Page 45 of Fighting His Fate
A small noise at the door had her opening her eyes. Brett stood in the open bathroom doorway, his hungry stare taking in her buoyant breasts and bent leg, peeking through the bubbles. The heat from his gaze kept her riveted in place, a momentary desire to cover herself stifled by the intensity of his perusal.
“Sorry,” he said under his breath, leaving as abruptly as he’d appeared. She sat up, water sloshing as the door closed behind him.
Her heart was pounding, heat flooding her face and chest. She let the water out of the tub and got out, wrapping a thick blue towel around her torso and seeking him out before she could stop herself.
He stood with his back to her, gazing out the window to the lakefront beyond. The storm had passed, the moon illuminating patchy clouds in the purple sky, but she could sense a storm of a different kind in the way he held his body. “What happened?” she asked.
“They’re mine.” He was quiet for a moment. “I found a letter Joni had written to me. The twins are mine.”
She walked up behind him, admiring his silhouette, wondering about the torment beneath his perfect physique. “That’s good news.”
“Is it?”
“Absolutely. You’ll be a good father to them.”
He didn’t move, didn’t turn around to face her. “Grace, I’m sorry I went in there. The door was open and I… I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
He was emotional, she could hear it in his voice. Dangerous, she could see it in his stance. And when a part of her wanted to back away, she closed the distance between them and placed her hand on his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. “It’s okay.”
She slid her hand lower, skimming the muscles of his lower back. His head came up, but he didn’t stop her, making her feel brave. She pressed her lips to the fabric between his shoulder blades, inhaling his scent and longing to take away the pain that was a tangible presence in the room.
“Don’t do this unless you’re sure,” he said quietly, the words vibrating in his chest. She slipped her hands around his waist, holding him to her, and trailed kisses across his shoulder blade. He grabbed her wrist, his grip belying his obvious strength.
She went up on her tiptoes and pressed her breasts against his back, whispering in his ear, “Sure as I’ll ever be.”
He spun around so quickly she nearly lost her balance, but his arm came around her, strong as steel. “This isn’t a game. Don’t tease me.”
The first stirring of fear trickled down her spine as she lifted her eyes to his. He was an expert in a world of physical affection she’d never set foot in. She was a child playing with a wild animal, her naiveté about to get her mauled and left for dead in the thick of a deserted forest. Still, she persisted, her body insisting she not change her mind. “I’m not teasing.”
His head came down as he hauled her against him. He kissed her, taking control of her mouth as surely as he was taking control of her body. There was a powerful undertone to his careful ministrations, the sweep of his hand over the swell of her hip, and she was scared despite the desire that snaked through her belly.
His mouth moved to the sensitive hollow of her neck. “Grace,” he ground out against her skin, and she threw her head back to grant him better access. He felt good, better than any man before him, her heart racing with excitement as he fisted her towel with his strong hands.
The knot at her breast slipped, the towel loosening in an instant. She grabbed at it, desperate to keep herself covered, and Brett watched with profound interest as she hastily hid her body from view.
His eyes were dilated, his breath coming fast. The moment stretched out between them. He took a step back and grabbed his mouth with his hand, squeezing his bottom lip as if to wipe the taste of her away.
She’d fucked up, and she knew it, flinched when a more experienced woman would have dropped the towel to the floor. Heat filled her cheeks and she wished she were anywhere but here, clinging to her towel with this man eyeing her like one too many bad decisions.
But if she ran away, she would miss out on loving this man with her body, never know what it felt like to be with him that way. The thought lit the wick of desperation, setting it aflame. She wanted him, needed to know what he knew, wanted him to be the one to show her.
It was Brett she wanted to be with, Brett she wanted to show her the way. She lifted her chin. With more bravado than she felt, she loosened the knot of the towel at her breast and let it drop to the floor.
“You shouldn’t be near me right now,” he ground out. “I don’t have the strength to walk away. Not today.”
She took a tentative step closer to him. “Was it hard, being there?” He nodded stiffly. She gently stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He grabbed her hand, holding it in midair. He was bigger than her, stronger. “I don’t want you to comfort me, damn it. I want you to kiss me.”
He was aching, the pain coming off him in waves. She knew instinctively sex was the way he could express himself, that loving him with her body was the only way to sooth the ache that burned him from the inside out. Going up on her tiptoes, she did as she asked, touching her tongue to his and opening herself to his exploration.
She pulled her wrist free of his grip and slid her fingers into his hair, the movement fitting her body against him. He took over the kiss, exciting her and cajoling her to deepen her response to him, and she knew.
He could teach her. He could show her how good it could be between a man and a woman, what sex was meant to be like. Gone would be the rejection, feeling like she wasn’t good enough or desirable. She could tell he was just as aroused as she, and in that moment the wounds of her experience began to heal.
She let her hands skim down the hard planes of his chest, his abdomen, then slipped around his waist. She fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans before stroking the muscled contour of his lower back.
He groaned deep in his throat, and she felt more powerful than she ever had with a man. He lifted his head, his ragged breath a testament to his excitement. “You’re sure?” he asked.
