You’ll Find Out

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

B rig had long since fallen asleep, but Becca was restless. She had tried to unwind in the comfort of Brig’s embrace, but found it impossible. Continuing doubts plagued her. Though she had tried to tell him about Gypsy Wind, she was sure that she hadn’t really gotten through to him. In the morning, when the scotch he had consumed wouldn’t cloud his mind, he would see things in a different light. Nothing would change. If anything, the doubts he felt for her would only be reinforced. He wouldn’t forget the agony of the past, nor would he be able to rise above his long-festering suspicions of her. The night had only softened the blow slightly. Under the light of a new day his old doubts would resurface.

Becca shuddered as she anticipated his response to the fact that she owed him more than fifty thousand dollars for a horse that would remind him of the tragedy of Sentimental Lady. The fact that Becca had planned Gypsy Wind’s conception and borrowed money from Brig’s father to have her conceived would feed Brig’s gnawing doubts. Becca closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, attempted to be lulled by the sound of Brig’s rhythmic breathing. But sleep was elusive; her fear kept it at bay.

Her love for Brig was as deep as it had ever been, his just as shallow. If Becca had hoped to find a way back into his heart, she had destroyed it herself. Gypsy Wind would become the living proof of Becca’s deceit, a reminder of the grim past. Tears of frustration burned hotly behind Becca’s eyes and slid silently over her cheeks.

Sleep refused to come. Becca was still awake when the first ghostly rays of dawn crept into the room and colored it in uneven gray shadows. Slowly she extracted herself from Brig’s arms, careful so as not to disturb him. She reached for a blue terry robe hanging on a nearby chair and pulled it over her shivering body. Without the warmth of Brig’s arms around her, the room seemed frigid and sterile. She rolled up the sleeves of the robe, cinched the tie around her waist, and walked across the thick, ivory pile of the carpet to stand at the bay window. After pulling the heavy folds of cloth around her neck, she sat on the window ledge and stared vacantly out the window to watch the sunrise.

The sun crested the horizon and flooded the mountainside with golden rays that caught in the dewdrops and reflected in the snow of the higher elevations. Becca restlessly ran her fingers over the moisture that had collected on the panes of the windows. How many nights had she dreamed of falling back into Brig’s arms? How many unanswered prayers had she uttered that she would find a way back into his heart? And now that she was here, what could she do to stay in his warm embrace? Brig’s words of the night before came back to taunt her: “Why did we let it go so sour?” If only she knew. How had something so beautiful turned ugly? Becca smiled grimly to herself as she reconstructed the events that had drawn Brig to her, only to cruelly push him away.

* * *

The party had been Dean’s idea, a way to gain more national press coverage for his sister and the filly. Until that night, not much attention had been given the tall girl from California with the small stables and what was rumored to be the fastest Thoroughbred filly ever bred on California soil. The wiser, more sophisticated breeders in the East had considered Becca Peters and Starlight Breeding Farm much the way they did with any new West Coast contender: a lot of California hype. Until the untried filly had proved herself, few gave her much notice, with the one glaring exception of Brig Chambers.

When Becca had received word that Brig Chambers, himself a horse breeder of considerable reputation, wanted to see Sentimental Lady, she had agreed and Dean had suggested the party. Dean’s arguments had included the fact that news coverage would be good business for the Lady as well as Starlight Breeding Farm. He had also mentioned that Brig Chambers, part of the elite racing social set, deserved more than a smile and a handshake for flying across the continent to see Becca’s horse. Becca had reluctantly agreed.

The celebration had taken place on a private yacht harbored in San Francisco Bay near Tiburón. The owner of the yacht, a rich widow of an insurance broker and friend to the California racing set, had been more than delighted to host the gala event on her late husband’s gleaming white vessel. Brig Chambers wasn’t often on this side of the continent, and rarely accepted invitations to posh gatherings, but this night was different.

