CHAPTER SEVEN
“HELL OF A SETUP.” After going through the on-site gym with state-of-the-art equipment, not only for a workout but also to hone specific skills, Brand didn’t think he could be further impressed.
Then they reached the shooting range in the basement.
It appeared to run the length of the building with at least twenty stalls so that a group of people could practice shooting at the same time. An electric target retrieval system made it easy to trade out for new targets when practicing with different guns. Bullet berms cut down on ricochets, and rubber-padded walls cut down on noise.
Leese walked him to the selection of weapons, manned by two attendants who made sure everything went back to where it belonged. “Damn near any firearm you can imagine is available for practice shooting. You can’t take them out of here, but we come in early, sometimes stay late, to keep sharp. It gives me a chance to see how other guns feel. I prefer a 9 mm semiautomatic to a revolver, but I’m proficient with .40 and .45 caliber semiautomatics, too.”
Brand nodded. “I’ve shot just about everything there is, from a small .380 to the Dirty Harry .44 Magnum.” He grinned at Leese. “My dad—” actually his uncle “—has always collected guns. I grew up on fifty acres, and shooting cans off a fence was a daily exercise.”
“Is he still collecting?”
“Yeah.” During his last visit a week ago, his mom had practically force-fed him her special chocolate cake while his dad had showed off three new “treasures.” “Mom says he has an accumulation, not a collection, because most of them aren’t worth all that much. He started with the rifle he used as a kid, then inherited a few pieces from his dad and it went on from there.”
Grinning, Leese asked, “Is he a survivalist?”
Brand laughed. “He could be. I mean, if Armageddon came, Dad’s someone you’d want in your corner. But he doesn’t have an underground shelter and he’s not hoarding canned goods or anything like that. Mostly he just likes to know that he could make it if the power grid failed.”
Leese led him to a selection of earplugs, safety goggles and target ammo. “How come we’ve never met your folks?”
Unwilling to dwell on the deeper reasons, Brand went with the surface excuses. “They live in Kentucky. I get down there every month or so, but Mom was in a car wreck a decade ago, broke several bones, hurt her back and now she has some trouble getting around.”
“Damn, that’s rough.”
Miles came down the steps just as they were ready to start up. “Took the tour, huh? What do you think?”
“It’s pretty awesome.”
“An understatement,” Miles said. “Blew me away when I first saw everything. And so far the jobs have been terrific. Plus Sahara works with me so that I don’t have to be away from Maxi too often.”
Maxi was Miles’s soon-to-be-wife, and in fact, they would probably beat Justice and Fallon to the altar. After Fallon’s very sheltered and secluded upbringing, Justice was determined to make up for all she had missed. The big lug made it his life’s mission to wine, dine and woo his fiancée. Since Fallon, who was no longer insecure, beamed with happiness, they all figured Justice—at least in this instance—knew what he was doing.
“When’s the wedding?” Brand asked.
“She’s still remodeling the kitchen, so who knows?” Miles smiled. “She wants the wedding on the farm.”
Since Maxi had inherited the property from her grandmother, it had a lot of sentimental value. Miles had worked it out—with Sahara’s help—so he could be a bodyguard, and live with Maxi there.
“We’re all going out there next Sunday to build a gazebo by the pond,” Leese said. “Want to join us?”
Brand asked, “Will Sahara be there?”
Miles shrugged. “Not sure it’s her thing, you know?”
Two days ago, Brand would have thought the same. But not now. “Text me your plans and I’ll ask her. If she’s not interested, she’ll say so, right?”
They both stared at him.
Miles was the first to crack, grinning widely. “A-ha. So you two are involved. I knew it.”
He didn’t mind saying “Maybe. I’m still figuring it out.”
Leese asked, “So are you going to join the agency?”
“I’m not sure about that either. I can’t see me being involved with my boss, you know?”
Leese chuckled. “That’d be different, wouldn’t it? Especially with a steamroller like Sahara.”
Exactly. Brand rubbed the back of his neck, then admitted, “I have other things to consider, too.”
“MMA?” Leese guessed.
“Yeah. There are some...family issues I have to figure out.”
“If I can help, let me know, okay?”
