Bravo Unwrapped (13 page)

“I
sn't it convenient how our rooms are connected by that balcony?” B.J. teased softly. She lay on top of him, feeling utterly wonderful, using his big chest for a pillow. Idly, she traced a spiraling circle on the hard, warm flesh of his shoulder.

Buck laughed. She felt the sound, low and deep and lovely, against her ear. “You didn't think sharing the balcony was so damn convenient at first.”

“Ah. But now I see how wrong I was.”

“The great B. J. Carlyle, admitting she was wrong?” His arms tightened around her. “Never happens.”

“Remember this moment,” she instructed huskily. “Treasure it.”

“Oh, I will.”

She snuggled in closer. “So…what's on the agenda for tonight?”

He rubbed her back with long, lazy strokes. “We
could drive down to Nevada City for dinner. It's an hour and a half ride, but they've got more than one good restaurant there.”

“Dinner somewhere other than the knotty-pine palace? I don't know. I've gotten pretty much addicted to those iceberg-lettuce salads.”

“I noticed.”

“Hah.”

“And tomorrow, we could run off to Vegas.”

Her mouth went desert-dry. “Uh…Vegas?”

Something happened in his eyes, the seductive warmth cooling—for a second or two. But then he laughed. “Scared?”

“I, um, well…”

“Don't worry. It wasn't a proposal—at least, not of marriage.”

“Oh. Well. Fine, then.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “The idea of getting married terrifies you, doesn't it?”

She answered honestly. “I just don't think I'm the marrying kind….”

“And who is?” He asked it so gently.

“Oh, I don't know—nice women, I guess. Cooperative women. Women not brought up by L. T. Carlyle and a bevy of big-breasted
Alpha
Girls.”

“You're nice.”

She scoffed, “Hardly.”

“You are, though sometimes you try your best not to be. And you do cooperate. On occasion…”

“I'm not cooperative enough for marriage—and can we talk about something else, please?”

His expression reproached her. But in the end, he let the scary talk of marriage go and explained why
he'd suggested a trip to Las Vegas. “I have two half-brothers in Vegas.”

“More sons of the notorious Blake?”

He nodded. “One brother, Aaron, was born in a small Nevada town not far from Lake Tahoe. Aaron has two other half-brothers, Cade and Will. Their mother, Caitlin, is quite a character.”

“Yet another in Blake's endless string of lonely wives?”

“You got it—though Caitlin Bravo hasn't been all that lonely since Blake disappeared from her life. She likes men. And they like her.”

“And your other Las Vegas half-brother?”

“Fletcher comes from Dallas by way of Atlantic City. Fletcher and Aaron are both in the casino business—high up in the casino business. Aaron's CEO of High Sierra, and Fletcher runs Impresario.” B.J. made a sound of admiration. High Sierra and the recently opened Impresario were two of the hottest supercasinos on the Strip. Buck added, “A company called Silver Standard Resorts owned High Sierra at one time. Not anymore. Now, High Sierra and Impresario are owned by the Bravo Group, for which both Aaron and Fletcher work—and
in
which they're both part-owners.”

“The Bravo Group being…?”

“A resort/casino partnership created about three years ago and heavily invested in by a Bravo cousin, the famous and fabulously wealthy Jonas Bravo of the L.A. Bravos.” Buck caught her head between his strong hands. He kissed her. Slowly. Wetly. When he released her, he whispered, “Don't be scared. I promise, I'm not pushing you anywhere you don't want to go. Not anymore and never again. From now on, if you want out, you just say the word.”

She looked into those beautiful deep, dark eyes of his and confessed, “I don't want out.”

“Good.”

“But, uh, can we just…wing it, you think? See where this goes?”

One corner of that fine, oh-so-kissable mouth of his lifted. “Okay. We'll just bumble along. Follow this road wherever it takes us.”

“Bumble along…”

“Yeah.”

“Don't laugh, but I kind of like the sound of that.”

He traced her brows with a feather-light touch. “Okay, then. Nevada City for dinner?”

“It's a date. And Vegas tomorrow. I'd like to meet your powerhouse half-brothers.”

“I'll see if that can be arranged—though we'll need to be back by Friday evening.”

“What's going on Friday evening?”

“The Ladies Auxiliary Potluck Supper, no less.”

