Brant's Return

“What did you pretend?”

I blew out a breath, putting my hands in my pockets. “I don’t really remember.”

Isabelle shot me a knowing glance. “You do so. Don’t tell me you’re finished sharing secrets, Brant Talbot. I like this side of you.”

I chuckled, running a hand through my hair, feeling stripped somehow, as if the best thing I could do was turn and run. Why had I brought her here? Because I want her to know this side of me too. A side I’ve kept hidden for . . . Stop.

“I’ll guess. You were a tree gnome and this was your village.”

I laughed, my gaze following her as she moved from tree to tree, entranced by her. “A tree gnome? I don’t even have any idea what that is. But it doesn’t sound very cool.”

She grinned over her shoulder. “A bear then. A hungry, vicious bear. You were a grizzly and this was your cave.”

I shook my head. “An adventurer

. That up there was a portal.”

“A portal? To where?”

I shrugged. “Anywhere and everywhere. I went all over. To Egypt, the jungles of South America, the Roman Colosseum . . .”

“But you always came back.” She glanced around. “Here, because those were just places to visit. This was home.” Her smile increased, her eyes full of gravity, but there was a sweetness to it, and if this place was enchanted, she belonged here. She stopped in front of me, staring into my face, and my heart slammed against my ribs. The pulse in her throat quickened, and for several heartbeats we stared at each other, the space between us so full it felt like it might burst at any second. And I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to or not. There would be no control in the aftermath. I knew it instinctively. Just wild abandon. The thrill coursed through me, as did an undercurrent of fear.

“Yes. Always. I always came back.” My voice sounded raspy, unsure, even to my own ears.

Our eyes lingered a beat longer before she looked away, turning and walking to a nearby bush. She brushed her fingers along its green and yellow leaves, causing a whisper-soft rustling sound as pearlescent light glinted through the shifting gaps. Beautiful. I’d surrounded myself with style, luxury, and opulence, and yet it occurred to me in that moment that I’d forgotten what beauty really was. Forgotten the simple splendor of a beautiful girl standing in a ray of muted sunlight. Isabelle tilted her head back toward the glint of blue-gray sky above.

“My family’s barn was my portal,” she said, a wistful tone in her voice. “I used to lay in the hayloft and stare at the dusty window overhead.” She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs as if she were breathing in the memory, pulling it inside so she could infuse her whole body with whatever she’d experienced . . . then. As a little girl, lying in a hayloft fantasizing about things that maybe she’d been taught were forbidden to her. “I’d wonder what was beyond our small community, and if there was any place for me in that other world.” She opened her eyes, smiling over at me sort of bashfully. “Very disobedient of me—but I wasn’t very good at following the rules.”

“What else did you dream about, Isabelle?”

Her eyes shifted away and she flushed subtly, and oh God, I wanted to know what she was thinking just then, but I was almost afraid to ask for some reason beyond me.

“Oh, the normal dreams of a young girl I suppose—love and . . .” Her face did something funny, her eyes registering a flash of pain before she gave her head a small shake. “Anyway”—she met my gaze—“you know what’s funny? We both had portals to other places. I dreamed of a place just like this and here I am. You dreamed of a place like New York City and there you are.”

What she was saying was accurate, but something about it didn’t feel quite right. Yes, I’d left Kentucky, left Graystone Hill, but I suddenly felt as if this place was as much a part of me as the life I’d created in New York. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d ever think that again, I’d have laughed them out of town.

I looked at Belle to find her studying me and she smiled when our eyes met. “Lying in that hayloft, I used to get this feeling inside me . . . sort of like a choir, rising, falling, only one without sound. It would squeeze at my heart one second and then make it feel lighter than air the next.” Her lips tipped into a small smile, and I wanted to freeze time and study her for hours just the way she was in that moment: arms hanging loose by her sides, face tilted to the sky, a beam of light caressing her and making her skin appear golden. She was a vision. Where did you come from? Where have you been? “When I was young, I thought that feeling . . . was God.” She brought her head down, turning and smiling at me. “Once, my teacher, Mrs. Hastings, asked me to define God. I told her He was that feeling of a bird taking flight in your chest.” She laughed softly, shooting me an embarrassed glance. “That didn’t go over well—it was not the lesson she’d taught—and I spent the rest of that day facing the corner.” She paused and then gave a small shake of her head. “Anyway, I haven’t had that feeling for a long time, but it’s . . . here. Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was captivated, completely mesmerized by her. I felt like the schoolboy I’d been the last time I was here—enamored by a girl far beyond my league. But I wasn’t. I was a man and she was a woman and the electricity that sparked between us compelled me to take the few steps to where she stood, clasping her hands in mine and lacing our fingers together.

Her gaze fluttered down to our joined hands, and then she slowly lifted her eyes, meeting mine. The moment felt . . . holy . . . as if the trees around us—those mighty sentinels—were holding their breath for just a moment, waiting. Kiss her. Isabelle’s lips parted and I leaned in, bringing my mouth to hers softly, gently, a mere brushing of lips before I pressed forward, needing more, needing to taste, to explore.

Oh God, her taste. I knew it as if I’d experienced it before, as if I remembered it on an elemental level. It was crazy, and maybe I was too. But right then, I didn’t care about anything except her mouth touching mine, her body pressed against my own. Fire ran through me. My stomach, my veins.

I ran my tongue along her bottom lip and she let out a small, breathy sound that shot straight between my legs. I hardened and swelled, pressing against her more firmly. Our bodies meshed as I unlaced our fingers and brought my hands to her face, tilting my head as her mouth opened beneath mine and I plunged my tongue inside. God, she was delicious. She met my tongue with her own and gave a gentle suck, sending a spark of lust that went spiraling to my cock. I was painfully hard, needy, desperate. Hot. A sound vibrated between us that spoke of all those things, and I supposed I was the one who’d made it, though I wasn’t completely sure.

Isabelle brought her arms up, threading her fingers into the back of my hair and it felt so damn good. When was the last time I’d felt this raw sensory overload? This feeling that everything inside me was quickening, spinning, coming alive in some mysterious way I had no way to explain or even understand. The intensity of my hunger for her shocked me.

Belle’s hands suddenly dropped from my hair as she pulled away, our mouths coming apart with a wet-sounding pop. I almost stumbled forward but caught myself. Belle’s eyes were wide as she looked at me, her mouth still wet from our kiss, her cheeks flushed deep pink. Something surged inside me, something possessive and unfamiliar. We both stepped back, away.

“I . . .” She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she winced slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what . . . I shouldn’t have—”

“I kissed you, Belle.”

Her eyes found mine and then skittered away. She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Yes,” she said, her voice breathy. “And I kissed you back. I shouldn’t have. I mean . . .” She bit her lip, looking troubled, uncertain, maybe a little bit shy. “Not that it wasn’t nice. You’re, ah . . .”

“An incredible kisser?”