CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

Isabelle

 

I stared out the window of Brant’s room, giddiness swirling in my stomach. He was back and we’d had an amazing day. I’d pretended to go to bed and then snuck downstairs. I already knew—cringingly—the fact that we’d slept together wasn’t a secret from Harry, but I still felt a sense of propriety as far as what we made a show of doing under his roof. The way I’d been raised insisted on it, but it was also simply a matter of respect. Things would be different in New York, and though I was nervous about the trip, there would be benefits we’d enjoy there that we couldn’t here.

His reflection appeared in the glass in front of me and I watched him approach from behind, my skin prickling with anticipation of his touch. His hands slid up my bare arms and I shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, his gravelly voice just above my ear, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin.

I looked to the side, casting my eyes downward. “No.”

He turned me to face him, his gaze raking down my silk-clad body, my nipples puckering under his hot perusal. “Christ, Isabelle, you look like a dream.”

Pleasure flooded me. I’d bought the negligee on a whim when I’d seen it in a boutique in town. I’d never owned anything like it. It was sexy and clingy, the black silk draping over my skin like a caress, the edges trimmed in a delicate lace. My breath had caught when I saw it, my heart slamming in my chest as I’d felt it between my fingers, imagined Brant looking at me exactly the way he was looking at me now. I’d bought it and kept it in a box under my bed, not sure I’d have the courage to put it on once he returned. Again, it was my upbringing I supposed that made me feel so . . . brazen in this risqué piece of lingerie, worn to entice. How wicked they’d all say I was. Dancing with the devil again, Isabelle? Wearing jewelry and clothing designed to elicit lust in a man? I’d already been naked in front of Brant, yet somehow I felt bare in an entirely different way.

Brant’s eyes moved over my features, his gaze softening as if he could read my thoughts, as if he knew the vulnerability in my heart and somehow understood it. He hooked a finger under the fragile wisp of a strap and pulled it down slowly, removing his finger and watching as it fell from my shoulder. When he looked back at me, the raw longing in his eyes was so intense, my breath hitched right before he leaned in and kissed my shoulder, biting it softly then laving his tongue over the spot, soothing it.

“I burn for you, Isabelle.” The intensity of his statement shot a bolt of lust tingling through my body. I burn for you, too. My body. My heart. “There’s never any shame in the things we do together.”

I brought my eyes to him, nodding. And suddenly I felt no shame, no wickedness, no reluctance. He was looking at me as if I was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, and I felt beautiful under his gaze. I stood tall, allowing him to look his fill. “I’ve missed your hands on me,” I admitted. “Every night. I’ve been sleepless with wanting you.”

He let out a sound that was half breath, half growl, reaching around me and pulling the curtain closed, his eyes never straying from me. Anticipation darted through my system, the knowledge that what we were about to do was between us and us alone. I felt Brant’s finger at my other shoulder, and then the second strap was falling, causing the negligee to slide down my body, pooling at my feet. A smile tugged at my mouth. Three hundred and fifty dollars well spent. I stepped out of the pooled fabric, beginning to kick off the short heels I’d worn with my party dress and put back on after I’d donned the negligee, but Brant halted me with his words, “Keep them on.”

I looked at him questioningly, tilting my head when I saw the way he was holding his jaw. A small smile played at my lips. That was his I’m barely holding on look and oh how it aroused me, tightening my nipples and causing a surge of wetness between my thighs. I stood before him, naked except for my heels. He was fully dressed, his tie loosened around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Mine. That feeling, a silent orchestra rising inside me, overcame me and the joy was so profound that tears burned the backs of my eyes. I was his and he was mine and the rightness of it soared inside me. I felt it, standing there, bare and unabashed. I’d stood in the so-called presence of God once before and declared my devotion to another man, and yet, I hadn’t felt God’s presence at all. Now, though I wore no ring . . . I felt the reverence of this moment.

Brant took my hand and brought it to the bulge at the front of his pants. “I was sleepless with wanting you too, Belle. Do you know what I did, all those long, lonely nights?”

“What?” I asked, moving my hand, caressing his hardness through the material of his pants. My voice sounded faraway, laced with the lust I felt coursing through my veins.

Brant let out a low masculine hum of pleasure and loosened his tie a little more, pulling it over his head and tossing it on the floor. He undid the buttons of his shirt slowly and my eyes watched each movement of his strong yet elegant fingers until his shirt came undone and he pulled it off his broad shoulders, throwing it behind him.

Underneath he wore a white undershirt, and I felt a jolt of frustration at another layer of clothing. Brant chuckled and quickly pulled the T-shirt up his back and over his head, revealing his beautifully sculpted chest. “What do you think I did?”

“Wh-what?” I asked, having lost the thread of the conversation with the fog of arousal filling my brain.

Brant chuckled again. “Those nights. What do you think I did when I wanted to feel your hands on me so badly I ached?” He unbuttoned his suit pants but didn’t remove them. My eyes grazed over his strong chest, the ridges of his stomach muscles, the long lines of his body. He was so beautifully made, lean and strong—all male—and just looking at him made my intimate inner muscles tighten, clench. “You touched yourself,” I breathed.

He dropped his pants and kicked them aside with feet that I now saw were already bare. My gaze rose slowly up his well-shaped calves to his strong thighs and lingered on the outline of his thick shaft through the thin material of his boxers. His hand moved over his erection and he let out a masculine groan. “Yes. I touched myself and pretended it was you. It wasn’t nearly as good, but I was desperate. Do you want to watch, Belle? Do you want to watch what I did when I couldn’t have you?”

A small whimper sounded in the space between us, and I realized it was me, my body humming with so much lust, I was practically swaying on my feet. “Yes,” I said, not even sure if I’d uttered the word aloud. Yes, yes, yes.

Brant took my hand and led me to the bed. I sat then licked my lips as I gazed at him. He leaned in and kissed me once, hard and wet, and then pulled a chair closer to the bed, removing his boxers and then sitting and leaning back. His gaze grew lazy as he moved his own hand down his stomach, his head falling back slightly as he took his hard shaft in his hand. Heat zinged through my body, from my breasts to my sex to the tips of my fingers and toes. Oh my God, in all my life I’d never even imagined a sight like this.

Brant’s hand moved up and down slowly as he let out another deep moan of pleasure. I couldn’t handle it anymore and I moved to stand, to go to him, to take over what he was doing to his own body, to relieve the throbbing ache in my own, but he raised his hand, gesturing for me to stay still. “No. Lie back, Belle. I want to watch you too.”

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “No, I . . . I mean, I didn’t . . .”

“But you can now. Show me how much you want me. Let me watch.”

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.”

My heart clenched. Did he mean love? Family? Children? A tremor of fear moved through me, but so did a glow of yearning. He was silent, though, and so I was too. If he was going to mention those specific things, he was going to have to do it without my prompting. And truth be told, maybe I wasn’t quite ready for a conversation like that anyway. Instead, I smiled at him. “Doesn’t seem very old-fashioned that I’m in your bed and your hands are—” I let out a high-pitched laugh as he turned me suddenly, one hand settling on my thigh, the other on my naked breast.

“My hands are where?”

“Everywhere.”

He grinned and my heart stuttered at his male beauty. “Ah, but you’re wrong, this is the oldest fashionest thing of all time.”

I snorted and he laughed too, then glanced at the door, making a quiet shushing sound and winking.   

“I’m going to enjoy not having to sneak around in New York,” I whispered.

Brant smiled happily. “Me too. You’re going to love it there.”