The Braddock Boys: Brent

by Kimberly Raye

  His groin tightened and he stepped back behind the door again, desperate for a barrier between them. Something to keep him from reaching out and pulling her inside the room. He was close. Too close. The hunger pushed and pulled inside of him and he knew he wouldn’t last five seconds if she kept looking at him with such passion in her eyes. And he had to last. He didn’t do sex. And he certainly didn’t do it with the locals.

  Then again, she wasn’t actually a local. She was temporary. In town in search of her ex. Or so she said.

  She was lying. Even more, she was good at lying, at masking her feelings, which made him all the more suspicious of her. She wasn’t who she pretended to be.

  Not that it mattered.

  Regardless of who she was or why she was here, she wasn’t from Skull Creek. She was temporary. She wouldn’t be hanging around next week. Or next month. Or next year. And he wouldn’t have to face her again should he come back and visit Cody. So why shouldn’t he take her up on what she was so obviously offering?

  At the same time, there was just something about her that made him wary. The fact that she wasn’t easily influenced by him bothered him to no end. He couldn’t bend her to his will, otherwise she would turn and walk away right now.

  Walk.

  He stared deep into her eyes and sent the silent command, but she simply batted her eyelashes, her gaze hopeful, hungry.

  She was stronger than any other woman he’d ever known. Different. Dangerous.

  To his resolve. His peace of mind. His heart.

  When the last thought struck, he drop-kicked it back out. That was the last thing he had to worry about. He didn’t stick around long enough for his heart to get involved. He kept his distance and took his sustenance only when he needed it.

  His dick throbbed, reminding him that the one thing he needed right now was a warm, lush woman.

  The woman standing before him.

  “I really have to go,” he murmured. “I’ve got someone waiting on me.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment flashed in her gaze and he couldn’t help himself.

  “My brother,” he heard himself blurt. What the hell? He didn’t explain. Even more, he didn’t talk. Just shut up and let her think the worst. Even more, shut the door right friggin’ now before you do something you’ll really regret. “He’s getting married next Saturday and tonight’s the shower. It’s a couples’ shower,” he explained. “Not that I’m a part of a couple. But it’s for men and women and I’m family so I have to go.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment faded in a rush of relief. She smiled. “Where are they getting married?”

  “A friend of ours has a ranch outside of town. The wedding is there, but the shower is at Darlington House. It’s this old restored mansion over on Main, near the town square. It used to be the home of Sam Black, the founder of Skull Creek, but now it’s a historic landmark. They give tours and use it for special events. Weddings. Receptions. Anniversary parties.”

  “Showers,” she added. She smiled and his chest tightened. “What about afterward? We could meet up later.” She looked so hopeful that he almost agreed. Almost.

  But Brent had been resisting the lust for sex that burned inside of him far too long to give in so easily. Sex was off limits while he was in Skull Creek. It was a vow he’d made when Cody had asked him to stick around, one he intended to keep. It would be hard enough to leave his brother when all was said and done. He wasn’t adding a woman to the list.

  “I’m busy later,” he murmured. And then he closed the door before he did something really stupid like pull her close, sinking his fangs into her sweet neck and his cock into her warm and willing body.

  No sex, he reminded himself. Even more, no blood and sex. That was a double whammy. A sure-fire way to find himself in a heap of trouble.

  Having sex with her would be bad enough. But having sex with her and drinking her blood? That would tie him to her emotionally. He would be able to hear her thoughts, feel her feelings, know her.

  No way. No how. Hell, no.

  Brent listened as her heels clicked back toward her room. The knob clicked. Hinges creaked. The door thudded shut and he welcomed a rush of relief.

  But it was short-lived when he realized that all that separated them was measly sheetrock. His hands trembled and his body tightened and he pulled on his clothes with lightning speed. Snatching up his keys and his Stetson, he headed for his car, his gaze locked on the Camaro. He wasn’t going to look toward her room. Or think about her and the way she’d looked in her tight red dress and sparkly shoes. Or the fact that he was so hard he could have cut diamonds at the moment.

  Getting the hell out of there. That’s all that was on his mind at the moment.

  That and finding a little relief. No way would he make it fifteen minutes at the shower in his present state. He needed to sate the hunger deep in his belly. He needed calm. And he knew just how to get it.

  He fired the engine, pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the Dairy Freeze for a quick bite.

  HE COULDN’T DO IT.

  Brent stared at the woman draped over his arm. The waitress from the other night. Just as willing. Just as eager.

  Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, begging for his fangs, but he couldn’t seem to make himself do it. As hungry as he was, he wasn’t hungry for this. For her.

  “Please,” she murmured, her gaze glazed with passion as she stared up at him. While she didn’t consciously remember, her subconscious did and that’s what was in control at the moment. She wanted the sweet release he’d given her the other night when he’d drank from her. The pleasure.

  And he wanted Abby.

  The truth thrummed through him and he released the woman. Buttoning her blouse back up, he stared deep into her eyes.

  This was just another dream. Go back inside and forget all about it. About me.

  For a split second, he wished he could turn the mind control on himself. He wanted to forget Abby and the way she’d looked in her red dress. The way she’d looked last night.