“Oooh. Can't miss that. Margaret, Sidney and Velma would never forgive us.”

“You got that right—and then Saturday, there's the annual New Bethlehem Flat Harvest Ball.”

“I so cannot wait.”

“I'll bet.” He took her shoulders in those big hands of his.

“What?”

“Move over. Let me sit up.”

“Oh, but I like it here, with you as my mattress…”

“Scoot.”

Reluctantly, she slid to the side. He sat and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, turning his back to her as he got rid of the condom—the one that would have protected her from pregnancy.

If she hadn't been pregnant already…

Guilt tightened her stomach, a fist of shame, squeezing. She should tell him….

But things were going so well now. The impossible was happening. B.J. actually looked forward to the nine days they had left in California. And really, why rush it? The baby wasn't due for months and months. She had plenty of time.

He turned to her again, and stretched out beside her. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. She saw in his eyes what he was thinking. And if somehow she'd managed to miss the gleam in his eyes, all she had to do was look down….

My, oh, my. She glanced up from the jutting evidence that he wanted her all over again. Those dark, sexy eyes were waiting…

“Oh, Buck…”

He reached for her. She went into his big arms, a heated thrill shivering all through her. He tucked her close, gently, cherishingly, and his mouth covered hers…

Heaven.

She slid her hands up to wrap around his neck—and he caught her wrists.

He straddled her and he brought her wrists out, away from their bodies. He pushed her slowly onto her back, sliding her arms up, high, over her head. She looked into those drowning-dark eyes above her and she knew she was lost and happy to be so. He raised her wrists higher, his hands sliding up the backs of her hands, cupping and turning them, then guiding her fingers to hook on the top rim of the carved headboard.

“Hold on,” he whispered, and nipped her earlobe
between his strong, white teeth. She could feel him, the weight of him, down there, pressing, the warmth and heaviness, the promise, the need…

She moaned.

“Do that again.”

She did.

“Don't let go.”

“Oh, I won't. I swear. I won't…” B.J. held on, squirming, groaning, as he kissed a leisurely, arousing path down her body.

Oh, the incredible things he could do with that mouth of his. He settled himself between her legs, easing beneath her thighs, hooking them over his broad, hard shoulders with practiced ease.

“Oh, Buck…” She dug her heels into the bed as he parted her and she felt his tongue in a wet, rough glide, finding her point of greatest pleasure, flicking it, drawing it in to tease with his teeth…

Her mind flew away, leaving only pure sensation. She murmured between gasps of delight, “Oh, Buck, oh, yes…”

His teeth nipped and his knowing tongue worked its magic. She was so wet and so eager, clutching the headboard, groaning and trying not to shout out loud.

A couple of minutes, max, and she hit the crest. He held her, his palms flat on her belly, pressing her into the mattress as he drew on her, there, at the absolute center of her pleasure.

“Buck, oh Buck…” The pulsing claimed her, spreading out, a flash of liquid fire, spilling in a wild tumble through her veins.

As her climax spiked, he slipped out from under the hold of her straining thighs and swept up her body, sliding right into her, burying himself deep.

She did cry out, then. And at that moment, she didn't care in the least who might have heard her.

He pressed up into her, tighter, all the way.

“Oh,” she cried. “Oh, yes. So right…”

Flares of light and heat exploded through her. The tip of him touched that certain place deep in the heart of her, that place no other man ever seemed to quite reach…

She called his name once more. He answered on a guttural moan.

And then she felt him, felt the throb as he came inside her. His coming—the intimate, hot, twitching spurt of it—sent her over the edge all over again.

She let go of the headboard to wrap her hungry arms around him, clutching his broad back, holding on for dear life. The heat and the wonder raced out from the core of her, burning a path of purest erotic ecstasy along every nerve. He cried out, too, then, and went achingly still, pressing hard up to the heart of her, straining with the power of his release.

Finally, with a heavy, surrendering sigh, his big body went limp on top of her. He tucked his dark head into the curve of her shoulder—for a moment and a moment only. Then he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, giving her the top position, relieving her of his weight.

And after that, they just lay there, in the thin sunlight of early afternoon, the sweat drying on their bodies, holding each other close.

 

It didn't occur to her until two hours later, in the passenger seat of the rented SUV, riding the twisting highway into Nevada City, that they'd forgotten to use a condom that second time.