That was nearly identical to what Miles had told him. Damn, he had good friends. “Think you could show me the suite before I head up there with Sahara? I’d like to get an idea of the layout.”
They knew now that he’d be staying the night with Sahara. Only Justice had complained, mostly because he’d rather be the one to guard her. They all respected her a lot, and more than that, they were fond of her.
Steamroller or not, Sahara was a very endearing woman.
To Brand, she was also sexy as hell.
* * *
ROSS MORAN WALKED through the posh club to a private meeting room in the back. Loud music vibrated against his skull and rattled in his chest. Strobe lights pricked at the periphery of his vision.
He fucking hated clubs. The monotonous techno beat, the writhing press of too-warm bodies, the overt sexuality. He liked seduction. He liked the hunt.
Give him a quiet dinner, an idle walk in the park, a secluded boat ride on the river any day over the chaos of a club’s let’s-hook-up atmosphere.
Sahara didn’t like clubs either. In all his research on her, he hadn’t found any instance of her indulging in the singles scene. No, she was more about business meetings, business dinners and swanky business parties.
The woman was all business—but he planned to change that.
One way or another.
Without knocking, Ross turned the doorknob and entered the room, his gaze sweeping over the occupants and the exits, gauging the situation in a single glance.
About what he expected: decadent perversion.
In the mere seconds it took him to make that assessment, a thick, no-neck goon moved to block him. Big mistake.
Ross landed a heavy punch to his gut and, before the man staggered back, easily took the gun from his hand.
“Call him off,” Ross ordered, “before I do real damage.”
Alarm flashed in the eyes of US District Attorney Douglas Grant. He clasped the narrow hips of the young lady grinding over his lap and shrugged off the other who stood at his side, her tongue in his ear.
“It’s fine,” he said quickly to No-neck, who’d already recovered only because Ross hadn’t wanted to maim the lesser man for attempting to do his job, and Grant knew it. To the others in the room, he said, “Leave us.”
One suited guest stood with prudent speed and made a beeline for the door, veering off only to move cautiously around Ross. Another refined fellow, more curious than wise, was a little slower but still gave him a wide berth.
The women, stripped down to their lingerie to show off enormous fake boobs and skinny butts, appeared too young for such world-weary expressions.
Ross opened his wallet and pulled out a few hundreds, passing them over to the girl still straddling Grant’s lap.
“Sorry,” Ross explained, “but I need at least a half hour.”
Grant sputtered, “But...”
One dark look silenced him. “Thirty private minutes.”
“I already paid!”
“You can afford it.” He winked at the woman. “You’ll share that, right?”
She slipped away from Grant and, eyes pretending interest, smiled at Ross. “Of course, baby. We work together and share everything.”
Instead of that enticing him, as she’d no doubt planned, Ross felt pity. No woman that young should ever be that desperate. It wasn’t like Grant, at almost fifty, carrying thirty extra pounds and blessed with a loose jaw, had anything to draw a lady other than his political power and bank account.
But then, for some women, that was more than enough.
He briefly wondered what Grant had planned for the evening. A threesome with guests watching? Sick prick. Maybe that’s how he kept his stature, by lording it over the underlings.
He had plenty of vile friends who encouraged and enjoyed his activities. Some more than others—which is how he’d first gotten involved with Grant.
Ross took the woman’s arm—as much to keep her from getting too close as to get her out of the room. Glittered lotion covered her skin, and now his palm. The sickening scents of cheap perfume and cheaper alcohol assaulted his nostrils. Her friend, looking more than a little baked, followed along in a stumble.
Fake bodies and paid-for compliance had never been his thing.
His appetites led more toward real women, with soft natural curves stacked around strength of character and a confident attitude. Yeah, that’s how he thought of Sahara Silver. Loads of attitude, haughty independence, an angel’s face and a sinner’s body.
Perfection, that’s what she was. Bending her to his will would be the sweetest satisfaction. He’d accomplish it gently, but firmly. And she’d end up loving it.
After minimal insistence, he got the ladies out the door, then turned with a smirk. “Damn, Grant, you’re the embodiment of irony.” As the DA, he was supposed to clean up shit like this, not contribute to it.
“It was a private moment,” Grant growled.
