“God. Damn it woman, at least don’t lie to me. Tell me the fucking truth.” His voice rose in frustration.
“Because I didn’t want to be shared with your brothers,” she cried out, horror spreading through her system the minute the words were out of her mouth. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”
Panic burst through her blood stream. She jerked at the handle, threw the door open as she nearly fell from the jeep, wanting to run from him, to run from the truth and the terrible, shameful thoughts she had once had. Thoughts she still couldn’t get out of her mind.
“Dammit, Sarah!” Brock’s voice echoed through the quickly closed back door of the house.
Frustration lined his tone, yet she also heard a bleak pain she wished she could block.
“Sarah, you have to let me explain,” he said through the wood barrier. “Please, baby, let me explain.”
She shook her head, as she lowered it, ignoring the need in her to let him in, to hear whatever he had to say. One night. That was all she wanted, all she could have. The doctor’s appointment was a mistake. The hope inside her short lived. She couldn’t share him, she couldn’t allow herself to be shared. It was better this way, she promised herself. But she couldn’t ignore the flare of lust or curiosity at the thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He was gone. Sarah stood, her back to the closed door, breathing in raggedly. He had followed her, asked her more than once to let him into the house, but she had refused. She lowered her head, fighting the racing of her heart, the regret that twisted in her stomach. She had wanted one night. Not a doctor’s appointment and the implication of an affair she couldn’t handle right now. Not with him. Not after seeing the truth in his eyes.
Rumors ran rife in Madison about the August brothers. Their father, old Joe August, had been a cruel man. Sarah remembered her father speaking often of the bruises the boys carried while they were younger, and how they had changed after old man Joe had sent them off to foster on another ranch one year. Not too much time had passed before the rumors started. How the men, young even then, would become attracted to the same woman. They would pursue her, seduce her, share her among them.
The women they chose were experienced enough to enjoy such play, but they were also gossips, relishing in the shocked gasps their tales brought. Sarah’s father had been sympathetic, but she remembered several occasions when he had warned her to steer clear of their interest.
They were sinfully handsome. Dark, lusty, so sexy it made a woman’s heart beat fast just to look at them. Sighing deeply, denying the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, she looked around the dimly lit kitchen. She was home, and she was alone. Brock was gone.
“Goodbye,” she whispered to the empty room, and she wondered if she were saying goodbye to the man, or to a young girl’s empty dreams.
* * * * *
Work. She worked because she wanted to. Because she enjoyed it. The inheritance her father had left her on his death had been hidden from Mark, thanks to her father’s careful planning, rather than her own. Her mother’s portion had been all Mark had known about. Unknown to her ex-husband, she wasn’t as broke as he believed she was.
The library afforded her a peace, a solitude in what she did, and there were rarely any hassles. Until today. Brock August sat casually at one of the front desks, a newspaper spread in front of him, his eyes watching her possessively. His dark lashes lay at half-mast, the gray-blue orbs watching her with a hint of promise, or threat. She wasn’t certain which. He was too handsome, with his long black hair laying almost to his shoulders, and disheveled from the repeated times his fingers had run through it. Each time she saw the gesture she was reminded of the countless times she had run her fingers through those silken strands as well.
He had been there most of the day. She refused to speak to him and he didn’t speak to her. If curious patrons approached him, they quickly left. It made Sarah nervous, the way he watched her. He had seen her naked, had heard her screams, and it was there in every look he gave her.
Closing time came, and still he sat there. Everyone else was gone, the library deserted, the door sign posted.
“It’s time to leave, Mr. August.” Sarah kept her voice polite, low. “You’re making me run late.”
He folded his paper carefully.
“Have dinner with me.” His voice was silky, carefully covering the underlying thread of sensuality. He wasn’t fooling her for a minute.
“Not tonight. I have things to do.”
“Like what?” He tilted his head questioningly.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Walk my dog—“
“You don’t have a dog.”
“Feed my cat—“
“Sarah, you don’t have a cat.” And his patience was wearing thin if the tone of his voice was any indication.
“Clean the basement?” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. She wasn’t about to go anywhere with him, not until she was a little less weak. A little less needy for his touch.
“Why are you so scared of me? Do you think I’d hurt you, Sarah?” He leaned forward in his chair, watching her quietly.
His eyes. Shadows twisted in them, sadness a permanent part of their murky depths. Why couldn’t she get past wanting to erase the pain in his eyes?