Fortune's Proposal Page 16

  If it seemed as if the world had stopped spinning before, now it whirled.

  Madly.

  Her head felt as though it was spinning, and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. All she could do was hang on to the only thing that might keep her sane. Him.

  Her mouth opened under his plundering kiss, her hands curled into his hair. And the world spun even more dizzily.

  His mouth dragged over her cheek, her temple. “Push the door.”

  It took a moment for her brain to make sense out of his low growl. And a moment after that for her vision to see anything beyond his face.

  But then she realized he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her around to the front of the barn doors.

  No wonder she was spinning.

  She stretched out an arm and gave the door a push. Despite the rustic look of it, the door smoothly slid open a foot and without a second’s hesitation, Drew turned her sideways and carried her into the dark warmth.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Heaven.” He lowered her legs until her feet hit the ground and then he was stepping closer to her, brushing right up against her until the barn door at her back stopped them. “And no, I can’t see a bloody damn thing. So unless you want to take a stroll back to the house right now—”

  “No.” She shook her head even though he couldn’t possibly see. Not even the door that was still ajar let in any light. She couldn’t even see him standing in front of her and he was so close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. If they went back to the house, it would give her time to chicken out; to start thinking with her head again, instead of her heart.

  And if she did that, she just might hate herself forever…

  His hands pushed beneath the jacket until it fell off her shoulders. “Good. Because I don’t want to wait, and I can feel everything I want to.” Unerringly, his palms closed over her hips, then purposefully delved beneath the loosely knit top.

  Desire clenched hard inside her and she bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping, but a faint, mewling sound still escaped.

  “We’re in a barn,” he murmured, his lips touching her temple. “Don’t hold back.”

  Her hands instinctively closed around his arms. “A-are there animals in here or something?” She couldn’t hear anything but the thundering of her heartbeat in her head and the rustle of her skirt against the solid wood behind her back.

  “Just me.”

  Her head fell back against the door as his hands slipped over her waist, climbing toward her breasts. “You’re not an animal.”

  “You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured, quickly discovering that particular fact for himself. “Makes me feel like an animal.”

  Her lips parted. She hauled in oxygen as his hands slowly shaped her breasts as if he were molding a sculpture. Only she could feel her flesh tightening, swelling, and no inanimate sculpture ever did that. Not even beneath the chisel of the most skilled artisan.

  Then his fingers dragged over her aching nipples, taunting them to even harder peaks, and she couldn’t stop the moan from rising in her throat. She stared up at him in the utter darkness, feeling his touch, feeling his heat, but not being able to see.

  It was as disturbingly intense as the feel of his thumb had been on the pulse at the base of her throat.

  Intense. Erotic. And emboldening.

  She exhaled and the shaking sound of her breath sounded loud between them. Her hands slid over his forearms until they reached his wrists. They felt bony. Strong. And as her fingers explored them, she realized she could feel his pulse charging beneath her fingertips, too.

  “Maybe there are two animals here,” she whispered. Her fingers grazed past his wrists, over the backs of his hands that cupped her breasts and she pressed her palms against them. Her fingers slid between his. “Harder.”

  She felt his momentary stillness, then his hands tightened on her and the shards of light pulsing through her blood went even brighter, aiming straight to the center of her. Then she heard rustling again, felt his movement, and his hands moved beneath hers and she felt the wet heat of his mouth close over her breast.

  She gasped. His other hand pushed at her sweater where it was tangling beneath her arms. “Take it off.”

  Shaking, she obediently dragged it over her head, not feeling the slightest worry for where it landed—or what it might be landing in.

  She was a California girl. She didn’t know barns from nothing. All she knew, right then, was that Drew was sending her straight to heaven and he wasn’t stopping to ask directions.

  Her head fell back against the door again when his mouth slowly dragged down the valley between her breasts, over her stomach, not even pausing when he reached the stretchy waist of the gauzy skirt. He just pulled it down as he went. “If you’re as naked under this as you were the sweater, I’m going to have a heart attack,” he muttered.

  She gave a strangled laugh. “No.” Her fingers slid through his hair. She’d never realized how silky or thick it was. “I’m not that hard-up for clothes.” But she’d rinsed out her bra after her shower and it was still damp, hanging safely hidden in the guest room’s closet where she’d thought Drew wouldn’t be able to notice it.

  “On second thought, that might be a shame,” he drawled and she nearly jumped when she felt his lips graze her right hip. Then he was tugging the skirt down even more. She felt it pass her thighs, then her knees. “Lift.” His hand circled her right knee.

  She lifted and felt him pull the skirt over her boot. Her hand tightened against his shoulder as she lifted her left. And then the skirt was gone.

  And even though the barn was perfectly warm, she felt chills dance over her skin. Aside from panties and leather boots, she was nude. She twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “You take something off, too.”

  “Honey, before we’re through there won’t be anything but skin between us.” His hands circled behind her knees again and she felt his lips against the front of her thigh while those hands started to slowly climb. Higher and higher while he maddened her with a kiss on her leg here, then there, never in any path or order.