“With two suck-ups and lackluster protection as your audience? Twisted.” How such a high-profile social climber managed to skirt the inevitable scandal amazed Ross. “Wasn’t it you who hired me to get rid of your niece’s boy toy? Is she still mourning his early demise?”
“Shut up,” Grant hissed, his gaze frantically searching every corner of the dim—and empty—room. “There are cameras everywhere.”
Ross laughed aloud. “So having a couple of teenagers grind on you is okay, but no mention of your business?”
Grant half came out of his seat before thinking better of it and sinking back to the chair. “What do you want, Ross?”
He approached the table, pulled out a chair and sat to skewer Grant with his gaze. “You owe me, Douglas. I’m here to collect.”
Color washed out of the older man’s face. Voice lowered to a strained whisper, he asked, “What do you mean? I paid you.”
“To do various jobs, yes. But not to lie for you.” As a special job for Grant, he’d run off a whiny little shithead who, according to Grant, was “using his niece to try to blackmail his way into a fortune.” Ross suspected the young man had to go for a very different reason.
When it came to Grant’s niece, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. They were both sexual deviants.
Grant assumed he’d killed the punk. Ross preferred to make him disappear a different way—by scaring him out of town and making it clear he might not survive if he ever came back. Contact with the niece was strictly forbidden.
The nitwit had understood and vanished without a trace.
Shortly after Ross had accomplished his mission, they’d discovered that an undercover cop had been investigating the shithead for some serious drug peddling.
Overall, it seemed that Ross had done the punk a favor.
Fresh alarm filled Grant’s bugging eyes. “The truth would have destroyed us both!”
Again, Ross shrugged. “I could have protected myself without covering for you.” Especially given he hadn’t murdered anyone. “Hell, I probably would’ve gotten a grand plea bargain.”
“That,” Grant warned, “would be more difficult than you think.”
No, Ross knew it’d be near impossible to sink Douglas Grant, given all his old-family connections, which was why he’d gone along with the dual alibi that saved Grant’s ass and in the process, gave him useful leverage. “I went the extra mile for you, Douglas, and now I need you to do the same.”
Grant looked like a cornered rat.
“Stop sweating. All I need is for you to throw a ritzy party, invite a certain special lady and include me on your guest list.”
“You can’t kill a woman at my house.”
That assumption annoyed him. “I’m not going to kill her, damn it. I just want some time with her.” Time to win her over without her feeling threatened.
Skeptical, Grant asked, “Who is she?”
“Sahara Silver.”
“From Body Armor?” Grant shook his head. “She wouldn’t attend. Doesn’t like me, you know.”
“I heard she actively dislikes you.” Didn’t surprise Ross. He knew Grant operated more as an inside man for the wealthy than a defender of justice. His Sahara wasn’t like that. No, she’d go to war to protect an innocent. He admired that about her. Hell, he admired everything about her. “You’ll have to pitch it as a way to patch up the conflicts.”
“A party,” Grant mused. Then he said with enthusiasm, “You know I don’t mind entertaining. You should have said right off that’s all you wanted.”
“Not all.” Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, Ross slid it across the table. “To Ms. Silver and anyone else who asks, I’m an upstanding fellow, someone you know well. I’ve jotted down the details of our association. Learn it. Don’t fuck it up. We’ll go over the more recent dates now to ensure we’re on the same page.” Ross couldn’t make up a story until he knew where Grant had been.
Grant toyed with the notebook. “Mind telling me why you’re doing this?”
Ross gave him his coldest stare. “You know better than to ask.”
Fresh terror pushed Grant back in his seat, but when Ross made no move toward him, he relaxed again. “This doesn’t sound bad at all. Throw a party, and fuck over that bitch, Sahara Silver.” He chuckled. “I call that a win-win.”
The ignorant bastard was too busy laughing to dodge Ross’s fist. And damn it all, he knocked him out. Actually, he knocked him out of his chair, too.
Ross stared down at the crumpled body on the floor, a purpling bruise already spreading over his jaw. He really needed to get a handle on his territorial instincts where Sahara was concerned.
Seeing her at the party would help, having the opportunity to speak with her, just be near her... He couldn’t wait to witness her expression when Douglas spun the carefully created fairy tale about their association. She’d realize that she couldn’t fight him, and then she’d realize the truth.