She wondered that he hadn't mentioned the slip-up. They'd always been so careful about protection up till now. Six years ago, she'd been on the pill, so there was never a whole lot to worry about then. But it wasn't good for a woman to stay on the pill forever. She'd gone off it in the intervening years, when she was between boyfriends. After she broke up with Wyatt-the-weasel, she'd gone off it again.

So she and Buck had used condoms that fateful September night—at least one of which must have failed….

They reached the bottom of a forested canyon and rolled across a two-lane bridge. She gazed out her side window, watching the river foaming and tumbling over huge pale boulders, flowing under the bridge beneath them.

B.J. turned from the river to look at him.

He caught her glance. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Sure?”

“Um-hmm.”

She turned her gaze to the twisting road ahead again, feeling grateful and happy for the wonder of what had passed between them in her bed a few hours ago. And not only for that.

Also, for the days of pleasure ahead of them—and yes, for the fact that he hadn't said anything about that condom they'd failed to use.

Maybe he would never mention it. Maybe he figured it was too late now, that if she got pregnant, they'd deal with that when it happened.

And, since she already
was
pregnant, they
would
deal with it. Soon—and there it was again.

That twinge in her stomach. Guilt. Squeezing.

Too bad. She
was
going to tell him. She truly was.

Soon.

Just not right now…

N
evada City was a gorgeous little gold-rush town. Classic clapboard Victorians lined its steep, twisting streets, many of them painted bright colors and adorned with gingerbread trim. Strolling hand-in-hand, your classic pair of dreamy-eyed lovers, B.J. and Buck checked out the shops on Broad Street and Commercial.

They ate at a place called Citronee, where the service was excellent and the food had B.J. groaning in delight. She didn't even miss the iceberg lettuce and hunks of beefsteak tomato of which she'd lately grown so fond.

Buck teased her that she'd get fat if she didn't watch it. She only grunted and dug into her organic mesclun salad with pear-lime citronée dressing, feta-cheese crumbles and hazelnuts.

Yes, there was bread. Lovely, hot bread. She had two pieces. Why not? She deserved them.

And for the main course? Sautéed Muscovy duck breast, but of course, “I need to keep my strength up after what you've been doing to me.” She winked at him saucily and sliced off a mouth-watering bite of savory duck.

Umm. Heavenly.

Dinner. Almost as good as sex with Buck.

And she was one lucky woman. She got both. A nice dinner. Great sex.

Did it get any better?

No way. Better simply wasn't possible.

Night had turned the sky to an indigo blanket scattered thickly with stars when they headed back to the Flat. B.J. felt drowsy and took a little nap on the way.

She woke to the touch of Buck's lips on her cheek. The SUV wasn't moving. She yawned and squinted against the light from the streetlamp a few feet from Chastity's white picket fence. “We're here.”

He made a soft sound in the affirmative. She turned her head his way. Their lips met and they shared a deep, wet kiss.

“Umm. Very nice,” she said when they finally came up for air.

“Yeah.” He rested his forehead against hers. “We should go in…”

She had a naughty stroke of pure inspiration. “You ever do it in an SUV?”

He answered with another question. “Is that an invitation?”

She considered. “Well, I don't know. That streetlight's pretty bright…”

He nuzzled her ear, caught her earlobe and worried it lightly between his teeth. She shivered—and not with cold. And he whispered, “Velma Wiggins lives
three houses up the street. She's been known to go out for a stroll in the evening….”

“That does it.” She pushed at his chest. “Later for my unfulfilled fantasies of having sex with you in an SUV.”

 

There were guests in the drawing room. Buck and B.J. murmured greetings and went on upstairs. He drew her into his arms in the upper hall and kissed her, guiding her backward to the door of his room.

There, he paused to push her coat off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a soft whoosh—along with her bag. She broke the kiss. “Time to get behind a closed door. It will never do to shock your mother's paying guests.” She bent to scoop up the bag and the coat.

“This way.” He grabbed her free hand, pushed open the door to his room and pulled her in there with him. “Better?”

“Much.” She put down her coat and bag as he went to flick on a lamp. He returned to her. Tipping her chin up with a coaxing hand, he kissed her—a gentle, teasing, oh-so-arousing kiss.

