Chapter 10
Chapter 10
B rig was silent as he carried Becca into the bedroom. She was hesitant to say anything for fear it might break the gentle peace that had settled quietly between them. Instead she listened to the movement of the restless wind as it passed through the brittle branches of the oak trees near the house. Above the wind she could hear the reassuring sound of Brig’s steady heartbeat.
Still carrying her lithely, he crossed the room and set her on her feet near the edge of the bed. His eyes never left hers as he slowly slid the top button of her blouse through the buttonhole. The collar opened. Brig gently touched the hollow of her throat with his index finger. Becca shivered at his touch while he stroked the delicate bone structure. She felt her pulse jump.
Knowing the depth of her response, he concentrated on the next button, slowly parting the blouse to expose the skin below her throat, and when the blouse finally opened, he gently pushed it off her shoulders. Her skin quivered as his finger slowly made a path from her neck to the clasp of her bra. Without moving his eyes from her face he opened the bra and slid it off her shoulders, allowing her breasts to become unbound.
Becca didn’t move. She heard her shallow breathing and felt the rapid beat of her heart as she let his hands work their magic on her skin. She expected him to caress a breast; she yearned for him to take one of the aching nipples in his hands and softly massage the bittersweet agony. He didn’t. She felt his hands move between her breasts to flatten against her abdomen. The tips of his fingers slid invitingly below the waistband of her jeans. Involuntarily, she sucked in her breath in order to make it easier for him to come to her.
The button was released. The zipper lowered. Her jeans were pushed over her hips to fall at her feet. She was standing nearly naked in the stormy night, with only the fragile barrier of her panties keeping her from being nude. A breeze from the partially opened window lifted her golden hair from her face and contributed to the hardening of her nipples. But it wasn’t the wind that made her warm inside, nor was it the impatience of the brewing storm that electrified her nerve endings. It was the passion in the gray eyes of the man undressing her that persuaded her blood to run in heated rivulets through her body.
“Undress me,” he whispered, refusing to give in to the urgent longings of his body. He felt the thrill of desire rising in him, but he fought against it, preferring to stretch the torment of unfulfilled passion to the limit.
She obeyed his command by silently moving her hands under his sweater and pushing it over his head. He had to reaffirm his resolve as he looked at her, standing before him with her arms stretched overhead as the sweater passed over his hands. Her breasts fell forward, their dark tips brushing against his abdomen. He gritted his teeth against the overpowering urge to kick off his jeans and take her in a frantic union of flesh that would be as savage as it was delicious. Rather than give in to his male urge to conquer and dominate, he waited. Every muscle tensed with his restraint, but the pain was worth the prize. He had to swallow when her fingers touched him lightly as they worked with the belt buckle and finally dropped his pants to the floor. He felt the trickle of sweat begin to run down his spine, though the room was cold. Her eyes had clouded with the same passion controlling his body.
She groaned as he kneeled and softly kissed her abdomen. Her weight fell against him and she trembled at his touch when he slipped the lacy underwear down her thighs and over her calves. His fingers ran up the inside of her leg as he raised himself to his full height; he gathered her into his arms before pressing against her and forcing her onto the bed with the weight of his body.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered into her hair. “I want to make love to you and never stop.”
“Then do, Brig, please make love to me.” Her eyes reached for his in the darkness, promising vows she couldn’t possibly keep.
He studied her face, lost in the complex beauty of a woman who was intelligent and kind, strong yet vulnerable, wise though young. How could he have ever doubted her? Why had he been such a fool as to cast away six years they could have shared together?
He lowered his head and his lips pressed against hers with all of the pain and torment warring within him. He took her face in his hands as if he had to be sure that she wouldn’t disappear. Her lips parted willingly and his tongue found the delicious pleasures of her moist mouth. He groaned in surrender when her fingers dug into the solid muscles of his back.
“These last few weeks have been torturous,” he confided when he finally lifted his head. “I tried to stay away—Lord knows, I tried, but I couldn’t. You’re just too damned mystifying and I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
“I hope you never can,” she admitted, but before she could say anything else, his fingers caressed her breast, cupping it in his palm, feeling the soft, malleable weight before taking it gently in his mouth. She sighed with the pleasure he evoked as he stroked and suckled the nipple with his tongue and lips. The pressure of his mouth made her arch against him, hoping to fill the space between his lips with her breast. She was satisfied in the knowledge that the pleasure she was receiving was given back in kind.
