Did he move? Did she? It was impossible to know and it didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was that his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, holding her, as if he'd never let her go.
Abrupt as it was, the shift from comfort to passion seemed inevitable. Hunger—always there, seldom acknowledged—rolled over them in a single, overpowering wave, leaving no room for thoughts of past or future, right or wrong. Only the moment existed. Only the moment mattered.
Need hammered in Nick. He had to touch her, had to feel her skin beneath his hands. He reached for the front of her shirt, his fingers impatient as he struggled to slide buttons open. He felt one tear loose, heard the faint ping as it hit the floor and the edges of fabric finally fell free. She was wearing a flesh-colored bra. The lacy fabric barely covered her breasts, but even that was too much. Ignoring the front clasp, he slid his hands inside the cups. Kate moaned and the sound tore away the last of his control.
If his hands were impatient with her clothing, hers were equally so with his. She tore at the buttons on his jeans, frantic to touch him. The zipper on her slacks yielded with a faint raspy sound just as her fingers closed around him. She felt him shudder and felt a wild surge of power that her touch could affect him so powerfully. He was silk and steel in her hand, heat and hunger, need and lust. Kate felt a deep yearning in the pit of her stomach, a throbbing ache that made her skin feel heated and almost painfully sensitive. She tightened her fingers around him.
An inarticulate growl sounded deep in his throat and then his hands were sliding inside her pants, stripping slacks and panties down with one impatient tug. The world spun dizzily around her and she felt the worn upholstery of the sofa against her back. And then Nick loomed over her, his face hard and intent in the dim light. His jeans wrenched apart, his shirt hanging open, his body quivering with tension, he mounted her.
She felt the warm, seeking brush of him against the delicate folds of her most secret femininity. Reaching between their bodies, she held him, guided him to her. There was a moment of testing, a heartbeat of waiting and then his hips flexed and he sheathed himself within her, filling her emptiness with one powerful thrust.
Kate's body arched, a low, keening cry torn from her throat as she took him into her body, feeling herself completed, fulfilled, the long, endless wait over at last. But instead of easing, her hunger took on a new edge, sharp and painful in its intensity. She whimpered with frustration, but Nick was already moving within her.
It was fast and hard, hot and earthy. This was no gentle give-and-take, accompanied by soft sighs and warm kisses. This was a struggle, a primal battle between man and woman. Nick took her like a conqueror, his powerful body driving into hers, stamping her as his.
Kate was no less hungry. She arched to take his every thrust, demanding more and still more. Her heels dug into the worn sofa cushion, her nails biting into the hard muscles of his hips, pulling him to her, her need every bit as ferocious as his.
Tension spiraled within her, tight and hard. She sobbed with it, her body struggling to escape the painful intensity of it, even as she fought to draw him deeper into her. Nick had been bracing his weight on his elbows but he shifted, letting the weight of his chest anchor her as his hands caught her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bottom, controlling her movements, working her on his invading shaft.
It was enough to shatter the coiled spring of tension. Kate arched wildly beneath him, her breath leaving her in a thin, breathless cry as all her senses exploded in one dazzling burst of pleasure. Her inner muscles tightened around him, relaxed then tightened again. Nick shuddered and thrust heavily into her, giving himself over to the hunger. A harsh, guttural sound tore from his throat as he pulsed within her, flooding her with his release.
For a long time, the only noise in the room was the ragged sound of their breathing. Nick's weight pinned her to the sofa, making breathing an effort, but she didn't care. Kate welcomed the rasp of his chest hair against her breasts, the warmth of his skin against hers, the sense of fullness where he was still nestled inside her.
It wasn't enough, Nick thought despairingly. The aftershocks of his climax were still rippling through him and he already wanted her again. He moved, thrusting gently, and felt her shudder of response as he began to swell within her. It could never be enough. No matter how many times he had her, he'd still want her. The force of his hunger sparked an anger in him.