Becca caught her first glimpse of him when he was ushered through the door by Mrs. Van Clyde. The short woman with the perfectly styled white hair and sparkling blue eyes looked radiant as she escorted Brig through the crowded, smoke-filled salon. He was taller than Becca had imagined . . . with a leanness that Becca hadn’t expected from the spoiled son of an oil baron. In his sophisticated black tuxedo, Brig Chambers looked more than a pampered only son of wealth; he seemed hungry and dangerous, exactly the antithesis of the image he was attempting to portray in his conservative black suit. Becca had heard him referred to as “stuffy”; she didn’t believe it for a moment.

Nina Van Clyde, in a swirl of rose-colored chiffon, introduced him to each guest in turn, and though he attempted to give each one his rapt attention, Becca noticed a restlessness in his stance. It wasn’t particularly obvious, just a small movement such as the tensing of his jaw or his thumb rubbing the edge of his first finger, but it clearly stated that he wasn’t comfortable. His smile was well-practiced and charming, a brilliant, off-center flash of white against bronze skin, but his eyes never seemed to warm to the intensity of his grin.

Becca studied his movements over the rim of her champagne glass. He reminded her of a caged panther, waiting for an opportunity to escape, watching for just the right prey. He definitely intrigued her, and when his dark head lifted and he met her unguarded stare, the corners of his mouth turned downward in amusement.

After a brief apology to Mrs. Van Clyde, he advanced on Becca, ignoring any of the other guests.

“You’re Rebecca Peters,” he said coldly.

“And you’re Mr. Chambers.”

“Brig.”

Becca inclined her head slightly, accepting the use of first names. Perhaps he didn’t like to become confused with his famous father.

“I guess I should thank you for all this,” he stated, cocking his head in the direction of the other guests and the well-filled bar.

“It was my brother’s idea.”

He seemed to relax a bit, and his gray eyes softened. “You may as well know, I’m not crazy about this sort of thing.”

Becca’s full lips curved into a smile. “I could tell.”

He answered her smile with one of his own. “Shows, does it?”

“Only to the practiced eye.”

“Were you watching me that closely?” His eyes traveled over her face, lingered in the depths of her green gaze, before trailing down her body and taking in all of her, the way the sea-blue silk dress draped over one of her shoulders to hug her breasts before falling in soft folds of shimmering fabric to her ankles.

Becca felt the heat of her embarrassment burn her skin. “Of course I was watching you,” she admitted. “You’re the center of attention.”

As if to give credence to her words, several men Becca recognized as San Franciscan breeders came up to Brig and forcefully stole his attention.

Becca wandered through the crowd, politely conversing with several other California breeders. She sipped lightly at her champagne, never once losing her feel for Brig’s presence in the room. Presently he was talking with a reporter from a San Francisco newspaper. Though Becca didn’t openly stare at him, she knew where he was in the throng of elegantly dressed people dripping in jewels.

The music from a small dance band was nearly drowned in the clink of glasses and chatter of guests. A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the salon where knots of people congregated while sipping their drinks from the well-stocked bar. Becca was alone for the first time and she took the chance to escape from the stifling room.

Once on the deck, she took in a deep breath of sea air and tried to ignore the muted sounds of the party filtering from the salon. A breeze caressed her face and lifted the wisps of hair that had sprung from their entrapment in a golden braid pinned to the back of her neck. Water lapped against the sides of the slowly moving vessel, and Becca could see the glimmering lights of San Francisco winking brightly in the moonless night.

She leaned her bare forearms against the railing and smiled to herself, glad to be free of the claustrophobic crowd in the main salon. She felt Brig’s presence before he spoke.

“I should apologize for the interruption of our conversation,” he announced, leaning next to her on the railing. He didn’t look at her, but rather concentrated on the distant city lights and the sounds of the night.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied with a sincere smile. “I’m willing to bet it will happen again.”

“I don’t think so.” He sounded sure of himself and his opinions.

