of managing their legacy.
Pete still held poetic notions of the perfect woman, the perfect relationship. Perfect love. An oxymoron. Brett didn’t want to sound cynical or dismissive of his brother’s values, but the kid spent way too much time reading poetry by Whitman and Neruda, ignoring the harsh realities of life.
“Anyway, can you meet me out there about noon tomorrow?” Guests at the ranch would be out and about, and the staff would be working, which would give him enough time to come home without drawing undue attention. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was sneaking around, and it pissed him off. He had no reason to be ashamed, but he was anyway, and it irked him.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to go find some din—” A knock at the door interrupted his thought. “Listen, I gotta go—see you tomorrow, Pete.”
Hanging up the phone, he opened the door tentatively, unaware of anyone who’d be looking for him here, and paused startled when he saw the lovely woman standing before him. He stared for a moment, thinking she had the wrong room. He let his eyes have a little treat as they wandered over her sexy dress—and then he noticed the freckles.
“Lauren?”
She smiled and he felt all the blood in his body rush to his crotch. Shifting a little uncomfortably, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. This was the same jean-clad woman who’d given him a ride earlier?
Looking at her, he could barely think of the word “ride” without X-rated images dancing through his mind. Had he actually considered her merely pretty at any point in time? Had he lost his mind? She was spectacular, sweetness and sin all in one lovely, black satin bundle.
“When I picked you up earlier,” she said in a low, sexy tone that was husky, intentional. “You told me to surprise you. So.” She turned around slowly, looking at him over her shoulder in a way that nearly brought him to his knees. “Surprise.”
He didn’t know what to say—surprise was certainly one of the things he was feeling, though no words would seem to form. She reached out, touching the tie that still hung haphazardly from his neck.
“I was just in my room, thinking about you sitting down here in your tux, and I regretted saying no to your offer for dinner. The man at the desk said there are a few really nice restaurants in town, if you’re still interested?”
“I’m interested,” he managed and stepped back to invite her into the room. Only then he caught her moment of hesitation. While she was coming on bold, the sweet-faced woman from the car was lurking beneath this sexy vixen, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable in the role. It only charmed him more.
He stepped back to let her decide, much like he would when he was trying to get a new horse to trust him. No pressure.
It only took her a second to walk across the threshold with determination, as if she’d just made the decision with her entire, beautiful body. He smiled a little as he closed the door.
“Let me just duck in the bathroom, wash my face and get rid of this damned tie, and we’ll be off,” he said, attempting to reassure her that he wasn’t some creep planning on holding her hostage in his room. “I actually do know a very nice restaurant in the resort at the edge of town. Has a glass atrium and low lights so the desert sky shows through.”
“It sounds wonderful.” She caught his eye shyly, but the color in her cheeks suggested she was as excited as he was.
“That dress is amazing—I didn’t even recognize you at first,” he added.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
Her voice was driving him crazy. He turned toward the bathroom in case he was tempted to break his promise and did end up taking her hostage. When he came back out she was standing at the window, and he took a moment just to look at her. She had a graceful stance, a natural poise in the way her head was held high, but tilted just to the side. How beautiful those bare shoulders were. She was like something out of a painting, or a magazine, and he’d never known a woman like her, not for many years. Hesitation rose, but he forced it back.
“You’re perfect,” he heard himself say and immediately felt ridiculous. She turned to him, not saying a word. Her skin was creamy all the way down to that delicious bit of cleavage, and he watched as one sharp, white tooth bit into a bottom lip that shone with a light swipe of color. A black barrette held her hair back in a way he liked and it reminded him of the hairstyles from the sixties that he saw in some of his parents’ old pictures. He was itching to release it and thread his fingers through, messing it around her face.
Surprised by his nonsensical urges, he pulled himself together, then noticed she carried only a small purse.
“Did you bring a coat?” He cleared his throat, wondering why he was suddenly so hoarse.
“No. I didn’t think I’d need one…”
“The desert gets cold at night, Connecticut,” he teased, slipping his own suit coat off.
“Put this over your shoulders on the way to the restaurant. It’s not far from here, and you’ll be more comfortable.” He walked up behind her, sliding the coat over her shoulders, even as she protested.
“No, then you’ll be cold. I can just run upstairs and see if I have something to match…”
He left his hands on her shoulders, his face close to her ear. “I won’t be cold.”
She paused, not saying a word, but the tension strung hot between them, and Brett leaned in just a little closer.
“I like that scent you’re wearing—sweet, but not too much so. Fresh, but sort of musky, too, like new rain.”
He could see the pulse at the base of her neck picking up a quick, steady beat and her voice wavered when she spoke. “It’s a custom scent my parents had made for me years ago. I like it because I can wear it all the time, you know, just every day. It’s not overpowering.”
He smiled, shaking his head incredulously. “Says who?”
Taking a chance, he nuzzled her neck and grazed his lips over her ear. The tremor that shook her wasn’t from fear, unless he was radically misreading the body language between them.
Dinner was becoming less important very quickly. He was hard as a rock, his skin hot, need coursing through him like storm waters rushing over the dry desert floor in a rainstorm. It was quick and unexpected, but he welcomed it. Her response was balm for his masculinity, which had taken a beating today. He squeezed her shoulders slightly, pressed her a little closer so she could feel his arousal and waited for her response. He wouldn’t push, but he could hope.
When she lifted her arm and snaked her hand around his neck, he groaned and slid both hands around her waist, just holding her.
“Are you sure, Lauren?”
She looked up into his face, her gaze holding his, but she said nothing, as if struggling for the right words. He didn’t have them either, but then again he wasn’t big on words. Too many words caused problems, in his view. Touching told him all he needed to know. He ran a thumb over her cheek, examining the freckles that intrigued him so much, trying to reassure her.
“If you say no, it’s no—I mean that. Stop means stop. I’ll listen, okay? If you want to just leave and go to dinner, that’s okay, too,” he continued in a low voice, hoping like hell she wouldn’t turn toward the door.
He wanted her now, on the spot, but he’d let her set the pace if it killed him, and from the powerful need that was throbbing through him, it just might.
“It is pretty warm in here,” she said breathlessly, dropping her purse on the chair, turning and bringing both arms around his neck in such a way as to bring her entire torso in contact with his. Her head fit in underneath his chin as she snuggled against him. Massaging her shoulders, he felt her relax and loosen, all supple heat and subtle curves.
“Lauren,”