  And then his hands reached her derriere, and she felt his fingers slowly explore the narrow bands of stretchy lace that masqueraded as panties. “If I’d only known—” his voice was low and deliciously rough “—that under those ugly suits you wore stuff straight out of a man’s fantasy, I’d have never gotten anything done at the office.”

  She felt herself flush, but this time, it was a good flush. “I like pretty things.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that when I saw the things you’d unpacked in the drawer that first day when you lost the towel.” His fingers hooked the lace, teasingly gliding back and forth against her hip.

  “If you were a gentleman you wouldn’t remind me.”

  “Baby, I’m a man, and that was a pretty spectacular moment for me. See, I like pretty things, too,” he murmured meaningfully. “And I’ve been thinking about you wearing them…and then not wearing them…ever since.” He continued tracing along the edges of the lace across her abdomen. Then lower.

  She sucked in a breath. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” He waited a beat. “What do you want?”

  For him to end this wondrous torture. “I want you.”

  His fingers delved between her thighs and his voice dropped a notch. “So I can feel.” His fingers glided over the damp lace, then retraced his steps. Again. And again.

  She made a strangled sound. “Drew—”

  “So perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against her thigh. “So wet.”

  She had a strange sense that she ought to have been mortified. “I can’t help it,” she admitted breathlessly. “That’s what you do to me.”

  “Since when?”

  She blessed the pitch darkness because it blacked out inhibition. And cursed it for the very same reason. “Since always.”


  He drew in an audible breath that made her nerves knot even more. His palm slowly cupped her through the clinging lace. “Have you thought about us? Like this?”

  He was killing her by degrees. All she had to do was deny it and keep some bit of herself protected.

  She moistened her lips. Kneaded her fingers against his head. “Yes.” Her admission whispered through the darkness.

  He made a low, hissing sound and then he was dragging the lace aside and she cried out loud as his lips found her bare, wet flesh.

  Her legs nearly gave way as flames engulfed her, driving her straight up a shuddering, quaking peak.

  She was still shaking when he finally straightened and she heard the rustle of his clothes. And then his hands slid behind her thighs, lifting her legs, and she cried out again as he sank into her.

  No artifice. No pretense.

  He was just Drew. The man she loved.

  And then he uttered her name in a rough voice and she closed her eyes against the darkness as he carried them both straight to heaven.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Morning.” J.R. looked up when Drew headed into the kitchen early the next morning. “You’re up early.”

  Drew managed a grunt and headed straight for the coffeepot that his brother had already brewed. He had no intentions of telling J.R. why he was up a good hour earlier than they’d agreed upon.

  Not when he wasn’t ready to recognize the reason himself.

  He’d made love to his assistant in a damn barn, thinking stupidly that it wouldn’t ruin things. Wouldn’t change things.

  Maybe for Deanna it hadn’t.

  But the second he’d sunk into her and lost his mind in a way that he’d never lost it before, he’d known he was in serious trouble.

  Trouble of the kind he’d vowed to stay away from since he’d found his bride-of-weeks screwing the hell out of his best man.

  So he pulled out a mug and started pouring some coffee. “Best we get an early start, isn’t it? It’s not every day we head out for a hike to find our father’s body.”

  J.R. grimaced. “Hell, Drew. I’m hoping to hell that’s not the case.”

  “And I can’t stop feeling that it is.” He slammed back a mouthful of java even though it singed all the way down. “Darr’s meeting us over at Nick’s place with all the hiking gear?”

  J.R. looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he nodded. “Then we’ll pick up Jeremy at the Double Crown on our way out of town.” He poured the rest of the coffeepot into a thermos and capped it before grabbing the sturdy canvas backpack that sat on a bar stool. “Isabella packed us food last night. But you’ve got time to eat some breakfast before we meet up with them.” He nodded toward the thickly sliced ham that was sitting on the counter where he’d obviously made himself a sandwich for his own breakfast.

  The last thing Drew had on his mind was food. But he knew they were in for a long trek and he put together a sandwich, too, that he wrapped in a napkin while J.R. stowed the makings back in the refrigerator. “Might as well get going,” he said. “Darr’s always early. He’ll be at Nick’s already.”

  J.R. nodded. He looked no more anxious for the task than Drew felt, and they quietly let themselves out of the house. J.R.’s truck was parked near the back door and they headed for it. “Where’d you and Deanna disappear to last night anyway?”

  Drew managed not to choke on the mouthful of homemade bread and salty ham. “Just took a walk,” he mumbled around the food that he had to wash down with another blistering hot gulp of coffee from the mug he’d carried along. He ignored the sidelong look J.R. gave him and stretched his legs out in the truck as he forced himself to take another bite of the sandwich and after a moment, J.R. started up the truck.

  “You know, she’s the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

  Drew inhaled a piece of bread and sat forward, coughing hard. J.R. reached across the wide cab and slapped him hard on the back.

  Drew lifted his hand. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

  “Except you’re as antsy as a damn cat,” J.R. pointed out. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You and Deanna have a fight or something?”