“You underestimate the persistence of we Californians, especially the press.”

“I’m used to dealing with the press.”

“Are you?”

Brig smiled and clasped his hands together. “I’ve already had the . . . pleasure of meeting a few reporters tonight. Were they your idea?”

Becca shook her head and her smile faded.

“Don’t tell me,” Brig continued. “Your brother had something to do with that, too.”

Becca was intrigued. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” was the clipped reply.

“Dean thought the publicity would be good for the stables and Sentimental Lady. I didn’t see that it would hurt.”

Brig’s hand reached out and touched Becca’s wrist. He forced her to turn away from the view to look into his eyes. “There’s a subject I’ve been wanting to discuss all night. I’d like to see your horse. She’s the reason I’m here.”

Becca tried to manage a smile. “I know,” she replied, wondering if he was going to release her wrist. He did.

“Then you’ll show her to me?”

“Of course. We can drive there tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” he demanded.

“It’s a three-hour drive,” she responded before she began to think clearly. Was he serious? “Besides, it’s late . . . and then there’s the party. Mrs. Van Clyde would be offended if we left. That is what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?” Becca wasn’t really sure she had understood him correctly.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“I don’t know . . .” The night wasn’t going as she and Dean had planned.

“Don’t worry about Mrs. Van Clyde. I can handle her.”

“But my brother . . .” Becca was grasping at straws, but things were moving too fast. There was an arrogant self-assurance to Brig Chambers that unnerved her. And then there was Dean—he had wanted to talk to Brig in private about a job with Chambers Oil.

Brig’s smile became cynical. “I’m sure your brother can take care of himself.” His hand touched her bare elbow, guiding her toward the door to the salon and the noisy crowd within. “Make your apologies, get your coat and whatever else you brought here, and meet me on the starboard deck.”

“What about transportation? We’ve got to be more than a mile out.”

His gray eyes stared at her as they reentered the room and the din of the party made it impossible to converse. Brig leaned over to whisper into her ear. “I’ve already arranged it. Trust me.”

For the first time in Becca’s twenty-six years, she wanted to trust a stranger, completely. She found Dean leaning over a well-endowed brunette, and pulled him aside to tell him of the change in their plan. Dean wasn’t pleased and had trouble hiding his anger, but he didn’t argue with Becca. He couldn’t. He was smart enough to realize that Brig Chambers was used to doing things his way. Any argument would fall on deaf ears and only serve to anger the son of one of the wealthiest men in America. Dean could afford to be patient.

A motor launch was waiting and took Brig and Becca over the cold water to the dock, where Brig’s car was parked. The drive through the dark night should have taken nearly four hours, but was accomplished in less than three. Becca should have been nervous and restrained with the enigmatic driver of the car, but wasn’t. Their conversation flowed naturally and the only fragments of tension in the air were caused by the conflicting emotions within Becca. The man driving so effortlessly through the winding, country roads was a stranger to her, but she felt as if she had known him all of her life. She had never felt so daring, nor so trusting.

His laughter was rich and genuine, yet there was a dangerous glint in his gray eyes that made Becca tremble in anticipation. How many of her thoughts could he read in her smile? She couldn’t dismiss the awareness she felt for his masculinity. It was a feeling that entrapped her and sent shudders of expectation skittering down her spine.

Throughout the long drive, she had managed to keep her poise intact and tried to ignore the voice of femininity that begged her to notice Brig Chambers as a man. But as the sleek car began to twist down the rutted lane toward the farm, she felt all of her composure beginning to slip away. The headlights flashed against the white buildings near the paddock and Becca’s pulse jumped. The disrepair of the little farm seemed glaring. Perhaps it was better that Brig had come at night. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice what was so painfully obvious to her: rusty gutters, wooden fences mended with baling wire, and chipped paint, which was peeling off the boards of the barns. She swallowed back her embarrassment. It was all worth it. Money that should have gone to renovation and repair was well-spent on Sentimental Lady and her training. Becca knew deep within her heart that all of the money used on the horse would come back a hundredfold once the filly began to race.

