Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

PROLOGUE

Summer, 1997

Sarah was everything he wanted, everything he had dreamed of for over a year now. He had waited, put aside any thought of her until she turned eighteen, ignored his rising lust each time she smiled at him. Just as he now ignored the little voice in his head that said she was still too young. Much too young for what he needed from her.

But how could he resist her any longer? His body ached for her, his cock throbbed with a constant erection, his hands itched to stroke her silken skin. He was starving for the touch, the taste of her, and could no longer deny himself the pleasure he knew he would find in it.

So, he watched and he waited, planning just the right time, just the right way to draw her to him. She wanted him; he could see it in the soft golden brown eyes, the flush that mounted her cheeks when she looked at him. The way her hands trembled and her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breathing.

And he knew when she left the party after receiving his note to search the shadows of the house for him, that she needed him, too.

“Sarah?” He moved from where he hid as she stepped hesitantly toward him. “Where’s your shadow?”

Mark Tate had been damned near impossible for him to get rid of.

“Mark?” She bit her lip nervously, glancing back at the corner of the house as though afraid the other man would suddenly appear. “He went off to the barn with some of his friends.” She turned back to him, watching him intently in the dim light of the full moon. “He’s just a friend, Brock.”

Mark wanted to be more. Brock was determined he wouldn’t be.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He moved closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body that seeped into that cold, dark place in his heart.

He watched as she swallowed tightly, her big brown eyes following him, looking up at him as he stopped within an inch of pressing against her heaving breasts.

“You asked me to come,” she whispered on a sigh. “You knew I would be here.”

Her admission was like a fist of desire to his loins. Brutally sharp, agonizing in its intensity.

“Will you come for me every time I ask?” He was more than aware of his play on words.

Sarah frowned, her face turned up to him, her lips tempting him. “If I can.”

God, she was too innocent for him. Too soft, too vulnerable.

“You have no idea how much I want you, Sarah,” he told her, fighting to keep his voice soft, tender. “How desperately I want to touch you.”

She took a deep breath. Her breasts brushed against his shirt, the light material of her sundress doing nothing to hide the hard little nipples beneath it. She licked her lips nervously, and Brock was lost.

“Come upstairs with me.” He lifted his hand, touching the fall of dark blonde hair that brushed her bare shoulders. “I promise not to hurt you, Sarah. Whatever you want. Just come with me.”

Her hand, small and graceful, the fingers slender with delicate pink nails touched his chest. He felt that touch clear to his soul. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, hungry.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered. “What if I can’t—”