Chapter Ten
Brent
“This is amazing.”
Brent couldn’t help smiling at the expression on Jessica’s face, the way she looked so totally transported, almost enraptured, by the rich flavor of the caviar she was nibbling at. “I’m glad you like it,” he answered, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. “This weekend, I want to you to enjoy every single moment.”
He knew he was smiling like an idiot, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she smiled back at him, the deep chocolate-brown of her eyes seeming almost to glow with warmth. She was so young and beautiful, so lovely and fresh and perfect that it almost hurt to look at her. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything.
The strangeness of that thought made pain and confusion bloom inside him. Memories of LeeAnne, thoughts of how very young Jessica was, the painful awareness of how badly making love to her would complicate matters… It all tangled inside him, almost choking him with guilt.
He had no damn business being here with her. No matter how much he wanted her, the simple and terrible truth was that making love to her could smash his career, his family, and his life to smithereens. His friend, his partner, and his daughter could all be hurt badly, not to mention Jessica herself. He was a selfish bastard to even consider taking her to bed.
And yet…
Resolutely, he shoved the guilt and the worry aside. For this one single precious weekend, he intended to grab onto what he wanted with both hands, to live and love and laugh in a way he hadn’t in nearly a decade. He was entitled to a little happiness, damn it. Just a little. Just two days of joy. It wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?
Besides, Jessica deserved this too. She was a wonderful woman, despite her youth, and she deserved to be treated like a princess, fed outrageously expensive caviar and priceless wines, to stay in the most luxurious hotels and to ride in the most elegant cars ever created. And she deserved to be made love to, slowly and thoroughly, until she couldn’t restrain her cries, and her soft, wet body clenched around his cock in long, intense spasms…
He realized that his mind was going places his body didn’t need to go yet and forced his awareness back to the present. After all, there was more than enough to focus on in the here and now.
Seated across the table from him, Jessica was gloriously beautiful, her perfect figure poured into a midnight-blue silk dress that clung to her every curve, her long, dark hair freed from its customary ponytail and rippling in glistening waves halfway down her back. She was absolutely breathtaking, more so than any woman he’d ever seen. In a state full of glamorous movie stars and world-famous models, she sparkled in a way that set her apart.
This is the most alive I’ve felt since LeeAnne died.
The stark truth of the words he’d uttered a few days ago couldn’t be denied. He was alive again, and it was Jessica who’d brought him back to life. He’d thought his heart buried in the cold, dark ground with LeeAnne, but all at once he’d discovered that it still beat, warm and vital, in his chest.
And it belonged to Jessica.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. You’re being stupidly romantic. She’s not for you. She can’t be for you. This is just a weekend, nothing more.
And that was all right. He didn’t need forever, not really. He had a full life – a daughter he loved, the career he’d fought to build, and enough money to buy anything he really wanted. What he had with Jessica could only be a dream, a sweet imagining of what his life might have been like if he’d met her when he was younger and unencumbered by responsibilities.
For a single weekend, he’d indulge in the dream, and then…
Then he’d force himself back to drab reality.
The two of them sat on the patio of Johnson’s, watching the Gaslamp Quarter as it came alive for the evening. The first shadows of dusk had begun to darken the San Diego sky, and men in expensive suits and women in beautiful dresses swarmed everywhere, visiting the pricey shops, dining at the varied restaurants, and visiting the art galleries. Across the road, a long line was beginning to form outside the Horton Grand Theater to see the evening’s production of Hairspray.
Perhaps worried by his long silence, Jessica tried to draw her hand back, but he held on firmly. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t pull away from me, Jessica.”
“It’s just…” A little crease formed on her forehead, making her look adorably worried. “I know people follow you around, taking pictures. I’ve seen you on magazine covers and in the paper. And Cara – and my father—”
She didn’t mention his own father, but they both knew there wasn’t the slightest chance in hell that Donald Sanderson would be okay with the two of them holding hands. He hadn’t told her about Donald’s increasing insistence that he marries a society belle, of course, but she already knew how Donald felt about anyone beneath the Sandersons – which was pretty much everyone. He remembered how his father had rudely refused to shake her hand, and just the memory was enough to make hot rage boil up inside him. Jessica is worth ten of any social butterfly, goddammit.
“You’re probably right,” he answered, pulling his own hand away. “But I don’t want you to think that I’m ashamed of you, Jessica. Don’t ever think that. I just…” He heaved a sigh. “For now, I just want us to keep complications to a minimum. All right?”
She nodded, and the little crease disappeared, lost in a warm, accepting smile.