Ignoring Kate's whimper of protest as he withdrew, he settled on his knees. His hands were hard as he caught her by the shoulders and dragged her up with him so they knelt face-to-face on the cushions. There was a drugged look of pleasure in her eyes when she looked at him.
"I want to see you," he muttered, shoving her shirt off her arms and throwing it to the floor. Lacking the patience to deal with the plastic clasp on her bra, he tugged it off over her head. Her breasts spilled into his hands, all soft creamy curves and rosy nipples. He bent to taste them, first one and then the other, laving them gently with his tongue and then drawing each one into his mouth and sucking strongly. He felt himself swell with lust as Kate's back arched when she offered herself to him.
He wanted to make this time last forever, wanted to savor every step of the way. But he was already so hard that it hurt and the hunger was tearing at his self-control, demanding release.
"I can't wait," he muttered as he dragged his mouth from her breasts.
"Who asked you to?" she whispered, her fingers closing around him, stroking and teasing.
Her touch burned away the last of his patience. Shuddering, he pulled away and stood up, stripping his shirt from his shoulders and shoving his jeans and briefs the rest of the way off. Kate lay back on the sofa, watching him undress, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. The sight of her stretched out before him, I her tawny hair splayed across the faded cushions, her I slender body soft and pliant, was almost more than Nick could stand.
She lifted her arms and he came to her. It was like coming home, fulfilling a destiny. They belonged together. He'd never known anything as surely as he knew that.
❧
Kate came awake slowly, aware of a pleasant feeling of lassitude that permeated her entire body. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep, but she felt deeply rested, sated. She could lie here forever, she thought sleepily. Except her back was cold. Had she kicked off the covers? No, because there were no covers.
Reality began to sneak in around the edges of her contentment. There were no covers because she wasn't in bed. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a broad expanse of furred male chest. Her hand was nestled in a mat of crisp curls, looking feminine and almost fragile in contrast. The light was subdued but it was enough to reflect off the small diamond in her engagement ring. Kate stared at that soft gleam for several seconds. Reality no longer nibbled at her consciousness, it crashed in wearing hobnailed boots.
Nick. Oh, God. Nick. And Gareth. What had she done?
She scrambled off the sofa with an inarticulate whimper of distress.
"Kate?" Startled awake, Nick sat up and reached for her.
"Don't!" She backed away as if his touch might bum. On her face was such a look of loathing that Nick felt as if he'd been struck. He let his hand drop, his face going cold and still.
The loathing Kate felt was for herself. How could she have done this? She fell to her knees and began scrambling through the tangled heap of clothing on the floor. Oh, God, what had she done? Gareth. How could she have done this to him? He was everything she'd ever wanted and she'd betrayed him in the most fundamental way possible. Not only had she slept with another man. She'd slept with his own brother. He'd never be able to forgive her.
Pain lanced through her chest and she curled into it for an instant, her slender body drawn into something approaching a fetal position as she rocked with the impact of her own actions.
Nick responded to her pain. "Don't tear yourself up like this," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
<
br /> "Don't!" She jerked away from his touch. "Don't you ever touch me again."
Nick pulled away as if burned. "I didn't exactly drag you kicking and screaming," he pointed out sharply.
"No. No, you didn't."
She'd finally managed to sort out most of her clothing. Beyond caring that he was looking at her, she stepped into her slacks and jerked them up around her hips, fastening them with shaking fingers. She pulled on her shirt but her hands were trembling too much for her to slide the buttons through the buttonholes. With a frustrated whimper, she tied the tails in a knot at her waist instead.
"Don't you think we should talk?" Nick asked. He stood up, magnificently unconcerned with his nudity.
"We have nothing to say," she muttered, kicking aside his jeans in search of her shoes. One of them had been lying next to a paint can but the other one eluded her. She found her panties instead, and her cheeks flamed as she snatched them up and stuffed them in her pocket.
"What about Gareth?"