She wound her fingers in his hair, cradling his face against her as if giving comfort. His hands slid lower as did his lips. Her blood pounded in her eardrums as his tongue leisurely rimmed her navel while his hands parted her legs and massaged her buttocks. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered against her silky skin. “I want you . . .”
“Then love me, Brig,” she pleaded, “love me.” Her needs were more than physical. Even though her body longed for all of him, it was her heart and her mind that had to have him. Her soul was crying for him to be one with her and share a lifetime together.
He moved over her, and she could feel each of his strong hard muscles against her own. Her breasts flattened with the weight of him, the coiling desire deep within her beginning to unwind in expectation. “I want you, Brig. I want you more than I ever have,” she admitted roughly.
He shifted, parting her legs with his own. Her feet curled against his calves and rubbed against the hair on his legs as he became one with her. His lips claimed hers as their bodies joined and she felt the pulse of his blood when he started his unhurried movements of union. Her body responded, pushing against his in the heated tide of sexual fulfillment. Their tongues danced and joined until he pulled his head away from hers and stared into the depths of her eyes as if he were looking for her soul.
The coupling became stronger, their bodies surging together as one. She tasted the salt of his sweat on her tongue and heard the rapid beating of his heart. She groaned in contentment as the tempo increased. His eyes remained open, watching her reaction, and when he felt her quaking shudder of release and saw the glimmer of satisfaction in her velvet green eyes, he let go of the bonds he had placed upon himself and let his passion consume him in one violent burst of liquid fire. He groaned as he sagged against her, letting his weight press her into the mattress.
“Oh, God, Rebecca,” he murmured. “I do love you.” His fingers twined in her hair and his breathing slowed. “You are incredible—whether you believe it or not.”
Several minutes later, after his breathing had slowed, he rolled to her side. His arms held her tightly against him and she felt secure and warm, pressed into the hard muscles of his chest.
“Why is it that we never fight in bed?” she finally asked.
“Because we have more important things to do,” he teased.
“Be serious.”
“I am. Why would we fight in bed? What would be the point?” He smiled and kissed the top of her head, smelling the perfume in her tousled curls.
“What’s the point when we’re not in bed?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know. Boredom?” He looked down at her and she recognized a familiar devilish twinkle lurking in his eyes.
“I doubt that . . .”
“So do I, Ms. Peters . . . so do I.” He kissed her lightly on the lips before tracing their pouty curve with the tip of his finger. “Speaking of boredom,” he began in a low drawl, “I’ve got several theories on how to avoid it.”
“Do you?” She arched an elegant eyebrow as if she disbelieved him.
A wicked smile allowed just the flash of even white teeth against his dark skin. “Several,” he assured her while his eyes moved lazily down the length of her naked body. He looked as if he were studying it for flaws. Satisfied that there were none, he met her gaze squarely. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
Provocatively she rimmed her lips with her tongue. “On whom you’re going to test your theories.”
His finger slid down the curve of her jaw. “You’ll do—if you’re interested.”
“What do you think?” She laughed, her green eyes dancing mischievously.
He grabbed her wrists playfully and pinned them to her sides. His face was only inches from hers in the gathering darkness. “I think, Rebecca, that you’re a tease, an incredible, gorgeous, and wanton tease. And I think I know just how to handle you.” Dangerous fires of renewed passion flared in his cool gray eyes.
“Idle threats,” she mocked.
“We’ll see about that, Becca. Before tonight is over, I’ll have you begging for more,” he growled theatrically.
“Save me,” she taunted.
“You don’t know when to give up, do you?”
“Sometimes I wish I did,” she sighed, the merriment ebbing from her gaze.
“Don’t ever give up, Rebecca,” he chided. “It’s one of the most wonderful things about you—that spirit of yours. It’s as unbeaten and proud as the horses you race.”
“Are you serious?”