  Even more, he wanted to forget the way she’d looked at him.

  The desperation. The desire.

  He’d had women want him before, but only because of what he was. Abby wasn’t influenced by that. She was strong. Immune to his control. Unfazed by it.

  Yet she still wanted him.

  Of her own accord.

  That’s why he couldn’t forget her. And that’s why he bypassed the various couples clustered here and there in the main parlor and headed straight for the bar the moment he arrived at Darlington House.

  “What’s up with you?” Cody asked him when he cornered him later that night.

  “I’m just having a drink.”

  “You don’t drink. We don’t drink.” Vampires were more sensitive, which meant they not only saw and heard things that most people couldn’t. They also felt things more intensely. Translation? Brent was a cheap drunk. Usually.

  Oddly enough, three glasses of Crown Royal still hadn’t been enough to make Brent forget Abby and her sexy red dress.

  “Slow down,” Cody told him when he tossed down number four.

  “Shouldn’t you be helping your bride-to-be open gifts?” He motioned to Miranda who stood across the room, holding up yet another silver serving platter. “Don’t these people realize you can’t use that?”

  “Some are humans and no, they don’t realize it. And they’d better not realize it.” He gave Brent a warning look. “Take it easy, okay?”

  “No problem.” He waved the waiter off when he started to refill the glass and Cody looked relieved.

  “So what did you think about the house?” When Brent tried to look puzzled, Cody grinned. “I know you stopped by. Nice, huh?”

  “It’s a house.”

  “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  “I think you should stop worrying about whether she likes it and start worrying over what you’re going to do with seven Crockpots.”

  Cody glanced behi
nd him in time to see Miranda unwrap the next present and his face fell. “Whatever happened to gift cards?” he muttered as he made his way back over to his fiancée.

  Brent pushed away from the bar, said his goodbyes and slipped out before Cody got to the envelope he’d left on the table upon his arrival. Outside, he climbed into his car, hiked the windows down and spent the next half hour hauling ass down the interstate, feeling the wind whip at his skin. Hoping it would cool him down and ease the lust eating away inside of him.

  No such luck.

  He was still as hot, as horny as ever when he pulled into the parking lot later that night.

  He killed the engine and sat there, staring through the windshield at the closed curtains of her room. He knew he should go out to Cody’s. He could sleep in his brother’s basement tonight and save himself a night of tossing and turning and fantasizing.

  At least that’s what he told himself.

  But deep down, he knew he was past the point of sleep. She was in his head, under his skin, and there was no escaping the picture she’d made on the bed with her legs spread, or on his doorstep wearing a racy red dress and eager smile.

  It was crazy, but he couldn’t decide which he liked better. He knew it should be the first, but as much as he’d liked seeing her naked body, he’d liked seeing her smile, too. The tilt of her full lips. The flash of uncertainty in her gaze, as if she wasn’t half as daring as she pretended to be.

  She wasn’t, despite the fact that she’d pulled the curtains aside and was now standing in the window, staring at him. Drive away.

  The command echoed, but damned if he could make himself start the engine. Instead, he sat still and waited to see what she would do next.

  11

  HE’D TURNED HER DOWN.

  The knowledge should have been enough to sway Abby from her current plan, but it wasn’t.

  She hadn’t made it through boot camp and years of special training by being easily discouraged. When she made up her mind to do something, she did it.

  Now was no different.

  While Brent had turned her down, he hadn’t wanted to turn her down. He’d wanted to reach out, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. She’d seen as much in the stiff set of his muscles. The flare of desire in his eyes. The tense set to his jaw. He’d wanted her, but he’d held back.

  He was holding back now.

  She watched as he sat behind the steering wheel, his hands clenching the wheel, as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do.

  While he might not be able to make up his mind, she’d already made up hers. If putting on a sexy outfit hadn’t been enough to push him past the point of no return, she would just have to try taking it off. Slowly.

  She leaned over and flipped on the ancient radio that sat on a nearby table. A turn of the knob and she cleared away the static and tuned in to a local country station. A twangy, sexy Big and Rich song filled her ears and she closed her eyes. The beat filled her head and thrummed through her body. She started to move her hips from side to side. Pushing her arms into the air, she slid her hands beneath her hair and lifted the weight, the same way she’d seen Winona demonstrate during her pole dancing snippet.

  The realization that Brent was parked outside, watching her from his car made her heart pound and her blood race. Her body came alive, her nerves buzzing, and her movements grew more seductive as she listened to the lyrics about saving horses and riding cowboys.

  She danced for the next few seconds, lost in the rhythm of the song and the seductive edge, until the music finally faded into a slow tune by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw.

  Chancing a peek to see if Brent was still watching, she found the car empty. Disappointment rushed through her as she came to a dead stop and stared through the window. And then came the insecurity.

  Maybe she’d read him wrong. Heaven knew it wouldn’t be the first time. She’d been so convinced that Hockey Hunk had returned her feelings, so dead set in the notion that he loved her as desperately as she loved him that she’d poured out her feelings that night only to have them thrown back into her face.

  There’d been no feelings involved now. Just lust. And pride.