Becca attempted to disregard her hammering heart. She was home; that thought should calm her, but it didn’t. The fact that she was virtually alone with a stranger, a pampered rich boy of the social elite, unnerved her. He would walk through the barns and into her life, scrutinizing it under the same standards of the Kentucky breeders. Starlight Breeding Farm was a far cry from the glamorous blue-grass establishments of the East.

The tires ground to a halt on the gravel, and Brig cut the engine. He reached for the handle of the door, but Becca reached out to restrain him. “Wait.”

Brig’s hand paused over the handle. “Why?” He turned to face her. She could feel his eyes upon her face in the dark interior.

“This isn’t . . . I mean, we don’t handle things the same way you do.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean we don’t have the facilities or the staff to . . .”

His fingers touched her shoulder. “I just came here to look at your filly, Rebecca. I’m not here to judge you.”

“I know Oh, damn! Why are you here?” The question that had been teasing her for the past week leapt to her lips.

“I told you, I came here—”

“I know, ‘to see the horse.’ That’s what has been bothering me,” she admitted. Was it her imagination, or did his fingers tense over her shoulder?

“Why?”

“This doesn’t make much sense, at least not to me.”

He removed his hand and Becca felt suddenly cold. “What doesn’t make sense?”

“The fact that you came here. No one, not even Brig Chambers, flies more than two thousand miles to ‘look at a horse,’” she accused. Her words were out before she had a chance to think about them.

Brig leaned back against the leather cushions of the Mercedes and touched her cheek lightly. He hesitated and frowned. “Someone might if he thought the horse was a threat to one of his own.”

“ls that why you’re here?”

His hand reached out in the darkness and his fingertips caressed her cheek. Becca took in a deep breath and he dropped his hand, as if suddenly realizing the intimacy of the gesture.

“It’s one reason,” he conceded. His voice seemed deeper. “I have a pretty decent stable of two-year-olds. I’m sure you already know that.”

“Who doesn’t? Every racing magazine in the country has run at least one article on Winsome.” What kind of game was Brig Chambers playing with her, Becca wondered. He wasn’t being completely honest, Becca could feel it. She hadn’t earned her reputation at twenty-six without some degree of insight into the human psyche, and she knew intuitively that there was more to Brig Chambers than met the eye. He hadn’t flown across the United States to “scope out the competition.” The owner of a Thoroughbred the likes of Winsome didn’t waste valuable time.

“Are we going to look at your Lady?” Brig asked.

“If you level with me.”

She could see the gleam of his white teeth in the darkness as he smiled. “You’re not easily fooled, are you?”

“I hope not,” she shot back. “Is that what you’re trying to accomplish?”

“No. But there is another reason why I’m here,” he allowed. “If I like the looks of Sentimental Lady, I’m prepared to offer a good price for her.”

The bottom dropped out of Becca’s heart, and angry heat rushed through her veins. “She’s not for sale.” As quick as a cat, Becca opened the car door, stepped outside, and slammed the door. She picked up her skirt and began to march to the house.

Brig had anticipated her move and was beside her in three swift strides. “Is there a reason why you’re so angry?” he asked as he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. In the dim light from a shadowy moon, he saw the glint of determination in her wide eyes.

“I loathe deception.” She tried to pull her arm away from the manacle of his grip, but failed. “Let go of me!”

“I didn’t deceive you.” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arm.

“Bull! Dean set this up, didn’t he? He’s wanted to sell Sentimental Lady from the moment she was born.”

“No!”

“Liar!”

Brig’s eyes narrowed as he looked down upon her fury. Even enraged, she was gorgeous. “Your brother mentioned that you might be interested in selling—nothing more.”

“Well, he was wrong! She’s not for sale!”