Eventually, she would be his.
* * *
EVEN THOUGH HE’D already learned every inch of the suite during his tour with Leese, Brand paced around, going from one room to the other.
He had to keep moving, otherwise he’d dwell on Sahara taking her bath. A “relaxing bubble bath” she’d said. As it was, his overactive libido kept picturing her stepping out of those sexy high heels, unzipping that slim-fitting skirt and slowly pushing it down over her shapely hips, then unbuttoning that silky blouse, one button at a time, until that, too, landed on the glossy tile floor.
Had she left her hair pinned up to keep it dry, or let it down so that it floated around her breasts in the water?
He drew a strained breath and went to stand before the windows overlooking the Ohio River. Lights on barges sent ribbons of colors to dance over the surface of the water.
How long was she going to be in there?
He withdrew his phone and again checked the time on the screen. Hell, wasn’t ninety minutes long enough?
He remembered that his mom, after her injury, would stay in the tub for an hour. But that was to treat her aches and pains, not just to soak.
Thinking that gave him an awful idea: did Sahara have any aches and pains?
She’d finished work a little after seven—late, in his opinion, especially considering how early she started. Instead of retiring to the suite then, she’d insisted on getting restaurant food, which had left him divided. He wanted to get it for her, but that would leave her alone, and taking her out of the agency left her susceptible to an attack.
Luckily, Leese answered when he called. He told Brand to go ahead and take her with him—as if either of them could have stopped her if that’s what she wanted to do. Then Leese spoke with Sahara, who very reasonably agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to have one of the guards from the agency follow behind at a discreet distance.
It didn’t surprise Brand that everyone in her employ appeared to adore her. They wanted to protect her, not because she was the boss but because they cared.
Sahara was that kind of person, the kind who got involved, who listened, who understood. She valued everyone who worked for her, from the maintenance crew to the bodyguards to her personal assistant—and they all knew it.
Leaving the window, Brand strode down the hall, pausing by the bedroom door. She’d left it open, but had closed the door to the connecting bath. On the nightstand next to the bed was the weapon she’d made. She’d replaced the bra around the handle with some other material.
The real surprise was that she hadn’t taken it into the bathroom with her.
Shaking his head, he surveyed the room.
He’d expected her to choose the master bedroom, but instead she’d put her things in the guest bedroom. He assumed the idea of using her brother’s room left her uncomfortable.
Or maybe she figured Scott would return any day now, and she didn’t want to intrude on his space.
It was damned heartbreaking, the way she clung to hope.
He checked the time on his phone again, then went through the bedroom to the bathroom door. “Sahara.”
No answer.
After going out for food and eating it in the suite, combined with her extended bath, it was now past ten o’clock. They were supposed to talk about their relationship...and didn’t he sound just like a chick? Disgusted, he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Sahara?”
Nothing.
She had to be exhausted. It was too late now for an in-depth discussion when most of all she needed sleep.
But her silence bothered him.
He couldn’t think of any injuries she’d had, but what if she hadn’t told the whole story about her kidnapping? What if that bastard had hurt her?
She could be in there quietly crying.
The possibility twisted his guts.
And thinking of possibilities...had someone gotten to her? Was he stupidly waiting for her and she was already—
He tried the doorknob, felt it turn and half opened the door, keeping his gaze averted from the tub.
The large mirror on the opposite wall made the effort useless.
Ah, hell.
Arrested by the sight, Brand went still, barely even breathing.
Lying boneless in the tub, hair pinned up in a soft, messy way, eyes closed and not enough bubbles left in the water to conceal her, Sahara dozed. The waterproof earbuds explained why she hadn’t heard his knock.
One hand rested limply over her belly, the other draped the edge of the tub. She had her right leg stretched out, her left slightly bent. The water, edged with small bubbles, lapped around her shoulders, her pale breasts and the tops of her thighs.
In his mind, he’d pictured her naked many times, but his imagination hadn’t done her justice.
His blood pumping hot and fast, he turned away from the mirror to face the tub.
An erection strained the front of his jeans.
What to do? He couldn’t let her continue to doze in the bath. She needed to be in a bed. She needed real, restful sleep.
What she didn’t need was him coming on to her tonight.
