and then pulled a chair closer to the bed, removing his boxers and then sitting and leaning back. His gaze grew lazy as he moved his own hand down his stomach, his head falling back slightly as he took his hard shaft in his hand. Heat zinged through my body, from my breasts to my sex to the tips of my fingers and toes. Oh my God, in all my life I’d never even imagined a sight like this.
Brant’s hand moved up and down slowly as he let out another deep moan of pleasure. I couldn’t handle it anymore and I moved to stand, to go to him, to take over what he was doing to his own body, to relieve the throbbing ache in my own, but he raised his hand, gesturing for me to stay still. “No. Lie back, Belle. I want to watch you too.”
“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “No, I . . . I mean, I didn’t . . .”
“But you can now. Show me how much you want me. Let me watch.”
I hesitated. But when my eyes moved to his hand still sliding up and down his hardened flesh, another flood of moisture surged downward. I loved watching him, and it only stood to reason that he’d like to watch me as well. Would it make him feel the same way I did right now? There’s never any shame in the things we do together. I lay back, bringing a pillow under my head so I could continue to watch him. Just as he had done, I moved my hand slowly down my stomach, reaching one finger experimentally between my folds. A burst of pleasure shot through me, and I gasped out a small moan.
“Jesus, Isabelle,” Brant rasped, his hand speeding up in its movement. I brought one hand to my breast, flicking my nipple the way Brant did, and I then explored my body, lingering on the places that brought me the most pleasure. The dual stimulation of touching myself and watching Brant was almost too much, and my head fell back onto the pillow as I closed my eyes, my breath coming out in small pants.
His heat was directly above me a moment later and my eyes flew open, blinking as I stared into his lust-heavy eyes. “I feel like an animal when I’m with you,” he grated out, leaning in and pressing his mouth to mine, biting my bottom lip softly and causing me to gasp. “How do you do that to me every time? And why do I love it so damn much?”
Before I could answer, he entered me on one smooth thrust, causing me to cry out in both surprise and ecstasy, my head lifting off the pillow as he began gliding in and out, slowly at first and then faster, faster. The wet sound of our sex filled the room, combined with my moans and Brant’s harsh breathing.
My body began tightening and I searched for purchase with my hands, needing to hold on to something, feeling as if I might spiral away.
“Brant, Brant,” I chanted, grabbing handfuls of the blankets under me.
“Yes, Belle,” he encouraged. “Let go. Let me see you come undone.” My orgasm hit me, and I breathed his name once again, the pleasure so all-encompassing I swore it traveled to every extremity, including the tips of my hair follicles.
Brant’s movements became jerky and my eyes opened lazily to see his skin erupt in goosebumps as his mouth fell open and he groaned out his climax, falling on top of me and slightly to the side so most of his weight was on the mattress.
I love you, I thought, and yet I didn’t say it. Our relationship had been so rushed, so unexpected. I knew Brant wanted me sexually. My God, our chemistry was off the charts. But I didn’t expect that he loved me—at least not yet.
But I loved him. I knew it deep in my soul and my most fervent prayer was that he would come to love me back.
He pulled out of me, and I let out a soft mewl of dissatisfaction and felt him smile against my shoulder before he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him.
For a moment we were both quiet, my thoughts foggy with the sweet afterglow of lovemaking.
“God, I’ve missed you, Belle. Missed kissing you, holding you, being inside you. I missed this.” He tightened his hold on me, and I loved it.
I stroked his rough jaw, running a finger over the masculine curve, relishing being able to touch him again, anywhere and everywhere. “I missed you too. So very much.” Even though we’d spoken on the phone, it was being in his arms, being showered with his affection, that I’d struggled without. Longed for.
“I’ve been thinking about your visit. What do you want to do most in New York?”
I paused, a small frisson of unease interrupting my dreamy calm. I was excited about seeing New York City for the first time, but I was also nervous. Kentucky was my comfort zone for so many reasons. It was home, it was the place where my heart felt at peace, it was the place my daughter was buried, where I felt closest to her even though I knew she didn’t really reside under that headstone near the willow tree in the corner of the cemetery. She was with me always.
