Brant's Return

I laughed. “You love it.” My voice was breathless. A gasping moan escaped my lips as I increased the pace of my movements, reaching for the bliss I knew was a heartbeat away.

“I do.” His eyes opened. Speared me. For several intense moments we watched each other as the pleasure grew. Spiraled.

“Fuck, Isabelle . . . I can’t . . .” he gasped, and his crass words coupled with the look on his face spun me over the edge. I sped up my movements just before my body tightened deliciously and pure white bliss exploded inside me.

I let out a choked sob of delight as Brant groaned with pleasure, his hips lifting off the bed and causing small aftershocks to burst through me.

I collapsed on top of him, breathing harshly, his heart pounding in rhythm to my own, our bodies dewy with the best kind of exertion.

When I began to stir, he turned me over, slipping free of my body and pulling me in to his side. “That was . . . I don’t even know if I have words for that.”

I laughed softly, cuddling in to his side and yawning. “Can we do it again?”

Brant chuckled. “I’ll need a few minutes.”

I nudged him. “Not right now. Maybe . . . tomorrow?”

“Beautiful, you can do that to me anytime you want.” He suddenly sat up slightly, leaning over me. “For years to come if you—”

I put a finger on his lips. “Don’t even.”

He laughed, pretending to bite my finger, and then collapsed next to me. The ceiling fan whirred above us, cooling my skin, and after a few minutes and a quick clean up, we got under the covers, holding each other. Brant was a safe, strong heat surrounding me, and my body and mind relaxed . . . drifting. I was asleep in moments.

I woke to the arousing sound of Brant’s masculine groan in my ear, his hot, hard shaft pressing against my butt. I moved back against him, eliciting another groan and letting him know I was awake. He lifted my leg, lowered himself slightly, and I stilled, unsure of what he was doing, but relaxing on a sigh of pleasure when he slid inside me.

He moved lazily, both of us still under the fog of sleepiness. He reached over my hip and found the spot that sent tingles of pleasure through my body. I moaned, and the small sound seemed to excite him as he sped up both his thrusts and the small circles of his finger. He played and moved, controlling his pleasure and my own this time, slowing, speeding up until I was so hot and desperate I thought I’d scream.

I came moments later, crying out and pressing back against him as he groaned his release.

I didn’t remember falling back to sleep, but the next thing I knew the light of dawn was filtering in around the edges of the blinds and birds were rustling in the trees outside the window. I felt slightly sore, but languorous and happy, and . . . ravenous.

Slipping out of bed, I looked over my shoulder at Brant who was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His dark lashes made crescents on his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted. A wave of deep tenderness rolled through me. How easy it would be to fall in love with this man. Despite that he could be arrogant and demanding, he was also caring and protective, and he could be funny and self-deprecating, willing to admit to his mistakes. Even when pointed out to him in a less than gentle manner. He was complicated, making my blood boil with exasperation one minute and with lust the next. He carried deep sadness inside him—I recognized it as a kindred spirit recognizes another. He made me want to get past the cool exterior he presented to the world and know the man underneath—not only his body, but his heart.

Oh, Isabelle. You’re already in trouble. You know that, don’t you?

Standing, I pulled on Brant’s shirt nearby, let myself out of the room quietly, and padded to the kitchen. Normally I wouldn’t walk through the house in nothing but an oversized shirt, but no one was here this weekend, and even if one of the guys came up to the house, they wouldn’t do so this early.

I stood at the counter as the coffee brewed, not able to stop the smile that played at my lips as I thought about all we’d done last night. We still had tonight and at the thought, a shiver of anticipation moved through me. One more night. One more day.

And then what?

Marry me.

I couldn’t, of course.

It was crazy. Ridiculous. Only . . . why did a sparkle of excitement tingle over my nerves whenever I thought about the fact that he’d even asked? Why did the echo of his words whisper through my soul, melting my heart and heating my body? Because you’re impulsive, that’s why. Because you’re prone to giving too much credence to the dictates of your heart, rather than the logic of your mind.

But, oh, my desire to reach for joy wherever it was offered was strong. I knew how fleeting it could be. Take it, take it, Isabelle.

I’d been impulsive before though. Even before that horrific day . . . even before then, the only thing that had kept me from regretting ever meeting Ethan at all was my daughter.

The memory of Elise blowing a shiny, wavering bubble through a red wand rose bright and vivid in my mind. It had popped in front of Ethan’s face and he’d winced and then laughed, one of those rare laughs full of authenticity, the ones that made me realize all his others were insincere. Despite his flaws as a husband, as a man, he’d loved his little girl.

Despair gripped me for a moment and I breathed through it, feeling the painful tension surrounding my heart loosen breath by breath.

But thoughts of Ethan and Elise made me think about the pile of money I’d put in an old trunk in the garage. I hadn’t wanted to cart it through the house and up the stairs. No one ever went in the garage anymore now that Mr. Talbot was too ill to use his tools, the only thing of use in that space.

So there it was until I could figure out what the hell to do with it.