“That’s too bad,” he said softly.

“I don’t think so.” Her anger began to ebb. There was something about him that soothed her rage. She knew he was going to kiss her and she knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t. When his head bent and the fingers of his free hand wrapped around her neck to cradle her head, she began to melt inside. And when his lips brushed hers in a tender kiss that promised a night of unbound passion, she had to force herself to pull away from him.

“Was this part of Dean’s plan, too?”

His jaw tensed and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Your brother had nothing to do with this.”

Her silent green eyes accused him of the lie. He dropped her arm with a sound of disgust. “You don’t know the truth when it stares you in the face, do you? I came out here to see your horse, and perhaps offer to purchase her. Period. Yes, it was your brother’s suggestion, but I did know a little about Sentimental Lady, and if I hadn’t already been interested, I wouldn’t have come, and that’s the end of it.”

He took a step away from her before continuing. “I put up with that ridiculous party and talked to a crowd of people I hope to God I’ll never have to face again. And then I arranged for transportation out here, wherever the hell we are. Now you turn paranoid on me. You asked for the truth, Rebecca, and I’ve given it to you. If anyone’s scheming to take your horse away from you, it isn’t me!”

“Didn’t you just say you planned to buy her?”

“Only if you’re willing to sell! I might consider making an offer on her, if I like what I see.” He stopped his tirade to take in a deep breath. “Look, Rebecca, I don’t know what problems you’ve been having with your brother, and frankly I don’t want to get involved in family disputes. If it’s too much trouble for me to look at your filly, then forget it. I think I can find my way back to civilization.”

He turned on his heel and began to return to the car. “Wait,” Becca called. Brig stopped. “If you want to see Sentimental Lady, I’ll take you to her.” He followed her to the largest of the buildings surrounding the paddocks.

The door creaked when she opened it and there was a restless stirring when Becca flicked on the lights. A few disgruntled snorts greeted her as she passed by the stalls of the awakened horses. Becca murmured soothing words to the animals and stopped at Sentimental Lady’s stall. “Come here, girl,” she called to the dark filly and made soft clucking sounds in the back of her throat.

Sentimental Lady’s nostrils flared and she backed up distrustfully as she eyed Brig. She stamped her foot impatiently and flattened her dark ears against her head. “She doesn’t like strangers,” Becca explained to Brig before softly coaxing the highspirited horse to come forward.

Brig’s gray eyes never left the horse. He studied the filly from the tip of her velvet-soft nose to her tail. Lady tossed her near-black head and snorted her contempt for the man appraising her.

“Is she as fast as she looks?” Brig asked.

“She’s fast.” Becca found it impossible to put into words how effortlessly Sentimental Lady ran, how rhythmically her black legs raced, or how fluidly her muscles worked. The horse was a study in grace when she lengthened into her stride.

“Is she strong?”

Becca snapped off the lights and closed the door. “She’s strong.”

“And big,” Brig murmured. He rubbed his thumb pensively over his jawline. “She’s one of the tallest fillies I’ve ever seen. What’s her girth?”

“Seventy-five inches.”

Brig shook his head and scowled. “Have you had any trouble with her legs?”

Becca was a little defensive. “We’ve had to watch her ankles.”

“She’s too big,” was Brig’s flat, emotionless statement. “Her legs won’t be able to carry her the distance.”

“Because she’s a filly?” Becca shot back.

“Because she’s a big filly. Her girth is over an inch larger than Winsome’s and his legs are stronger.”

“You haven’t seen her run,” Becca whispered as they walked toward the house.

“I’d like to.”

“Why? I told you she wasn’t for sale.”

Becca placed her hand on the doorknob, but Brig took hold of her arm, catching the warm flesh and forcing her to turn and look at him. “I came all this way; I’d like to see her run.” His eyes touched hers and in the darkness she could read more than interest for a horse in his gaze. Passion burned deep within him, Becca saw it as clearly as if he had whispered, “I want you.” Becca managed to unlock the door and it swung open, inviting them both into the comfort inside.