“I understand,” she said. “And I agree. This weekend… Well, it’s just for the two of us.”
He nodded and smiled back.
“Just the two of us,” he echoed.
***
As shadowy darkness fell, the Porsche wound its way up Sunset Cliffs Boulevard, a curving road lined with expensive houses. At last the houses fell away, and only the dark, ominous shadows of trees could be seen on either side of the road. The car stopped in an empty parking lot, and Brent turned off the engine and came around to hold the door open for her.
“We’re a little late,” Brent said, taking her hand as he helped her step out, “but it’s always a beautiful view.”
She looked around. “Where are we?”
“The Sunset Cliffs. Come on.”
He tugged at her hand, and she followed just behind him. He didn’t bother to let go of her hand, because it was dark, and there were surprisingly few people around. Besides, beneath the shroud of darkness, a member of the illustrious Sanderson family looked pretty much like anyone else.
Well, except for the Porsche they’d just stepped out of, anyway.
They made their way out to the cliffs, and she gasped at her first glimpse of the sky out over the Pacific. A small sliver of burnt-orange was still visible above the dark ocean water, and above it, the sky was lavender fading to a deep purple. A few brave stars had already begun to shine, and a cool wind blew across the cliffs, lifting her dark hair.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, almost reverently. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No.”
“Good.” He squeezed her hand and spoke softly. “This weekend, I want to show you lots of things you’ve never seen before.”
In the gathering gloom, he couldn’t see her clearly, but he imagined a blush lighting up her pale cheeks, and he smiled to himself. The edge of the cliff had many narrow, treacherous paths leading down to the sea, and the cliffs themselves were riddled with caves and passages. Someday, maybe the two of them would explore it all together. But for now, just enjoying the sight of the vast ocean and the darkening sky, with her hand in his, was enough.
The two of them stood, silently watching, while the last remnants of the sunset faded, and more stars shyly began to appear, one by one.
Finally, unable to resist any longer, he pulled her toward him. She lifted her head, and their lips met.
At first, her lips brushed against his, like the breeze, cool and fresh and tanged with salt, but the kiss rapidly deepened, becoming hotter, more intense. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling her against him, needing to feel her soft, pliant body pressing against his own. He slipped a hard thigh between her legs, and she rubbed against him, whimpering.
The memory of her hot channel squeezing his fingers, clenching around them as she came, shot through him like an arrow, almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to make her come like that, over and over again. He wanted to take her fully, to thrust into her, fast and hard, filling her so deeply that they became one. He wanted to be a part of her, and for her to be a part of him.
He ached for intimacy in a way he hadn’t in a long, long time.
Even so, this wasn’t the time or the place for it. His big brain knew that, even if his little brain didn’t. Exerting every bit of self-control he possessed, he pulled away from her hot, eager lips, and gazed deeply into her fathomless eyes.
“Not here,” he said, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice. “We’re going to be staying at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar. You’ll love it. Once we get there—”
She leaned into him, peppering kisses over his throat and jawline as if he hadn’t spoken at all. All at once his knees felt strangely weak, and his heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to get out.
“I can’t wait,” she murmured. “Please, Brent. Please.”
Dammit. He was more than twice her age, and he needed to be the grown-up here. The responsible party. And yet she was untying his tie, shoving his suit jacket off his shoulders… and he was letting her. Helping her, even. He spread his jacket over the sparse grass and hardy wildflowers that managed to grow in the rocky soil and salt air, and the two of them sank down onto it. He heard himself groaning, a feral sound of need and longing.
He couldn’t do this to her. Not like this. She deserved a soft mattress and softer sheets, the golden sheen of candlelight flickering over the two of them, the soft sounds of a Spanish guitar or a string quartet playing in the background. She was young, so young, and, he suspected very strongly, a virgin. For her first time, she deserved romance and tenderness and sweetness.
He couldn’t possibly fuck her in the grass like an animal.
But despite his better impulses, he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from roaming over her body, shoving up the flowing skirt of her dress, finding the satiny thigh-high stockings she wore, and above the lacy tops, the even more satiny flesh. Beneath his questing palms, her thighs were soft and smooth, and he longed to lose himself between them, to touch her and kiss her and draw in the spicy scent of her arousal before plunging deeply into her slick hot depths…
“Can’t,” he whispered against her throat. “We can’t, Jessica, I didn’t bring protection…”
“It’s all right.” Her hands dug into his hair, holding him fast. “I’m on the pill.”
