His gaze lingered on mine for another beat before he nodded, a quick movement of chin to chest. “Good.” He looked at Belle. “Call me if you need anything.” And with that, the detective turned, making his way through the small group of people and out of the room.
I turned back to my Belle, clinking my glass with hers. “To the most beautiful woman in the room.” She smiled sweetly just as the first chords of “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” began playing. I took Belle’s drink from her and placed both our glasses on a nearby table and then led her toward the open space in front of the record player. Taking her in my arms, I turned her and she laughed, bringing her arms around my neck. The slightly scratchy rendition of Louis Armstrong’s classic played and I pulled her flush, breathing her in, my blood heating as it always did when this woman was close.
It seemed the room quieted as we danced, the voices fading around us, my heart beating in time with Isabelle’s, the words of the love song filling my head and drowning out everything except the feel of her in my arms.
As the song ended, I opened my eyes over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of my father before he turned away. The look on his face had been filled with . . . pride, and I swore I saw tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isabelle
I stared out the window of Brant’s room, giddiness swirling in my stomach. He was back and we’d had an amazing day. I’d pretended to go to bed and then snuck downstairs. I already knew—cringingly—the fact that we’d slept together wasn’t a secret from Harry, but I still felt a sense of propriety as far as what we made a show of doing under his roof. The way I’d been raised insisted on it, but it was also simply a matter of respect. Things would be different in New York, and though I was nervous about the trip, there would be benefits we’d enjoy there that we couldn’t here.
His reflection appeared in the glass in front of me and I watched him approach from behind, my skin prickling with anticipation of his touch. His hands slid up my bare arms and I shivered.
“Cold?” he asked, his gravelly voice just above my ear, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin.
I looked to the side, casting my eyes downward. “No.”
He turned me to face him, his gaze raking down my silk-clad body, my nipples puckering under his hot perusal. “Christ, Isabelle, you look like a dream.”
Pleasure flooded me. I’d bought the negligee on a whim when I’d seen it in a boutique in town. I’d never owned anything like it. It was sexy and clingy, the black silk draping over my skin like a caress, the edges trimmed in a delicate lace. My breath had caught when I saw it, my heart slamming in my chest as I’d felt it between my fingers, imagined Brant looking at me exactly the way he was looking at me now. I’d bought it and kept it in a box under my bed, not sure I’d have the courage to put it on once he returned. Again, it was my upbringing I supposed that made me feel so . . . brazen in this risqué piece of lingerie, worn to entice. How wicked they’d all say I was. Dancing with the devil again, Isabelle? Wearing jewelry and clothing designed to elicit lust in a man? I’d already been naked in front of Brant, yet somehow I felt bare in an entirely different way.
Brant’s eyes moved over my features, his gaze softening as if he could read my thoughts, as if he knew the vulnerability in my heart and somehow understood it. He hooked a finger under the fragile wisp of a strap and pulled it down slowly, removing his finger and watching as it fell from my shoulder. When he looked back at me, the raw longing in his eyes was so intense, my breath hitched right before he leaned in and kissed my shoulder, biting it softly then laving his tongue over the spot, soothing it.
“I burn for you, Isabelle.” The intensity of his statement shot a bolt of lust tingling through my body. I burn for you, too. My body. My heart. “There’s never any shame in the things we do together.”
I brought my eyes to him, nodding. And suddenly I felt no shame, no wickedness, no reluctance. He was looking at me as if I was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, and I felt beautiful under his gaze. I stood tall, allowing him to look his fill. “I’ve missed your hands on me,” I admitted. “Every night. I’ve been sleepless with wanting you.”
He let out a sound that was half breath, half growl, reaching around me and pulling the curtain closed, his eyes never straying from me. Anticipation darted through my system, the knowledge that what we were about to do was between us and us alone. I felt Brant’s finger at my other shoulder, and then the second strap was falling, causing the negligee to slide down my body, pooling at my feet. A smile tugged at my mouth. Three hundred and fifty dollars well spent. I stepped out of the pooled fabric, beginning to kick off the short heels I’d worn with my party dress and put back on after I’d donned the negligee, but Brant halted me with his words, “Keep them on.”
I looked at him questioningly, tilting my head when I saw the way he was holding his jaw. A small smile played at my lips. That was his I’m barely holding on look and oh how it aroused me, tightening my nipples and causing a surge of wetness between my thighs. I stood before him, naked except for my heels. He was fully dressed, his tie loosened around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Mine. That feeling, a silent orchestra rising inside me, overcame me and the joy was so profound that tears burned the backs of my eyes. I was his and he was mine and the rightness of it soared inside me. I felt it, standing there, bare and unabashed. I’d stood in the so-called presence of God once before and declared my devotion to another man, and yet, I hadn’t felt God’s presence at all. Now, though I wore no ring . . . I felt the reverence of this moment.
Brant took my hand and brought it to the bulge at the front of
his pants. “I was sleepless with wanting you too, Belle. Do you know what I did, all those long, lonely nights?”
“What?” I asked, moving my hand, caressing his hardness through the material of his pants. My voice sounded faraway, laced with the lust I felt coursing through my veins.
Brant let out a low masculine hum of pleasure and loosened his tie a little more, pulling it over his head and tossing it on the floor. He undid the buttons of his shirt slowly and my eyes watched each movement of his strong yet elegant fingers until his shirt came undone and he pulled it off his broad shoulders, throwing it behind him.
Underneath he wore a white undershirt, and I felt a jolt of frustration at another layer of clothing. Brant chuckled and quickly pulled the T-shirt up his back and over his head, revealing his beautifully sculpted chest. “What do you think I did?”
“Wh-what?” I asked, having lost the thread of the conversation with the fog of arousal filling my brain.
Brant chuckled again. “Those nights. What do you think I did when I wanted to feel your hands on me so badly I ached?” He unbuttoned his suit pants but didn’t remove them. My eyes grazed over his strong chest, the ridges of his stomach muscles, the long lines of his body. He was so beautifully made, lean and strong—all male—and just looking at him made my intimate inner muscles tighten, clench. “You touched yourself,” I breathed.
He dropped his pants and kicked them aside with feet that I now saw were already bare. My gaze rose slowly up his well-shaped calves to his strong thighs and lingered on the outline of his thick shaft through the thin material of his boxers. His hand moved over his erection and he let out a masculine groan. “Yes. I touched myself and pretended it was you. It wasn’t nearly as good, but I was desperate. Do you want to watch, Belle? Do you want to watch what I did when I couldn’t have you?”
A small whimper sounded in the space between us, and I realized it was me, my body humming with so much lust, I was practically swaying on my feet. “Yes,” I said, not even sure if I’d uttered the word aloud. Yes, yes, yes.
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.”