Her pulse was racing and her lips desert dry. She tried to think calmly, but found it impossible. Her smile trembled with the confusion that was overtaking her. “Sentimental Lady has a workout scheduled for tomorrow morning . . .” Was he listening? He was looking at her lips, but Becca doubted if he had heard a word she said. “You could come and see her then.” She began to retreat into the house, but felt the muscles in her back press up against the doorjamb. “She . . . runs at six.”

His hands captured her bare shoulders. His face was only inches from hers and his clean scent filled her nostrils. “It’s already after two.”

“I know . . .”

His lips pressed hotly against hers and the delicious pressure of his fingers on her shoulders increased. His warm breath fanned her face as he pulled his head away from hers to look into her eyes. “I can’t go back to the city tonight. It will be nearly dawn when I get there,” he pointed out.

Becca’s senses were swimming and she found it impossible to think clearly. “But . . .” What was he asking?

His fingers touched the hollow of her throat and her pulse jumped. He gazed down upon her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Let me stay with you,” he suggested throatily, and softly nuzzled the inviting column of her neck. She had to fight the urge to collapse into him.

She pressed her palms against his chest. Her eyes searched his face. “I find you very attractive,” she admitted.

“Why do I expect the word but to preface the rest of your response?” He smiled, and in the pale light from an uneven smattering of stars, Becca returned his grin.

“Because I don’t know you . . .”

His fingers toyed with the neckline of her dress, rimming the silken fabric. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he commanded, softly, before pressing a kiss to her bare skin above the edge of the dress.

“I can’t,” she conceded breathlessly. Why did she feel that the edge of her soul was exposed to his knowing gaze?

“Why not?”

“Because I do want you,” she replied honestly.

The corners of his mouth quirked.

“But that’s not enough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with physical need.”

The stillness of the night seemed to close in on Becca. Brig’s touch was warm and inviting. It seemed as if they were alone in the universe: one man and one woman. His lips once again brushed hers, caressing her with a passion she had never known, promising a night of rapture and warmth, if only she would take it. She had been lonely so long. “Physical need is important,” she agreed quietly. “But there has to be more.”

“What is it you want, Rebecca? Are you waiting to fall in love?” he asked contemptuously.

“I’m not waiting for anything. It . . . it just has to be right for me.”

He took his hands off of her and planted them firmly on either side of her head, bracing himself on the doorjamb. His gray, brooding eyes forced her to hold his unwavering gaze. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not willing to give. I would never push you into anything you don’t want. Believe it or not, I know that this isn’t easy for you.”

“Do you?” She wanted to believe him, needed to hear that he understood her.

“Of course I do. It’s written all over your face.”

“It’s not that I’m a prude.”

He smiled. “I know. And I’m not looking for a one-night stand. If that’s what I wanted, I could have stayed in San Francisco, or New York, for that matter. The truth of the matter is that you intrigue me, Rebecca Peters. Just who are you?” His finger came up to trace her lips. Shivers of anticipation traveled hurriedly down her spine. “I’ve read about you and your farm out here. A beautiful young woman with an impoverished breeding farm somehow has the brains to breed Night Dancer, one of the greatest racing studs of all time, to a little-known mare called Gypsy Lady and ends up with perhaps the fastest Thoroughbred filly ever bred. I want to know about you, Ms. Peters, all about you.”

“And that includes sleeping with me?” she asked. “Are you stupid enough to think that you could possibly understand me by sleeping with me?” She knew she should feel outraged, but she didn’t.

“I had no intention of sleeping with you when I came out here. I was only interested in you because of business.”

“But?” she coaxed, lifting her elegant eyebrows.