A desperate relief flooded him. He knew he was clean, and he was almost certain she’d never been with a man before tonight. The only real concern, then, was to not get her pregnant, and like the smart young woman she was, she had that covered.
He drew back and looked at her. “You sure this is okay?”
She looked back at him. Something flickered in her gaze, for just a moment, but then she nodded resolutely.
“It’s more than okay,” she whispered. “I need you, Brent. I need you so much.”
The last remnants of his self-control shattered and blew away on the cool ocean breeze like so much dust. He found himself rucking up her skirt desperately, then yanking at the little scrap of lace that concealed her hidden flesh and tossing it aside.
And then he lowered his head, brushing kisses along the soft, tender skin of her inner thigh. The incredible scent of her arousal hit him like a hammer to the skull, dizzying him, and he struggled to control himself, doing his best to go slowly. But as he kissed his way upward, her hips rose eagerly, and her voice lifted in a desperate cry.
“Brent!”
God, she was something. Fresh and sweet and innocent, yet eager and frantic and hungry for him. As he moved upward, slowly but surely, her thighs fell apart, offering him everything she had to give.
Even so, he managed to hold himself back. His mouth moved upward, across the fabric covering her belly, and then over the soft swell of her breast. His lips fastened onto her nipple, and even through the fabric, she seemed to like it. Her hands dug into his hair harder than before, holding on so fiercely it almost hurt, and as he suckled her hips lifted against him, and a frantic noise rose from her throat.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to have her. Right here, with the sound of the waves pounding against the cliffs, with the salty ocean breeze blowing across their bare skin, and the stars shimmering above. All his concerns, all his guilt, melted away in the heated cauldron of need that burned inside him.
Somewhere along the line she’d unfastened his belt and unzipped his slacks. He shoved his pants down around his thighs, heedless of the fact that they were in a public place. His usual caution, his sanity, had been consumed by the fire of need and longing burning inside him.
He knelt between her thighs, positioned himself, and pushed into her, just a bit.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d been worried that he hadn’t prepared her enough, but he needn’t have worried. She was already wet and soft and ready for him. She cried out with unmistakable pleasure as he slipped into her slick body, and he groaned, fighting to control himself, his hands clutching convulsively at the tufts of grass beneath her.
Driven by what he guessed to be instinct rather than experience, she lifted her legs, bracing her heels on the back of his thighs. Fortunately, she’d lost her stilettos somewhere along the way. He felt himself slip deeper inside her, and they both cried out with the pleasure of it.
He wanted to surge deep into her, to thrust hard and fast, over and over again. But he caught frantically at the fraying ends of his self-control, reminding himself that she was inexperienced, probably virginal, and that she wasn’t used to being taken so forcefully. He had to go slowly… he had to…
But then her hands slid down his back, her nails digging into his ass, and he was lost. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d sunk balls-deep inside her, and the bliss of being buried in her hot, tight channel was almost unendurable. He buried his face in her neck and let out another resonant, shuddering groan.
And then, as if his body was an entirely separate entity over which he had no control at all, he was moving in and out of her, slowly, but in a steady and determined rhythm. Her hips rose to meet his as well. At first her movements were erratic, hesitant, but very soon she seemed swept up in the same primal rhythm that had seized him, and their bodies moved together as if the two of them had done this many, many times before.
Brent felt the tension growing in his balls, a tight knot of need and wanting that could only be satisfied by filling her with his seed. At the thought – the idea of coming deep inside her, without any condom in the way – he almost lost it then and there.
It was, he thought, a stupid thing to get so turned on by. It wasn’t like she was going to get pregnant, after all. She was on the pill.
But even so, the thought of her slim abdomen growing round and taut with his baby inside made him shudder harder than ever. Despite himself, he felt his hips moving at a faster rate, felt himself fucking her more fiercely.
She cried out his name, a broken, half-strangled syllable, and then he felt her tight inner muscles spasming around him, hard. She wailed, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he knew she was coming.
His own hips moved in a violent, erratic rhythm, and all at once heat swept over him like the great waves pounding at the base of the cliffs, a powerful and violent force of nature that couldn’t be resisted, that couldn’t be stopped. His come gushed into her warm, soft depths, spurt after spurt of it, and the intensity of his climax stole his breath away.
When he came back to himself, he was lying on his back next to her, her hand in his and the stars glittering overhead. He blew out a long, unsteady sigh, remembering his earlier thoughts.
A single weekend.
For the first time, he admitted he was lying to himself. There was no way a single weekend with her would be enough.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever have enough of her.