  “No.” His jaws clamped together.

  J.R. shook his head. “You always were the most cussed, stubborn one of us.”

  “No. That would’ve been Darr or Jeremy. Otherwise they’d have gone into business with Dad, too.”

  J.R. gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Maybe so.” He put the truck in motion and the headlights of his truck cut through the still, early morning, casting a wide arch over the hacienda as he smoothly backed away.

  It was a damn thing to think that going on this hike—and finding whatever the hell they were destined to find—was preferable to thinking about facing Deanna.

  Drew knew he’d left her confused.

  Hell, he was confused.

  After the most singularly erotic, mind-blowing sex he’d ever had in his life, they’d dressed and returned to the then-silent house and headed to their bedroom.

  And in the soft light that had pooled over the inviting bed and turned Deanna’s green eyes to emerald as she’d shyly looked at him, clearly expecting something—a kiss, a word, a touch—he’d been terrified.

  Terrified of getting into bed with her. Terrified of touching her. Terrified of not touching her.

  So he’d made some fool excuse about getting himself a nightcap, and he’d walked out of the room. Same as he’d been keeping away from that room as much as humanly possible since they’d arrived.

  Only this time, he knew his actions weren’t forgivable.

  Not after what had transpired in the barn solely because of him.

  He’d never been able to satisfy any woman who mattered to him. Not his quickly ex-wife. According to Drew’s father, not his own mother, either. And last night, he’d hurt the last person on earth who’d deserved it.

  Deanna.

  He realized that J.R. had stopped the truck again, this time in front of the barn. The barn.

  “Gotta grab some rope,” his brother said as he got out of the truck. He strode over to the barn and shoved open the door.

  Drew looked away.

  He didn’t need to look at the barn.

  The memories of what had occurred there were indelibly engraved on his damned soul.

  He was gone.

  Again.

  Deanna rolled onto her back on the mattress and looked at the pillow beside hers. There was a faint indentation left from Drew’s head when he’d briefly slept there. But considering the distance that had started yawning between them the second they’d left the blissful sanctuary of darkness the barn had provided, he might as well have never been in the same bed with her at all.

  She tossed her arm over her stinging eyes.

  What had she hoped for?

  That Drew would suddenly realize that he loved her?

  That just because she’d let him into her body as well as her heart, he’d feel the same?

  Hot tears leaked from beneath her tightly closed eyes.

  It didn’t matter that she knew he was going back to the accident site with his brothers. She still felt abandoned. She’d felt abandoned when he’d all but raced out of the bedroom the night before when they’d returned from the barn.

  And it suddenly felt untenable to lie in the bed that they could have shared so much more meaningfully, and she slid off the mattress and numbly went into the bathroom.

  Only there, instead of the reflection of a well-loved woman, the person looking back at her through the bathroom mirror just looked…broken.

  She looked like her mother.

  Her mother who was, for all of her faults, alive and well while Drew and his brothers couldn’t be certain of any such thing where their father was concerned.

  Deanna exhaled slowly and turned away from her reflection.

  She went back into the bedroom, unearthed her cell phone from the depths of her purse and turned it on. She was a little surprised that
the battery was still holding a charge since she’d forgotten to bring the charger with her to Red Rock. And even though it was still early in the morning in Texas—and two hours earlier in California—she dialed her mother’s house.

  After only a single ring, though, Gigi’s sleepy voice—sharp with alarm—answered. “Deedee, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Everything.

  “You’re calling me at—” she heard muffled movements “—four in the morning and nothing is wrong?”

  Deanna sank onto the foot of the bed and eyed herself in the tall, slanted mirror across from her. “Mom, did you ever keep a baby book from when I was a baby?”

  “Of course I did. It’s in the attic in the trunk along with your baptism dress from when you were six months old and my mother’s wedding dress that your crumb of a father never gave me a chance to wear.” Alarm had morphed into impatience. “Deanna, what is wrong? You never call me like this.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked away from her reflection. Considering the piles of possessions that her mother had amassed, she was stunned that Gigi knew the whereabouts of anything. Much less the fact that she’d been so wrong about the baby book in the first place. And her baptism dress? Church hadn’t been part of her childhood and she couldn’t recall Gigi ever talking about it.

  But then maybe her mother had had her reasons. Different reasons than the basic lack of interest that Deanna had grown up believing.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted. “I just wanted to know, that’s all.” She heard her mother’s sigh. And then she went stock-still when she heard the murmur of a low, deep voice in the background. A man’s voice. “Gigi, do you have someone there with you?”

  “Just a minute.” Deanna heard more rustling. “All right. I’m in the kitchen now.” Gigi’s voice was much less hushed. “You’ve messed things up with that honey of a boss of yours, haven’t you? Is that why you’re calling me in the middle of the night? If you want me to tell you how to fix things, just say so.”

  Was it disappointment sinking through her? Disillusionment? Or maybe it was just finally acceptance of the fact that Gigi would always be…Gigi. For good or bad.