  She was such an idiot.

  Then and now.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” The deep, sultry voice brought her whirling around to find Brent standing in the corner of the room. His eyes gleamed. Tension held his body tight. His muscles bunched beneath his white T-shirt. Taut lines carved his face, making him seem harsh, fierce, predatory.

  She glanced at the closed door. She hadn’t heard it open. No footsteps. Nothing. It was as if he’d slid through the keyhole. “How did you get in here—” she started, but then he was right in front of her, his fingertip pressed to her lips.

  “Don’t talk,” he murmured. “Just finish what you started.”

  Suddenly the specifics of how he’d gotten into her room ceased to matter. The only important thing was that he was there. Right in front of her. Watching again. Waiting.

  She licked her lips and touched a finger to her throat, to the frantic pounding of her pulse. Her hand lingered before she slid a finger to the edge of her dress, tracing the line where warm flesh met spandex before moving to the spaghetti strap.

  Hooking her finger beneath, she slid the stretchy material down over her shoulder. She did the same with the other strap until the material caught only on her aroused nipples. She traced the indentation of one, fingering the peak until a gasp trembled from her lips.

  Brent watched, his eyes dark and hooded and bright, bright blue—

  Wait a second.

  He didn’t have blue eyes. He had green eyes. Vivid, grass-green eyes that made her think of lazy summer days and endless stretches of pasture. She blinked and sure enough, his eyes were green again.

  Again? They were always green. You’re so worked up that you’re not thinking straight.

  And how. Her hands trembled. Her body shook.

  “More,” he murmured, the one word throaty and raw and desperate.

  A surge of feminine power went through her and she pushed the material down over her aroused nipples, to her waist. She eased it over her hips, her thighs, her knees, until it puddled around her ankles.

  Leaning down, she grasped the edge of the dress and tried to step free. Her heel caught and she stumbled backward.

  “Easy.” Brent caught her, his strong, powerful hands steady on her arms.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, but he didn’t seem the least put off by her clumsiness. His gaze smoldered. His touch lingered for a long moment, as if he hated to let her go. He did.

  He forced his hands away and stepped back to give her the floor again.

  She drew a deep, shaky breath and watched the flare of desire in his eyes when her breasts lifted up and out. The sight fed her confidence and she reached for her front bra clasp. A twist of her fingers and the cups fell aside. Cool air slid over her bare breasts, but then his gaze chased away the sudden chill as quickly as it had come. Her heart pounded harder. Her blood rushed faster.

  Just like that, a drop of sweat slid down her temple. She was hot. A feeling that had nothing to do with the failing air conditioner and everything to do with the fire that burned between them.

  She touched the undersides of her breasts, cupping the soft mounds, weighing them and feeling the heat of her own touch for a long, delicious moment. All the while, she imagined that it was Brent touching her, searing her.

  She skimmed her palms over her nipples, down the plane of her stomach, to the waistband of her panties. The moment she felt the soft cotton, doubt pushed past the desire drumming at her temples. She wore plain regulation panties without a hint of lace. No sequins. No beading. Nothing even remotely sexy.

  When she’d bought the new clothes, why oh why hadn’t she opted for new undies, too?

  Because while she was, indeed, female, she didn’t think like one. She thought in terms of comfort rather than appearance. Functionality rather than seduct
ion.

  Brent Braddock didn’t seem to notice. He stared at her as if she wore the skimpiest thong. His gaze gleamed with excitement. Desperation. Hunger.

  Impatience rushed through her, chasing away the insecurity and filling her with pure, raw need. A need she had to satisfy or else.

  She pushed the panties down and toed them to the side. When she leaned down to work at the straps of the shoe, Brent’s voice stopped her.

  “Leave them on. They’re sexy.”

  You’re sexy.

  His deep voice echoed in her head, but she didn’t see his lips move. Before she could wonder about it, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a quick, hungry kiss that sent electricity zinging from the point of contact.

  The sensation ended all too soon and he pulled away. Then he simply stood there. Staring at her. Waiting for more.

  She quickly obliged. She touched the tip of one breast and circled before moving to the other. She rubbed her nipple and squeezed, making her own breath catch before she moved lower, over her belly button, her pelvis, to the damp, swollen flesh between her legs. She stroked herself and her nerves hummed. Another lingering stroke and she pushed deep inside her drenched flesh.

  Pressure gripped her, so sweet and intense, and she gasped. She’d pleasured herself many times before, but it had never felt the way it did now. With Brent so close. So interested.

  She fanned her fingers, pushing and wiggling until her body swayed from the desire gripping her.

  But it wasn’t enough. She wanted his fingers inside of her. His touch. Him.

  And he wanted her.

  “Just sex,” he murmured, his gaze suddenly wary. “That’s all this is. I don’t want to date you or get to know you or listen to your life story. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Neither am I.” She closed the few inches that separated them. Staring up into his heated gaze, she murmured, “Your turn.”

  He hesitated a split-second and she feared he would turn and walk away, the way he’d done last night. And today.

  Not this time.

  Instead, he reached out and rasped one nipple with his knuckle. Pleasure bolted through her and she caught a gasp that bubbled from her lips.