“About you? Yes!” He released her wrists and kissed her forehead. “I was a fool to ever let you get away from me.” He lowered his head and kissed the slope of her shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”
She felt her skin quiver with his low words of possession. When his lips claimed hers, she was ready and hungrily accepted everything he offered her. She returned his passion with renewed fervor, giving herself body and soul.
His hands moved over her skin, gently kneading her muscles and reigniting the fires of desire deep within her. His lips roved restlessly down her neck, across her shoulder, to stop in the hollow between her breasts. He pushed the soft flesh against his cheeks before he took one nipple and then the other between his lips.
Rebecca sighed and thought she would die in the ecstasy of his embrace. When he shifted his weight and parted her willing legs with his knee, she molded her body against his in an effort to get closer to him . . . become one with him. “That’s it, Becca, let go,” he encouraged by whispering against the shell of her ear. “Just love me, sweet lady,” he coaxed as he entered her and began his gentle rhythmic movements.
His hands began to move in slow, sensual circles over her breasts while he slowly fanned the fires of her love until they were white hot and she groaned in frustration. When he knew that she was ready, he increased his movements against her. They found each other at the same moment, each inspiring the other to the brink of ecstasy in an explosive rush of energy that held them together until at last they were satisfied and the animal growls that came from Brig’s lips were moans of contentment.
It was much later that Becca awoke from a drowsy sleep and tried to slip out of the bed unnoticed by Brig.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked groggily, holding her against him and frustrating her attempts at escape.
“I want to check on Gypsy Wind.”
“I told you she was fine.” Brig ran his hand over his eyes in an effort to awaken.
“I know, I know. But that was several hours ago and the storm’s gotten worse. She may be frightened.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Brig asked, propping himself on one elbow. “Or are you afraid that your brother might have let her out again?”
Becca ignored the pointed remark about Dean. It only served to reinforce her fears. “I’m worried about the horse, Brig. She’s high-spirited.”
“To the point that a storm would spook her?”
Becca extracted herself reluctantly from Brig’s embrace. “I’m not sure . . . I just want to check.” She slipped off the bed and began dressing in the dark.
Brig snapped on the bedside lamp and smiled lazily as he watched her struggle into her clothes. “I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Sure I do.” He straightened from the bed and began pulling on his pants. “That’s what I came here for—to look at your wonder horse.”
A stab of pain pierced Becca’s heart, but she ignored it. What did she expect—words of love at every turn in the conversation? For someone who had vowed to keep Brig Chambers out of her heart, she was certainly thinking like a woman in love.
Gypsy Wind stood in the far corner of her stall, eyeing Brig suspiciously and ignoring Becca’s cajoling efforts to get the filly to come forward. Not even the enticement of an apple would lure the highspirited horse. Instead she paced nervously between one side of the stall and the other, never getting close enough for Becca to touch her.
“She’s got a mind of her own,” Brig stated while he watched the anxious filly.
Becca couldn’t disagree. “I’ve noticed,” she commented dryly.
“What does O’Riley have to say about her?”
“He worries a lot,” Becca admitted almost to herself, as she clucked softly to the horse. “And he tries not to let on, but I’m sure he has some reservations about her.”
“Because of her similarities to Sentimental Lady?”
Becca nodded. “Her temperament.”
“A legitimate complaint, I’d venture.”
Trying not to sound defensive, Becca replied, “Sentimental Lady’s spirit wasn’t all bad, Brig. She was bound to be a good horse, but her spirit made her great.”
“And killed her.” The words hung in the air.
“Sentimental Lady’s spirit didn’t kill her, Brig . . . someone did! If she hadn’t been injected, she might not have misstepped, or she might not have continued to run . . . or she might have been able to come out of the anesthesia—”
“But she didn’t!” His face had hardened as he judged Gypsy Wind on the merits of her sister. “And you and I . . . we let our pride get in our way. We should have figured this out long ago. We should never have let it come between us for this long.”
“I don’t know what we could have done to save Sentimental Lady.”
“Maybe we couldn’t, but the least we could have done was trusted one another enough to find the culprit.”