Would she be embarrassed if he woke her? Who knew with Sahara?
Either way, he still had to do it.
Glancing around the glamorous bathroom, he saw her wet toothbrush on the side of the sink, the towel she’d set out...but no clothes. She’d already put away her things, so he left her long enough to go to his own bag, took out a clean T-shirt, then stopped in the bedroom and turned down the bed.
As prepared as he could be, he returned to the bathroom.
She hadn’t moved.
The situation sent heat throbbing through him. He’d wanted plenty of women, and had had plenty of them, too. He’d experienced convenient attractions and mind-numbing lust.
He’d never known anyone like Sahara. He’d never before dealt with the things she made him feel.
Mind made up, he set aside the shirt, then crouched beside the tub.
God, she was beautiful. And so fucking sexy.
He smiled, because she was also autocratic.
Seeing her like this, though, with her makeup gone and her face utterly relaxed, was a revelation. Her lashes—paler without the mascara—rested on her damp cheeks. The heat of the tub had flushed her skin. Tendrils of golden-brown hair clung to her neck and shoulders.
No woman could be more appealing than her.
“Sahara?” He brushed his knuckles over her dewy cheek. “Come on, baby. Wake up.”
Shifting, she drew in a deeper breath through her nose, then settled again with a sigh.
Brand fought the urge to look anywhere other than her face. “Sahara.” He cupped her cheek. “Honey, you need to wake up.”
Her eyes popped open, so blue and definitely dazed. “Brand?” She frowned, then removed the Bluetooth earbuds. “What are you—”
A second later, realization hit and her eyes flared.
Forestalling any panic, Brand stood and opened the towel. “Time for bed.”
Bemused, she sat up, her gaze glued to his.
Poor choice of words. “I had no idea what you sleep in, so I just brought you one of my shirts.” He waited, showing extreme control by not looking at her body.
Still visibly confused, she stood. “I usually sleep naked.”
Water sluiced down her body, and Brand knew he was starting to sweat.
“I’m sorry I passed out.” A yawn cut her off as she stepped out of the tub and into the towel. “I’m more tired than I realized.”
“Even superheroes need rest every now and then.” He wrapped the towel around her.
She reached for the edges of the towel and started to step away.
Voice low and rough as gravel, Brand said, “Let me.”
Their gazes held, until she shrugged. “This is so odd. Not at all how I planned things.”
Yeah, not even in the same universe as his plans either. “I want to take care of you, Sahara. That doesn’t mean you can’t do it yourself. Doesn’t mean you’re weak.” He opened the towel again to begin drying her. “Just means I want to.”
Nervous fingers tucked a wet lock of hair behind her ear. “No one’s ever—”
“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Now just relax.”
She smiled lazily. “No problem with that. I think I was out for the night. If you hadn’t woken me, I might’ve still been there in the morning.”
Had she done that before? Given the hours she kept, it wouldn’t surprise him.
He dried her as quickly as he could, yet when he glanced at her face, her eyes were closed again, her head lolling. “Hang on, honey.”
Keeping one hand on her elbow, he reached for the T-shirt and tugged it on over her head.
Standing passively, for once not trying to take over, she murmured, “It doesn’t bother you that I’m naked.”
She didn’t say it as a question, but rather a statement, so he replied the same way while feeding her arms through the sleeves. “Doesn’t seem to be bothering you either.”
“Tomorrow I might be embarrassed.” Sleepily, she slumped against him. “Promise you won’t ever tell anyone.”
Arm around her, Brand led her toward the bed. “You don’t ever have to worry about that, not with me.”
“I know.”
When he lifted the covers, she crawled in, turned on her side away from him and let out a lusty sigh.
“Get some sleep.”
She mumbled something vague and faded away.
For far too long Brand stood there beside the bed, feeling things he didn’t understand, before he convinced himself to turn out the lights and walk away. He left the door slightly ajar.
Since she didn’t want to sleep in her brother’s room, he didn’t either. After a quick shower in the other bathroom, he crashed on the couch. Wearing only his boxers, one arm stacked behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and watched the shifting lights through the open windows. It took him a long time to get to sleep when all he really wanted to do was join Sahara.