When he lifted his mouth, she found herself confessing, “I knocked on your door this morning.” Still lightly holding her shoulders, he moved back a step. She knew he wanted her to meet his eyes. But at that moment, she couldn't. She looked down at the rag rug under their feet, feeling…what? Embarrassed? Oh, probably. She whispered, “You were already gone.”

He tipped her chin up again, so she had to look at him. “If I'd known you were going to knock, I would have made a point of being here.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “It gets worse.”

He looked puzzled at her choice of words. “Worse?”

“Your door wasn't locked…”

“So?”

“I opened it and looked in here.”

“Horrible,” he teased.

She didn't smile. “I could smell you…smell your aftershave. I saw your clothes on the chair, your laptop on that skinny-legged desk over there…”

He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “B.J., it's okay. You have my permission to come in my room any time the mood strikes. Feel free to look around, sniff my aftershave. Anytime. Go for it—and you still don't look happy.”

She admitted, “I was…missing you. I didn't want to miss you, but I did.”

He drew her close, wrapped those warm, strong arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder. “It's okay.” He kissed her temple, stroked her hair. “Okay, to miss me…”

“Oh, I'm not so sure about that.” She pushed against his chest so she could look at him again and she admitted, “L.T. says I have a Puritan streak. Maybe I do. I know I don't like it when the man I'm with gets intimate with someone else.”

He understood then. “You mean that night six years ago.”

She gave another push at his chest. He took the hint that time and let her go. She went around him, to his bed, and sat carefully on the edge of it. “I suppose this is stupid—to bring this up again. We already talked about it. You said you were sorry. And I did believe you…”

He spoke, softly. “There's no one else, B.J. I swear it. There isn't now. And there wasn't then. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.”

She ran her hand, palm flat, over the bedspread, smoothing wrinkles that weren't even there. “That night, at your apartment. That other woman…I guess I shouldn't have used that key you gave me, should have knocked instead of barging right in on you. It was…so awful. One of those what-is-wrong-with-this-picture moments. You were on top of her and I could see—”

“B.J.”

“Yeah?”

“Spare me the details, okay? I get the point.”

“Okay. But I mean it when I say it was…a truly bad moment.”

“I know.”

“I've always wondered…” Her throat clutched on her. So ridiculous, after all this time, how much a flash of ugly memory still had the power to stop her dead—the power to wound, and wound so deeply.

“Ask,” he said, the sound low and rough, as if that moment had hurt—
still
hurt—him, as well.

She looked right at him then. “That woman. Who was she?”

He hung his head. “I don't know.”

“She really was a total stranger?”

“I think she said her name was Sarah. I hooked up with her at that Irish bar around the corner from my place.” He'd lived in Chelsea then. In a studio walk-up with an efficiency kitchen along one wall, a bathtub that doubled as the base for the dinner table and a Pullman bed.

That bed was opposite the door…B.J. shut her eyes to block out the memory of Buck's betrayal. She tried to turn her mind to happier thoughts—and found herself remembering that the
place had had waterbugs the size of Chihuahuas. In the good times, they used to joke about putting a leash on one and walking it over to Union Square.

Back then, he could barely afford that tiny, tacky apartment. He worked two jobs—at
Alpha
and at night in a restaurant uptown—to keep up with his lease. They'd mostly lived at her apartment. It was bigger and cleaner, considerably so. Not as nice as her current coop, but a palace compared to that studio.

She said, “You took me by surprise when you asked me to marry you. The last thing I thought you'd ever do was propose. All those times I asked you to move in with me, you never would.”

“Too much pride,” he said. “I wanted
you
to move in with
me.
I wanted to have a place of my own that was…I don't know, worthy of you, I guess. I wanted to take care of you.”

She swallowed. “Take care of me?”

“That's right.” He came toward her then, hesitantly. She signaled her willingness to have him near by scooting sideways a little, making a place for him. He settled beside her on the edge of the bed. “Pretty damn pitiful, huh? Me, wanting to take care of
you?
Considering you were—and are—as self-reliant as they come. And I could barely take care of
myself.
”

“Pitiful?” She met his eyes, couldn't quite hold the connection, and looked away. “I wouldn't say that. But I have to admit, it knocked me right over when you pulled that ring out of your pocket.” She stared out at the moonlit dark beyond the French doors, at the endless layers of stars.