“But—”
He turned to face her and his eyes glittered like forged steel. “I’m not blaming you—I was as much at fault as anyone. I assumed that you had something to do with it because you kept telling me that it was all your fault. I shouldn’t have listened to you, should have followed my instincts instead. God, Becca, I knew you couldn’t have done it, but I thought that you knew who did! That was what really got to me—that you’d protect some bum who killed your horse.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.” Brig’s eyebrows had pulled together as he concentrated. “We have to figure this thing out, Becca, if you really plan to race Gypsy Wind. Otherwise the same thing could happen all over again.”
“I don’t think anyone would want to hurt the Gypsy—”
“Just like you didn’t think anyone would want to hurt Sentimental Lady,” he charged.
“That was different—”
“How?”
“Different horses, different circumstances . . . I don’t know.”
“That’s just the point; until we understand the motive behind the drugging of Sentimental Lady, we’ll never be certain that Gypsy Wind is safe. And we’ll never be able to comprehend the motive until we find out who was behind it.”
“But that might be impossible.”
“Not really. Ian O’Riley should know exactly who had access to the horse and who didn’t.” Brig pulled pensively on his lower lip, as if he were attempting to visualize exactly what had happened to Sentimental Lady, as if by thinking deeply enough, he could reconstruct the events leading up to the tragedy.
Becca touched his arm lightly. “Brig, be reasonable—you’re talking about six years ago! You can’t expect Ian to remember every person who had access to the horse.” Becca was incredulous and her wide green eyes reflected her feelings.
“I think you’re underestimating your trainer. I’m sure he gave the California Horse Racing Board the name of every person near the horse in those last few hours before the race. The board surely has the records. . .”
“But that list probably includes the names of grooms who have left us. I have no idea how to reach them. And what about security guards at the track, other trainers . . . what could you possibly expect to find that the board overlooked?”
Brig’s smile was grim, his jawline determined. “I doubt that the board overlooked anything that was reported. What I’m looking for was probably never brought to their attention.”
Becca shook her head at the folly of his idea. “What can you possibly hope to find?”
“I don’t know—maybe nothing. But there’s a slim chance that we can dig up some shred of evidence that might shed some light on Lady’s death.”
“It’s been too long.”
Brig had started toward the door, but stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t you want to find out what happened?”
“Of course, but I think it’s too late. All we would do is stir up the entire mess all over again. The only thing we would accomplish would be getting the press all riled up. Sentimental Lady’s picture, along with yours and mine, would be thrown in front of the public again.”
“That’s going to happen anyway. Once the press gets wind of the fact that you’ve bred a sister to Sentimental Lady, they’re going to be breathing down your neck so fast it will make your head swim. My investigation isn’t going to change the attitude of the media.”
Becca had reached up to switch off the lights, but hesitated when she felt Brig’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, but couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked gently. “What makes you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid—”
“But something isn’t right, Becca.” His face was softened by concern for her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that there are a few things that just don’t add up.”
She drew in a deep breath and tried to mask the ever increasing dread. “Such as?”
“Such as the fact that, for the most part, you held your silence after the tragedy.”
“I told you why. I thought you were involved.”
“Thought. Past tense. You don’t anymore?”
She shook her head and snapped off the lights, hoping that Brig wouldn’t notice that her hands were unsteady. “No.”
Becca pushed the door open with her shoulder and walked outside. She hoped that Brig would change the subject, because of the unnamed fear growing stronger within her. The wind had quieted to occasional chilly gusts that seemed to rip through Becca’s light jacket and pierce her heart.
“What made you change your mind?” Brig asked after he had secured the door to the barn.
“Pardon me?”
“About my guilt—what changed your mind?”
Becca shrugged and hoped to appear indifferent. “I guess I knew it all along. It was just an easy excuse to justify your . . . change in attitude . . .”
He put his arm around her shoulder and forced her to face him. The darkness was broken only by the security lights surrounding the barns. “Rebecca, I’m sorry—God, I’m sorry. I made a horribly unjust decision about you and I’ve regretted it ever since. It was my mistake.” He crushed her against his chest and Becca felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.
“It’s all over now,” she whispered, clinging to him and aware of soft drops of rain on her cheeks and hair. It felt so right, standing in the darkness, unconscious of the chill in the air, holding Brig.