Brant stroked my arm, his touch warm and soothing. “A Broadway show maybe?” he asked.
“Yes. I’d love that.”
He rolled me so he was looking into my face. “Then we’ll go to a Broadway show.” His eyes moved over my features for a moment and he leaned in and kissed me. “I want to show you my bars and nightclubs. I want you to know every part of me.”
“I want that, Brant.” And yet why did I have the faraway thought that the part of him he might not allow me to know was here, in Kentucky? Why did I get the feeling that the things he hid—possibly even from himself—were at Graystone Hill? And time was running out to confront the parts of his past he wasn’t willing to face. Because time was running out for Harry, the person inextricably connected to the things I sensed haunted his son. “I’m worried about leaving your father.”
He smoothed a piece of my hair back from my forehead. “It’s only for a short time. And the nurse you hired seems great.”
I paused. “She is. It’s just . . . your father can be . . . prickly.”
“You don’t say.”
I laughed softly and Brant smiled, bringing my fingers to his mouth and kissing them. “He’s doing well right now. And you know that . . . his situation isn’t imminent. Plus, it’s less than a two-hour flight. And you’ve earned some time off. May told me you haven’t take as much as one day for yourself in three years.”
“No, I haven’t,” I said. My eyes drifted away, over his shoulder and then back. “I just hate the thought of your father being lonely.”
“He’s not lonely, Belle. He has May and everyone else who works at Graystone Hill. It’s his home and he loves it here. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And he wanted this. Us. You’ve made me happy”—he kissed me softly—“but you’ve made him happy too. He wanted to see us together.”
I let out a breath, nodding. “You’re right.” The knowledge that my relationship with Brant had bridged the gap between those two feuding men was a balm to my soul. Earlier at the party celebrating Chancer’s win, I’d watched them chat, each of them chuckling a time or two at something the other had said. I smiled, the recent memory warming my heart.
“I mean, what he really wanted was for me to make an honest woman out of you.“ He nipped teasingly at my fingers. “But I told him you turned me down cold. Harshly, as a matter of fact. And he seemed satisfied that I was at least courting you.”
I laughed again. Courting. Is that what this was? “Sounds old-fashioned.”
He kissed my knuckle, his lips brushing across my skin and causing a small delightful shiver to travel through my body. When he spoke, the teasing tone was gone, and gravity laced his voice. “You make me feel old-fashioned, Belle.” He paused. “In a good way. You make me want things I never knew I’d want.”
My heart clenched. Did he mean love? Family? Children? A tremor of fear moved through me, but so did a glow of yearning. He was silent, though, and so I was too. If he was going to mention those specific things, he was going to have to do it without my prompting. And truth be told, maybe I wasn’t quite ready for a conversation like that anyway. Instead, I smiled at him. “Doesn’t seem very old-fashioned that I’m in your bed and your hands
are—” I let out a high-pitched laugh as he turned me suddenly, one hand settling on my thigh, the other on my naked breast.
“My hands are where?”
“Everywhere.”
He grinned and my heart stuttered at his male beauty. “Ah, but you’re wrong, this is the oldest fashionest thing of all time.”
I snorted and he laughed too, then glanced at the door, making a quiet shushing sound and winking.
“I’m going to enjoy not having to sneak around in New York,” I whispered.
Brant smiled happily. “Me too. You’re going to love it there.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Brant
“Can this wait until next week, Derek?” I felt like I’d been on the phone all damn day except for a brief visit to Isabelle in the stable, and I was ready to wrap things up. This week at Graystone Hill had gone by quickly, with much of it spent on video calls planning my latest opening. I was ready to get back to New York for the big event.
“Sorry, Brant, they need your signature to move forward. I emailed the documents. If you could just sign, scan, and send back, I’ll be out of your hair for the day. I know you have a woman to get back to. And listen, speaking of Isabelle, I pulled some strings and had a friend look into that car VIN you gave me a few days ago.”