She spun to face him, her eyes bright with anger. "Don't you dare tell him about this!"
Nick's head jerked back as if she'd slapped him. Stung, he struck back. "What do you think I'm going to do? Announce it over breakfast? Pass the toast and, by the way, bro, your fiancee is a hell of a lay?"
Kate turned white, her eyes huge and dark with distress. With a curse, Nick bent and scooped up her shoe from the floor next to the sofa. He tossed it to her, and she caught it automatically. "Don't worry, Kate, your dirty little secret is safe with me. I'll just add it to the rest of them."
"I think I hate you," she whispered hoarsely.
Nick gave her a sharp smile. "Is that why I have your fingernail marks on my back?"
She stared at him an instant longer and then turned and ran, barefoot, from the room. Nick stayed where he was, listening to the solid thud as the door shut behind her. A moment later, he heard her truck pull away from the house, and then there was only silence.
He was alone again.
Chapter 10
Hollow-eyed and pale, Kate watched the sun creep through a crack in the curtains and slice a pale gold path across the bedroom carpet. When the thin blade of light slid across the foot of her bed, she stirred sluggishly and crawled out of bed with movements as stiff and slow as an old woman's.
She went into the bathroom and followed her morning routine as if on autopilot, washing her face and brushing her teeth without once looking at herself in the mirror. It wasn't until she was pulling her hair from her face that she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Meeting her own eyes, she felt her fingers start to tremble and she jerked the elastic-covered band into place, ignoring the stinging pain when it pulled at her scalp. She looked away quickly, afraid that the past twenty-four hours might have left visible changes.
In her bedroom, she dressed carelessly, pulling on sweatpants and a worn gray sweatshirt. Though she knew the chill she felt came from inside, not out, she pulled on a sweater, tugging it close around her as she went into the kitchen.
She measured coffee into the filter and pushed the button to start the water heating, then moved automatically to check the plants that filled the bump-out window behind the kitchen sink. The window had been one of the reasons she'd chosen to rent the small apartment. She pinched off a few faded leaves and tipped a little water into one or two pots, soothed by the simple tasks.
She'd be able to have a real garden after she and Gareth—
The tenuous calm vanished in an instant. Kate dropped her hand to the counter, her fingers curling into a fist. Gareth. The thought of him sent a lancing pain through her heart. How could she have betrayed him so completely? Guilt twisted her stomach into knots, and she closed her eyes against the burning ache of tears. It was too late for tears. They couldn't change what she'd done. What she and Nick had done.
Nick. His name triggered a flood of memories— him kneeling beside Matthew, power flowing from him. The pain in his eyes when he spoke of his wife and child. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands—
Kate's eyes snapped open. Her hand was shaking as she took a mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee. She wasn't going to think about that ever again. Or about him.
Sitting at the table, she wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to absorb its warmth into her. But the chill she felt was bone deep and it spread throughout her body in a slow, icy tide. Trembling, she pushed the cup away, folded her arms on the table and let her head drop to them as the tears began to fall.
What had she done?
As far as Nick could see, the one immutable law was that life went on. No matter what happened— good, bad or indifferent—the sun still rose every morning and the world kept on turning. Win the lottery? Fine. But there was still laundry to be done and the dog to feed. Sleep with your brother's fiancee? Too bad. You might as well scrape the paint off the crown molding.
Standing on a ladder in the formal dining room, he ran a scraper along a strip of molding, peeling away a hundred years worth of paint. It was backbreaking, miserable work and he'd chosen to start the job today because it fit his mood. And maybe he'd chosen it as a kind of penance, he admitted to himself. As if physical discomfort could somehow absolve him of guilt.
A boom box sat on the floor, and he'd turned the sound up to a level guaranteed to have him wearing a hearing aid by the time he was forty. At the moment, the Beach Boys were trying to talk Rhonda into helping them get over a lost love. The driving rhythm echoed in the big room but it wasn't enough to drown out his thoughts.