“It will never be ‘all over,’” he said. “But maybe we can heal the wounds by finding out what happened to Lady.”
She stiffened. “I think that’s impossible . . .”
“Nothing is. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. You found a way to breed Gypsy Wind when all the cards were stacked against you.”
“That was only possible because of your father.”
“I know, and that’s another one of the pieces of the puzzle that doesn’t seem to fit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you that things didn’t add up and I mentioned your silence.”
“Yes?”
“Well, another thing that won’t seem to quit nagging me is the fact that you didn’t race Gypsy Wind as a two-year-old.”
“Ian and I thought it best, because of her legs—I told you all that, and what in the world does it have to do with your father?”
“Dad is just one other thing that doesn’t make any sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can understand him loaning you some money—but not that much. When my father gave or loaned something to a pretty young woman, he usually expected something in return.”
“He did—repayment of the loan with interest.”
Brig shook his head as if trying to dislodge a wayward thought. “Not good enough, Rebecca. Jason must have wanted something else.”
“I think you’re grasping at straws,” Becca whispered, but the feeling of dread that had been with her for the past few days increased.
“Do you remember what Jason said after the race between Winsome and Sentimental Lady?”
“I know. But he was upset, we all were.”
Brig raked his fingers through his hair and noticed it was wet from the rain. He ignored the cool water running under his collar. He watched Becca’s reaction when he repeated his father’s damning words: “We threw a fast pace at the bitch and she just broke down.”
Becca shuddered. “He didn’t know what he was saying—”
“A handy excuse . . .”
Placing her palm to her forehead, Becca tried to close out the painful memories taking hold of her. “Don’t, Brig . . . let’s not dredge it all up again. What’s the point?”
He took her by the shoulders and shook her until she met his eyes. “You’re going to have to face everything if you really intend to race Gypsy Wind, Rebecca. You won’t be able to hide here at Starlight Breeding Farm and expect the reporters to respect your privacy. All the old wounds are going to be reopened and examined with a microscope.”
“You still think I had something to do with it,” she accused, near hysteria. The rain, Brig’s dark eyes, the haunting memories all began to unnerve her.
“No, dear one, no. But I have to know why you would go to my father for money after he said what he did.”
“I had no choice. There was no other way. Dean suggested your father and I picked up on it . . .”
“Your brother?”
Becca hastened to explain. She had to make Brig understand. “Originally it was Dean’s idea, but when I really decided to go through with it and approach Jason, Dean tried to talk me out of it. He told me I was crazy to consider the idea, that he had only been joking when he mentioned your father as a possible source of money.”
“And yet he was the first to consider Jason. Interesting. I didn’t think he knew Dad.”
“He didn’t.”
“You’re sure of that?” Brig’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed Rebecca’s face drain of its natural color.
“I . . . I can’t be sure, but I think that if Dean had ever met your father, Jason’s name would have come up in conversation at some point in time . . . and I don’t remember that it did.”
“Did they ever have the opportunity to meet?”
“Who knows?” Rebecca replied, trying to concentrate on the elusive past. “I suppose it was possible when Sentimental Lady was racing . . . there were a lot of parties. You remember.”
“Then there was a chance that Dean met my father?”
“They could have . . . but so what?”
In the distant mountains a loud clap of thunder disturbed the silence. Brig chose to ignore her question. “We’d better get inside,” he suggested, letting his eyes rove restlessly over her face. He kissed her cheek, catching a drop of rain with his tongue. “If you’re lucky, I might consent to drying off your body . . .”
Rebecca managed a weak, but playful smile. “You’re insufferable,” she whispered, “and you’ve got to catch me first.” She pulled out of his embrace and took off for the house at a dead run, as if the devil himself were pursuing her. When Brig caught up with her, they were both breathless and laughing. He captured her face in his hands and kissed her with all the passion he felt rising within him.
Becca closed her eyes and melted against him, conscious only of the warmth of his lips touching hers and the cool trickle of raindrops against her neck.
She was too obliviously happy to notice the menacing shadow standing in the window of the office, staring down at her with furious blue eyes.