Brant's Return

I hesitated. But when my eyes moved to his hand still sliding up and down his hardened flesh, another flood of moisture surged downward. I loved watching him, and it only stood to reason that he’d like to watch me as well. Would it make him feel the same way I did right now? There’s never any shame in the things we do together. I lay back, bringing a pillow under my head so I could continue to watch him. Just as he had done, I moved my hand slowly down my stomach, reaching one finger experimentally between my folds. A burst of pleasure shot through me, and I gasped out a small moan.

“Jesus, Isabelle,” Brant rasped, his hand speeding up in its movement. I brought one hand to my breast, flicking my nipple the way Brant did, and I then explored my body, lingering on the places that brought me the most pleasure. The dual stimulation of touching myself and watching Brant was almost too much, and my head fell back onto the pillow as I closed my eyes, my breath coming out in small pants.

His heat was directly above me a moment later and my eyes flew open, blinking as I stared into his lust-heavy eyes. “I feel like an animal when I’m with you,” he grated out, leaning in and pressing his mouth to mine, biting my bottom lip softly and causing me to gasp. “How do you do that to me every time? And why do I love it so damn much?”

Before I could answer, he entered me on one smooth thrust, causing me to cry out in both surprise and ecstasy, my head lifting off the pillow as he began gliding in and out, slowly at first and then faster, faster. The wet sound of our sex filled the room, combined with my moans and Brant’s harsh breathing.

My body began tightening and I searched for purchase with my hands, needing to hold on to something, feeling as if I might spiral away.

“Brant, Brant,” I chanted, grabbing handfuls of the blankets under me.

“Yes, Belle,” he encouraged. “Let go. Let me see you come undone.” My orgasm hit me, and I breathed his name once again, the pleasure so all-encompassing I swore it traveled to every extremity, including the tips of my hair follicles.

Brant’s movements became jerky and my eyes opened lazily to see his skin erupt in goosebumps as his mouth fell open and he groaned out his climax, falling on top of me and slightly to the side so most of his weight was on the mattress.

I love you, I thought, and yet I didn’t say it. Our relationship had been so rushed, so unexpected. I knew Brant wanted me sexually. My God, our chemistry was off the charts. But I didn’t expect that he loved me—at least not yet.

But I loved him. I knew it deep in my soul and my most fervent prayer was that he would come to love me back.

He pulled out of me, and I let out a soft mewl of dissatisfaction and felt him smile against my shoulder before he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him.

For a moment we were both quiet, my thoughts foggy with the sweet afterglow of lovemaking.

“God, I’ve missed you, Belle. Missed kissing you, holding you, being inside you. I missed this.” He tightened his hold on me, and I loved it.

I stroked his rough jaw, running a finger over the masculine curve, relishing being able to touch him again, anywhere and everywhere. “I missed you too. So very much.” Even though we’d spoken on the phone, it was being in his arms, being showered with his affection, that I’d struggled without. Longed for.

“I’ve been thinking about your visit. What do you want to do most in New York?”

I paused, a small frisson of unease interrupting my dreamy calm. I was excited about seeing New York City for the first time, but I was also nervous. Kentucky was my comfort zone for so many reasons. It was home, it was the place where my heart felt at peace, it was the place my daughter was buried, where I felt closest to her even though I knew she didn’t really reside under that headstone near the willow tree in the corner of the cemetery. She was with me always.

Brant stroked my arm, his touch warm and soothing. “A Broadway show maybe?” he asked.

“Yes. I’d love that.”

He rolled me so he was looking into my face. “Then we’ll go to a Broadway show.” His eyes moved over my features for a moment and he leaned in and kissed me. “I want to show you my bars and nightclubs. I want you to know every part of me.”

“I want that, Brant.” And yet why did I have the faraway thought that the part of him he might not allow me to know was here, in Kentucky? Why did I get the feeling that the things he hid—possibly even from himself—were at Graystone Hill? And time was running out to confront the parts of his past he wasn’t willing to face. Because time was running out for Harry, the person inextricably connected to the things I sensed haunted his son. “I’m worried about leaving your father.”

He smoothed a piece of my hair back from my forehead. “It’s only for a short time. And the nurse you hired seems great.”

I paused. “She is. It’s just . . . your father can be . . . prickly.”

“You don’t say.”

I laughed softly and Brant smiled, bringing my fingers to his mouth and kissing them. “He’s doing well right now. And you know that . . . his situation isn’t imminent. Plus, it’s less than a two-hour flight. And you’ve earned some time off. May told me you haven’t take as much as one day for yourself in three years.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. My eyes drifted away, over his shoulder and then back. “I just hate the thought of your father being lonely.”

“He’s not lonely, Belle. He has May and everyone else who works at Graystone Hill. It’s his home and he loves it here. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And he wanted this. Us. You’ve made me happy”—he kissed me softly—“but you’ve made him happy too. He wanted to see us together.”

I let out a breath, nodding. “You’re right.” The knowledge that my relationship with Brant had bridged the gap between those two feuding men was a balm to my soul. Earlier at the party celebrating Chancer’s win, I’d watched them chat, each of them chuckling a time or two at something the other had said. I smiled, the recent memory warming my heart.

“I mean, what he really wanted was for me to make an honest woman out of you.“ He nipped teasingly at my fingers. “But I told him you turned me down cold. Harshly, as a matter of fact. And he seemed satisfied that I was at least courting you.”

I laughed again. Courting. Is that what this was? “Sounds old-fashioned.”

He kissed my knuckle, his lips brushing across my skin and causing a small delightful shiver to travel through my body. When he spoke, the teasing tone was gone, and gravity laced his voice. “You make me feel old-fashioned, Belle.” He paused. “In a good way. You make me want things I never knew I’d want.”