Dawn had turned the sky a grayish pink when he awoke to a sound. At first he didn’t move, not physically anyway, but his senses sharpened on high alert. He breathed slow and easy, listening.
There, he heard it again.
It was a sound that struck terror in a man’s heart.
A sniffle, a catch of breath...
Sahara was crying.
He didn’t think about whether or not she’d want privacy; there was no way in hell he could stop himself from going to her.
The door remained as he’d left it, slightly open, but thanks to the closed drapes the room was still dark. “Sahara?”
A sudden stillness, thick with dread, filled the air. “Go back to bed, Brand.”
Not on your life. He heard the tears in her voice. “What’s wrong?” Even moving closer, he could barely make her out on the bed.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Sorry I woke you.”
Sitting on the side of the mattress, he reached for her shoulder. “Honey—”
“Please just go. I promise you, I’m fine.”
He couldn’t leave her, but grilling her right now wasn’t the right thing either. “Scoot over.”
Stunned, she half turned toward him. “What do you think you’re—”
“It’s barely dawn and I’m still tired.” He crowded in, spooning her, dragging her close against him so he could hold her tight. “Isn’t this nicer?”
His heart beat ten times before she grudgingly said, “Yes.”
He waited for her to relax, all the while willing himself not to get hard. A tough request after seeing her naked, touching her body and God, the way her ass fit against his groin...
He just held her for a while, but he knew she hadn’t gone back to sleep. Because she was still upset? It gnawed on him, the need to console her.
Keeping his voice low, he said, “Odd that you didn’t mind me seeing you naked, but you’re defensive over a few tears.”
“I’ve been naked before.”
But she never cried? He hugged her. “You definitely have no reason for modesty. I mean, I tried not to look, but I’m only human.”
Her fingertips teased over the forearm he had draped around her and pressed between her breasts. “I’m glad you looked.”
Yeah, that wasn’t going to help him keep a boner at bay. “If I’d have known that, I would’ve dumped the nobility right off.” At least her voice sounded steadier. He kissed the top of her head. “Will you tell me why you were—”
“No.”
He should let it go, but he couldn’t. “Sahara...”
With more weariness than heat, she said, “I had a dream, okay?”
His thoughts scrambled. “About the kidnapping?”
She shook her head. “About Scott. I...miss him.”
Even as he wished for a way to comfort her, he resented how much of her time she wasted on a ghost. “I know you two were really close.”
She fell silent, then finally said, “Really, I’m sorry I woke you.”
Brand squeezed her. “Stop apologizing to me.”
“Okay.” She thought for a second more, then suggested, “You could help me forget the dream.”
Temptation gnawed at him. She’d only had around six hours of sleep, and he’d probably gotten four. “You need to be at work in just a few hours.”
“Takes me less than half an hour to get ready.”
“Damn, so you are Wonder Woman? I always suspected.”
Her sharp elbow came back, landing against his abs.
Just for fun and to play along, he faked an Oof even though it hadn’t hurt.
He heard the smile in her voice when she said, “That’s for insinuating that all women primp too long in the bathroom.”
“Pretty sure that’s a basic fact of life.” This was nice, he decided, lying in the dark with Sahara, teasing, playing.
Getting ridiculously turned on.
“Brand?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m saying yes,” she whispered, “if you’ll only ask.”
So she’d felt his erection, obviously. He wanted her, very badly, but trying to think of what she needed most, he said, “I think we should talk about your brother.” He waited for her refusal.
Instead, she said, “I’ve wondered what he’d think of you.”
“Me?” The idle way her fingertips teased over his skin drove him to distraction. He kept imagining them elsewhere, making it tough to concentrate.
“Scott was good at reading people.” She turned to face him, still close, but now with her breasts against his chest.
And he hadn’t forgotten, not for a second, that she wore only the shirt.
No panties.
Now with those teasing fingers on his chest, she asked, “Have you ever been seriously involved with a woman?”
It felt like a trap, so Brand tried to think of the right thing to say.
She saved him by adding, “I was once or twice, with men, I mean, until Scott met them and realized what they were really after.”
Brand went still, absorbing that hit, then erupted with anger.
In one smooth move he flipped Sahara to her back and loomed over her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Eyes wide in the dark, she asked, “Which part?”