I perked up at this news, sitting straighter. “Oh yeah? What’d he find?”
“It’s registered to Isabelle’s deceased husband. Purchased four years ago. No outstanding loan.”
I paused. “So it was purchased with cash.”
“Appears so. The guy must have been doing well. That’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
“Huh,” I said distractedly. The guy had been a dishonest piece of trash who’d been lying to his wife. What else was he lying about? The car? The cash? What had he been planning? “Thanks for that, Derek. I appreciate you looking into it.”
“No problem.”
I opened my email, confirming that the document he’d mentioned was there. “I got the document. I’ll take care of this and—”
Mick appeared at the glass of the French doors, his eyes wide and his expression grim. That expression . . . my heart stuttered and my breath caught. Mick knocked at the glass, but I was already on my feet, saying a terse goodbye to Derek, and tossing my phone on the desk. When I opened the door, the words I’d somehow known I’d hear, burst from his mouth, “It’s Isabelle. She’s hurt. I tried to call your phone but you didn’t—"
I barely remembered tearing out of there, couldn’t recall running to the stable. But suddenly I was at the fence to the yard, jumping it in one maneuver because going around would cost me seconds I didn’t have. Isabelle. Isabelle.
She’s hurt.
No.
No.
A crowd of men had gathered in a circle, most squatting, tending to someone on the ground. Oh God, oh God. I rushed toward her while terror gripped me at what I’d see when I got there.
The men tending her looked back as I ran up, moving aside and creating room for me. She was lying on the ground, her head cradled in Eli’s lap as he held a white cloth to her forehead. It was soaked in blood and for a moment, I swayed, horror and grief pulsing in my chest, a deep groan of dread lodged in my throat, choking me.
Blood. Blood. So much blood.
Because she’s dead.
She’s dead and she’ll never come back to me.
I went down on my knees beside her, the groan breaking free and rasping out on a tortured breath. “Belle.”
Her eyes opened—thank God—and a surge of relief shot through me. She blinked, her eyes moving quickly over my face as she reached out and took my trembling hand. She glanced at her hand wrapped around my own and then back at my face. “Oh, Brant, I’m okay,” she uttered, though her voice sounded weak. “I’m fine. It was my fault—that moody wild stallion I’ve been working with tried to kick me, and I didn’t dodge him fast enough. But it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just a small scratch really. It’s just bleeding a lot because it’s a head wound.”
I barely registered the small squeeze of my hand as rage billowed through my veins. A kick to the face? Fucking Christ. “He could have killed you,” I gritted between teeth that felt locked together.
“The doctor’s on his way, Brant,” Eli said softly, his expression wary. Did I look like I was going to snap any second? Hell, I was about to snap. Maybe I already had. Fuck. Fuck. I scooted closer, lifting Isabelle’s head gently, so gently, and placing it in my lap as Eli scooted back. I needed the solid feel of her beneath my hands to convince myself she really was okay. I lifted the cloth and saw that despite the blood, the wound was really very small and shallow. It probably wouldn’t even require stitches. I released a harsh gust of breath, placing the cloth back over the wound.
“Where is that fucking horse?”
“It’s not the horse’s fault,” Isabelle said. “You know that as well as I do. It’s just his nature. And like I said, it was my fault. I got too close.”
“Hey, this kind of thing happens, Brant,” Gus said. “Hell, I’ve been kicked in the head so many times it’s a wonder I’m not dame bramaged.”
My eyes shot up to him and his smile withered. He’d been trying to lighten the mood with humor, but I wasn’t in a place to meet him halfway. This kind of thing happens. Not to Isabelle.
“Doctor’s here,” Mick said as the doctor used for house calls approached, bending down to greet Isabelle and looking quickly under the cloth.
“All right. If you feel okay, I think it’s safe for you to stand.”
“Thank goodness,” Isabelle muttered, glancing at me worriedly. “I feel fine, Doctor.”
