Page 71 of You'll Find Out

The room into which Brig took Becca was shadowed in darkness. There was the slight hint of an expensive blend of pipe tobacco in the air that reminded Becca of Brig’s father and her reason for seeking him out. She knew she should tell Brig about Gypsy Wind now, before things got out of hand. But she couldn’t. It felt too right being held by the man she loved. She couldn’t tear herself from his embrace.

A thin stream of moonglow pierced through the skylights and gave the room some visibility. As Becca’s eyes became adjusted to the darkness, she realized that she was in a bedroom: Brig’s bedroom.

Brig walked unerringly to the bed. He dropped Becca on a soft down comforter and let his weight fall against her body. He crushed her to him, holding her fiercely to him. His lips brushed hers in tender kisses flavored with scotch and warm with need. His hands pressed intimately against the muscles of her back and through the light jersey fabric of her dress, Becca could feel the heat of his fingertips. They sparked fires in her she had thought dead and rekindled a passion she had buried long ago.

He tasted just as she remembered and the roughness of his unshaven face reminded her of lazy mornings spent waking up in his arms, arousing desires smoldering from the night. His kisses were the sweetest pleasure she had ever known.

“Rebecca,” Brig moaned, tortured by the demons playing in his mind. “Rebecca . . . God, how many nights has it been?” His warm breath fanned her face.

“Since what?” she prodded, her breath torn from her throat.

“Since we made love?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Too many,” she admitted. His fingers entwined in the strands of her honey-gold hair. She couldn’t read his expression in the darkness, but she could feel his unchallenged sincerity. Slowly, she touched his lips and felt the hard angle of his masculine jaw. His hand reached up and covered hers and he kissed it.

“Why did you wait to come back?” he asked.

“I don’t know . . . I was afraid, I suppose.”

“Of me?”

“No!” She tried to think, tried to explain what she felt, but she couldn’t.

“You had the right to be.” He pulled his head away from her hand, putting a little distance between them. He let go of her hand and rolled away from her. Why was she here? Why now?

“Don’t!” she cried, refusing to release him. Her arms wrapped around his back and she whispered against the back of his neck. “It was my pride.... Let’s not talk about it. Not here. Not now.”

He tried to disentangle her arms. “Rebecca. Don’t you think we should talk things through?” He tried to keep his wits about him, attempted to think logically, but he couldn’t. The feel of her breasts crushed against his back and the warmth of her arms around his chest made his blood begin to race.

“Please, Brig. Can’t we just forget . . . just for a little while?” Her heart was pounding so loudly she knew he could hear it. Her breath was barely a whisper, a small plea in the middle of a clear mountain night.

“Dear God, woman. Don’t you know how you torture me?” he asked raggedly. Becca let the air out of her lungs. He was about to deny her, again . . . she could feel it. “I wish I could forget you,” he said as if she weren’t listening. The bed sagged as he shifted again. He loomed over her in the darkness as he planted one hand on either side of her body. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes,” she said.

Cold suspicion had begun to form in his mind, but as he gazed down upon her his doubts fled. The moonlight caressed her face in its protective radiance and her eyes took on a heavenly silver-green purity that begged him to believe her. As she lay upon the bed staring trustingly at him, he knew her to be the most beautiful and beguiling woman he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

Becca couldn’t see the pain in Brig’s gray eyes, couldn’t hope to read his expression, but she knew that he was gazing down upon her, trying to find the strength to pull away again. That knowledge was a dull silver blade twisting slowly in her heart. He wanted to love her, but was denying himself.

“Why did we let it go sour?” he asked, his fists clenching in the restraint he was holding over his body. Dear God, she was beautiful. His question was rhetorical; he didn’t expect an answer.

“We made mistakes . . .”

“Like tonight?” he asked cruelly.

“Does this feel like a mistake to you, Brig?” If only she could look into his eyes. If only he would let her.

“Nothing has ever felt wrong with you,” he conceded as he lowered his head and his lips met hers in a kiss that spanned the abyss of the six lonely years separating them. The warmth of his lips filled her and she let them part to encourage more intimacy. Everything felt so right with him; it always had. As his mouth claimed hers it was as if all the doubts and fears she had furtively harbored had disappeared.He wanted her.Her heart clamored joyously and her blood began to run in heated rivulets through her veins. The love she had chained deep in the shadowy hollow of her heart became unbound in the knowledge that he wanted her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the comfort of his caress.

His tongue slid familiarly through her teeth, touching hers and mating with it in a passionate dance once forgotten. He explored her mouth, groaning softly in pleasure at her heated response. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted roughly, drawing his head away from hers for a moment. He brushed back the silken strands of her hair and kissed her forehead lightly before letting his lips trail down her cheeks to recapture her mouth. “Let me love you.”

The jersey dress buttoned on the shoulders. Brig’s fingers slid the pearl-like fasteners through the holes and the soft fabric parted to expose her neck and shoulders. He kissed the white column of her throat, nuzzling gently against her neck. Without thinking she tilted her head, letting her sun-streaked hair fall away from her throat and offering it to him willingly. His moist tongue pressed against her skin and he tasted the bittersweet tang of her perfume—the same scent she had worn in the past. It was a fragrance he would never forget. Once he had been with a woman who was wearing Rebecca’s fragrance; he had left that woman before the evening had begun. The perfume had evoked too many unwanted memories and destroyed any possible attraction he may have felt for the poor woman.

But tonight was different. Tonight he would drown in the gentle fragrance of wildflowers that filled his nostrils. Tonight in the dusky bedroom, the scent that clung to Rebecca’s hair fired his blood and summoned a passion in him he had thought was lost long ago. No other woman had reached him the way Rebecca had, and he had vowed that none would. No other woman had dared enrage him so dangerously. Her soft moan of pleasure encouraged him. He felt her body trembling beneath his persuasive hands.

With a gentle tug the dress slid lower on her body. Lace from a cream-colored slip partially obscured the swell of her breasts and highlighted the hollow between them. He moved over her and his mouth moistened that gentle rift.

“Brig,” she whispered, closing her eyes and letting him touch her soul. His hands slid over the silky fabric of her slip, arousing in her aching breasts a need that seemed to consume her in its fire. The satin fabric teased her nipples into hard, dark points that strained against the lace. His warm lips touched the gossamer cloth and Becca moaned her gratitude as the moist heat of his mouth covered her nipple.

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