“But you happen to be the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” His hand slipped under her head, and he deftly removed the clasp that held her hair restrained. With one quick movement of his fingers, her golden hair spilled down past her shoulders, still wound loosely in a thick braid. “Trust me,” he pleaded as his lips met hers in a kiss that was bold rather than tender. His mouth found the moistness of hers and he held her against him hungrily. “Let me love you, Rebecca,” he whispered.

“Oh, Brig . . . I . . .” His lips stilled her response and the heat of passion began to race through her veins. She gasped when his hands found the clasp of her dress and the blue silk fabric parted, leaving her upper shoulder bare. His lips were warm and moist where the fabric had once been, and Becca felt her bones beginning to melt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t stand. Before she swayed against him, Brig reached down and captured her sagging knees with the crook of his arm. He lifted her off of her feet and touched his lips to her forehead as he carried her inside the old farmhouse.

Becca’s heart was racing, but she didn’t protest as he carefully mounted the stairs. When he hesitated on the landing, she encouraged him by indicating the direction of her room. He didn’t turn on the light and Becca’s eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy light cast by a cloud-covered moon. Carefully, Brig set her on her feet and let the elegant blue dress slip into a puddle of silk on the floor. His hands moved downward over her body, as if he were memorizing each soft contour of her muscles, every rib in her ribcage. His groan was primal when he cupped her breast and felt the weight of it in his hungry palm. Her answering sigh of expectation fired his blood and his lips, hungry with unsatisfied desire, pressed forcefully against hers. She felt the tip of his tongue press through her teeth to touch the inner reaches of her mouth.

His lips devoured her, spreading a trail of demanding kisses across her cheeks, inside her ear, and down the column of her throat. His tongue touched the delicate bones surrounding the hollow of her throat and drew lazy, wet circles of delicious torment that forced her to cling desperately to him, hoping the sweet agony would never stop.

“Love me,” she whispered, her hoarse voice breaking the stillness of the night. She entwined her arms possessively around his neck and let the tips of her fingers delve below his collar. Her eager hands encountered shoulder muscles tense with desire. “Touch me, sweet lady,” he pleaded. Deliberately he forced her onto the bed with the weight of his body. The mattress sagged as their combined weight molded together. Impatiently he discarded his clothes, damning the frail barrier holding them apart.

His body was damp with perspiration. The beads of sweat collected on his forehead and ran down his spine. A gentle breeze lifted the curtains and whispered through the pine trees to scent the room, but it did nothing to cool the passion storming between them.

Heated torment inflamed Becca’s veins and pounded in her eardrums. The dim light from a pale moon let her see the man she was about to love, let her read the fire in his eyes, let her witness the rising tide of his emotions.

His hands slid possessively over her body, molding his skin to hers. The sweat that clung to his body blended with hers as he moved his torso over hers, claiming her body. Becca moaned when he took her breast into his mouth and teased the nipple with his tongue and teeth. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back as she gave in to the sweet ecstasy of his caress.

His eyes were glazed in barely restrained passion when he took her face between his hands and stared into her soul. “I want you,” he whispered. “Please let me know that you want me.”

“Oh, Brig, please . . .” She didn’t have to finish; her eyes pleaded with him to take her.

“May this night never end,” he whispered savagely before once again molding his swollen lips to hers.

He braced himself so that he could watch her face as he found her. She gasped with satisfaction at the moment they became one, feeling a delirious triumph at the union of their flesh. The ache within her began to ebb and the words of love forming on her lips died as he slowly urged her to sensuous new heights of passion. They moved as one, together in rapturous harmony, blending flesh to flesh, skin to skin, muscle to muscle until the tempo began to quicken and the pressure within Becca’s body began to thunder and echo in her heartbeat.

She felt the fires within her begin to flare and Brig’s answering shudder of surrender.

“I love you,” she whispered, while tears of relief filled her eyes. “I know it’s irrational, but I think I love you.”

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the wet strands of her sun-streaked hair and holding her trembling body as if life itself depended on it.