I helped Isabelle slowly to her feet, watching her closely as she came upright. She seemed to tilt a little bit and my breath hitched as I held her tighter, taking her weight. She gave me a small smile and nodded. “I’m good.”
My eyes felt stretched wide, my jaw ached, and there was a strange and obscure buzzing in my head. Everything seemed both overly bright and as if I was looking at it through tinted glass. Get a hold of yourself, Brant. Jesus. You’re not the one who was kicked here. But I felt like I had been. I felt as if I’d been kicked right in the chest and I still couldn’t catch my breath.
I’d felt this way . . . before. But things hadn’t been all right then. They were all right now. Isabelle was okay. She was talking and even laughing at something Gus had said. She was walking right beside me as we made our way to one of the golf carts the guys used on the road from one stable to the other.
We were back at the house a few minutes later and the doctor accompanied us to the guest bedroom at the back that Isabelle was secretly sharing with me. She kept insisting she could walk on her own, but I didn’t let go of her. I knew my hands on her were probably more for my own peace of mind at this point. She really did seem fine.
She sat on the bed, and I propped some pillows behind her back so she could recline against the headboard. The doctor sat and took his bag out, taking her vitals before checking the wound on her head. “Looks like he just grazed you with his shoe,” the doctor muttered. “You’re lucky, Isabelle. That could have been bad. As is though, I don’t think you need a stitch.”
Isabelle glanced worriedly at me but smiled at the doctor. “I’m really just dirty more than anything. And my backside hurts from landing on the ground.”
The doctor chuckled and went about the business of cleaning the small cut at her hairline and applying a bandage as I stood next to the bed.
May stopped in and checked on Isabelle, looking worried and saying she’d be back with tea. A few minutes later, the doctor finished and, after putting his supplies in his bag, got up to leave. I started walking him to the door, but he put his hand up. “I can show myself out. I’ve been in this house enough to know my way.”
I managed a small smile, nodding and closing the bedroom door behind him.
“Come here,” Isabelle said, holding out her hand to me from where she sat on
the bed, her back and head propped up by pillows. I went to her, perching myself on the edge of the bed. She took my hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over my knuckle. For a second I watched her small hand in mine, so delicate, so fragile. A small shiver went down my spine at the reminder of what that horse could have done to her. “Don’t look like that, Brant,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
“I know. It was a close call though, Belle—”
“And it was my fault. I pushed him. He wasn’t ready, and he lashed out at me. I should have listened to my intuition. It won’t happen again.”
I shook my head. “You can’t know that. Hell, the best trainers in the world get hurt, killed even.”
“It’s very rare. Before this, I’ve never gotten more than a bruise out in that yard.” She squeezed my hand. “And like I said, I’ll be even more cautious from here on out.”
I looked at her, her sympathetic eyes, hair falling loose around her shoulders, the bandage at her hairline stark white next to her lightly suntanned skin. I wanted to tell her to stop training horses altogether. I wanted to demand it. I had the overwhelming urge to insist she stay right there in that bed where she was safe and protected and where I could watch her and ensure she never came to any harm. But that was irrational. Irrational and unfair, and frankly, probably illegal. Belle was an independent woman who wouldn’t react well to being tied to my headboard indefinitely. But Lord, the temptation was strong to do just that. I stood, our entwined fingers coming undone as her hand fell to her lap. I felt slightly crazy. Crazy. Irrational. Out of control. No. No. “May will be in with some tea in a minute. And then you should rest.”
“I’m not tired.” She started to swing her legs off the bed, but I moved forward, preventing her from doing it.
“Humor me, okay? Just for an hour.”
She sighed, reclining back again. “Okay, I’ll lie down for an hour. But then I’m taking a shower.” She tilted her head slightly. “Brant . . . I’m sorry for the scare.” She licked her lips, the expression on her face both thoughtful and a little nervous as though she was considering asking me something hard. “What happened, did it . . . did it bring up memories of losing your mother?”