Nick doubted if anything short of a two-by-four up alongside his head could have kept him from thinking about Kate—the way she'd tasted, the sweet warmth of her in his arms, the incredible feel of her body yielding to his. He ground his teeth together as he used the comer of the scraper to tease bits of paint from the edges of the crown molding. What kind of a prize bastard was he to keep thinking of how good it had felt to make love to her? He'd do better to think about the way she'd looked at him afterward, as if the sight of him might turn her to stone. Or he could think about the way he'd betrayed his brother.
He and Gareth had never been exceptionally close. The five-year gap in their ages had seemed enormous when they were children, and the bond he and Brian had shared hadn't left much room for anyone else. Even after Brian was killed, Nick and Gareth had never really seemed to connect.
But that hardly excused him. He'd never been one to poach on another man's territory. He had nothing but contempt for married people who had affairs. And while Kate wasn't married—yet—she wore another man's ring on her finger, which put her off-limits. Yet all he'd had to do was touch her, hold her, and his scruples had disappeared. He hadn't thought of anything but the need to have her.
❧
"I could hear this thing three blocks away!"
The shouted comment startled Nick into jerking halfway around, barely avoiding a fall as he grabbed the top of the ladder. He nearly fell the rest of the way down when he saw Gareth leaning over the boom box, apparently looking for the volume control. When it wasn't immediately apparent, he punched the button to stop the tape, cutting Brian Wilson off in mid-word. The abrupt silence seemed louder than the music had been.
"I rang the bell but no one answered," he said as he straightened. "I guess I'm not surprised, considering how far up you've cranked the volume. If you're not careful, you're going to be deaf before you're fifty."
"I figured I'd be lucky to make it to forty." Nick's response came automatically. His brother's sudden appearance had his mind reeling.
"I could cite you for noise pollution, you know."
"It would never stand up in court. Not in California. Not when it's the Beach Boys."
Gareth grinned crookedly. "You could be right."
Outside the open window, Nick could hear Laura's mother calling her. He wondered if the little girl had hidden herself somewhere in Harry's gardens. She had a knack for finding spaces just the right size for her and Leroy and then d
eveloping a convenient deafness to her mother's voice. For a moment, he was tempted to escape by saying that he had to go find the girl.
Gareth watched Nick pull a rag from his back pocket and begin wiping off the blade of the scraper he'd been using. He pushed his hands in his pockets, his carefully planned little speech suddenly vanishing into thin air. Why was it always so damned hard to talk to Nick? he wondered, exasperated with himself.
Even when they were boys, he hadn't known how to talk to Nick. It hadn't been that way with Brian. Brian had been quiet. Focused. With Brian, there were no hidden comers, no surprises. He'd understood Brian. But not Nick. As a boy, Nick had been like quicksilver—changeable, unpredictable. Easy to love but impossible to grab hold of—impossible to really know.
"Have you got a minute?" he asked finally. Nick's head came up, his eyes wary. He nodded.
"I've got two, if you need them." He came the rest of the way down the ladder. "Why don't we go someplace where the fumes are less likely to cause a toxic reaction?"
Gareth followed him across the foyer and into the living room. "Looks like you've got every room in the place torn apart," he commented, looking around.
"Pretty close. I suppose, if I were more organized, rd do it one room at a time but it's less boring this way, and with Harry hiding out in the guest house, I'm not driving anyone crazy but me."
He took a pack of cigarettes from the mantel and tapped one loose. Gareth's brows rose as he put it in his mouth.
"I didn't know you were smoking again."
"I'm not." Nick struck a match and held it to the cigarette's tip. "I picked up a pack on the way out of the mountains yesterday. Two packs, actually." He gave a half shrug and grinned a little. "When they're gone, I'll quit again."
"Oh, yeah?" Gareth looked doubtful.
"I've done it before. I figure I can do it again. Most things get easier with practice, right?"
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