“Damn it, Sahara.” He kissed her, which seemed to be his go-to move for every emotion she made him feel—anger, lust, humor, worry, sympathy...always a kiss to resolve it.
Her small, cool hands slipped up his chest to the tops of his shoulders, gently kneading. “What are these muscles called?”
“What? My traps?”
“Mmm, traps.”
“Trapezoid. Why?”
“They’re delicious.”
“No,” he said more to himself than her. “Don’t start seducing me.”
“But you’re already between my legs.”
He caught his breath, well aware of every inch of her that touched him. “Believe me, I know. Let’s both ignore it for just a minute, okay?”
“Only a minute?”
“Maybe two.” He kissed her again. “What do you mean that Scott figured out what the guys really wanted?”
“They were after connections. Financial and social. One of them had tried to get backing from Scott and failed, then he met me—”
“And probably fucking well fell in love.”
“Well, that’s what he claimed. But he hadn’t told me about his efforts with Scott, which did seem suspect, right?”
“He probably got one look at you and forgot all about Scott.”
She laughed. “You’re very sweet.”
No, he was very hard. He knew how badly he’d wanted her from the jump, so how could any other man be different? “You broke up with the guy?”
“Yes.”
“You loved him?”
“I guess not, not really. I liked him a lot, though, and I thought he was ‘the one.’ Good thing Scott knew better.”
Brand would really like to go back in time and have five minutes with her asshole brother. “Who was the second guy?”
“A farmer. I mean, I figured a farmer wouldn’t have any connection to Scott, you know?”
“Let me guess. Scott managed to dredge up something shady?”
“Don’t say it like that,” she chided. “He was looking out for me. He always had my best interest at heart.”
Brand nearly groaned. “So what was wrong with the farmer?”
“The farm was failing. I loved it, but he wanted out. Getting to my money would have been a big boost and made the transition for him much easier.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He said we’d start over somewhere else, that between my money and what he’d make from selling the farm, we’d be in great shape.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.” Not that he’d ever touch a single cent of her money—especially now that he knew her perception of it.
“When Scott told him my inheritance was protected—”
“Scott told him?” He got angry all over again. “You didn’t tell him yourself?”
“I would have, but Scott met him and explained, and that was the end of that. He left mad and never contacted me again, which was all the proof I needed.”
“I’m not buying it.”
She drifted a foot up the back of his calf, making him tense all over. “That’s because you’re a really nice guy.”
“Odds are the guy was pissed, and insulted, and you never bothered to talk it out with him because Scott had you somehow convinced cold cash was more attractive than you are. And in that, honey, he was wrong.”
With a tiny bit of uncertainty, she asked, “You really think so?”
“Yes, and if you’re wondering what the lure is for me, it’s your attitude, your brass, your brains, your sexy body, your beautiful face, your confidence, your—”
Laughing, Sahara wrapped her long, slim legs around him. “You’re good for my ego.”
“Your ego should be huge.” He’d always thought it was. She’d coasted through a kidnapping as if she’d taken a walk through the park, but she was still so damn hurt over her brother’s indiscreet method of “protecting” her. Damn the man. “Just so you know, I have zero interest in your money.”
She drew his mouth down to hers. “Do you have interest in me?”
“I’m going to be insulted if you tell me that isn’t already obvious.” To prove his point, he nudged his straining erection against her smooth belly.
“Very obvious...that you’re interested in sex.”
“Sex with you, Sahara Silver.” Hell, he couldn’t resist her any longer—in fact, he could barely remember why he’d been resisting. Something about complications...that no longer seemed so important. Anything they had to work out, well, she was more than worth the effort.
Sahara was with him, she trusted him, she wanted him, and he was done being noble. Giving up the fight, he settled fully against her. “How could I be interested in any other woman when you’re the most unique, challenging, infuriating—”
“Hey, I liked the other compliments more!”
Brand opened his mouth on her throat. “Delicious.” He nuzzled his way down to her breasts, dragging the neckline of the big loose shirt along the way. “Fragrant.” Lathing his tongue around the nipple he exposed, he whispered, “Sweet.”
“Better,” she breathed. She sank her fingers into his hair, holding him close. “FYI,” she whispered, “I didn’t pack condoms.”
Brand smiled up at her. “I did.”