He grunted. “I got that ring at a pawn shop. All-Metro Pawn, it was called. The guy behind the counter swore the diamond was a full carat. Even from a pawn
broker, it cost two weeks' worth of commission checks from
Alpha.
And then, after it was all over between us, I took it back where I got it. Guy gave me half what I paid for it.”

She allowed herself a long, sorrowful sigh and looked at him again. “A bad business, all around.”

He broke the eye contact that time. “Not all of it. There were a lot of good times, too.”

She felt the ghost of a smile as it tugged at her mouth. “That place of yours was something.”

“Something to get away from.”

“What about those waterbugs?”

“Never seen any that big, before or since.”

There was a silence. Into it, she confessed, so softly, “I
had
turned you down. Much as I hate to admit it, I do realize you did have every right to go and be with someone else….”

“Uh-uh.” He was shaking his head. “You were mine, then. Even if you wouldn't say yes to my ring. You were mine and I was yours. I knew it.” He took her hand from her lap, pressed it to his chest. “I knew it here.”

She felt the steady beating of his strong heart. “Oh, Buck…”

“The whole time we were together, I felt about a thousand miles beneath you. You were so smart and on top of it, way out of my league. I knew what I was and it wasn't much. And that just got clearer the more important you became to me. Every morning, when I looked in the mirror to shave, I saw a nobody from a small town, a hick with big dreams and no money.

“I tried not to let it all get to me. For a while, I think I succeeded pretty well. But in the end, I couldn't take it anymore, feeling so much
less
than
you. I asked you to marry me when I knew you would say no—and then, when you
did
say no, I stomped off in a rage and betrayed you with someone else. I went out and found that other woman and I used her. Because I not only knew you were right to turn me down—I also needed a way to prove to myself that it was really over, that I had lost you. I didn't dream you'd come back to try and work things out. But you did come back—which meant I got exactly what I'd been telling myself I needed. After that, there was no doubt about how
over
the two of us were.”

“You
wanted
it to end, between us?”

“No. Never. But I sure as hell hated feeling like I wasn't man enough for you. I hated it so much, I went right out and proved that it was true—I
wasn't
man enough for you.”

He released her hand and dropped back across the bed. A few seconds later, she fell back beside him. They lay there, legs bent at the knees, feet still firmly planted on the floor, staring upward, not touching.

He rolled his head to look at her. “You were so right, to say no to me. I was too young. And real stupid. I had too much to prove to the world—and to myself. But you know what?”

“Tell me.”

He gave her that grin, then, the one that made all the women go ga-ga. “I like to think that now, I'm not only older, I'm a hell of a lot smarter, too…”

She teased, “Uh-oh. I'm getting worried…”

“You should be.” He rolled and grabbed for her. She squirmed away. But he was fast. He'd always been fast. Damn him. “Gotcha,” he crowed when he caught her. His tempting lips were barely an inch from hers.

She advised, “Don't get all full of yourself. I
let
you catch me.”

He gathered her closer and whispered, “Now, that's what I like to hear.”

And then he kissed her.

 

Several hours later, B.J. woke in Buck's bed with a burning desire for a glass of cold milk and an Oreo cookie—or five. Really, this food thing was getting out of hand.

She checked the bedside clock. Past one in the morning. Then she rolled her head the other way to look at the sleeping man beside her.

He lay face up. At some point after she dropped off, he must have gotten up and turned off the lamp. The room was thick with nighttime shadows. But she could see him clearly enough. His skin looked silvery in the starlight and the shadow of his morning beard already darkened his cheeks.

He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. Almost harmless.

Hah.

She thought of the things he'd done to her—and with her—before they fell asleep. No, she didn't blush. When it came to sex, B. J. Carlyle never blushed.

But she did have to hold back a long, melting sigh.

And she still wanted that Oreo. Maybe Chastity would have some down in the kitchen.

Guests weren't allowed in the kitchen area—but B.J. wasn't
that
kind of guest. Not really. She was Buck's guest and that made her a
family
guest and…

Oh, hell. Even if she wasn't supposed to go in the kitchen, she didn't care. She wanted those Oreos. She could
taste
the silky coldness of that tall glass of milk.

And really, she had to get up anyway and get back to her own room. Until she got around to mentioning the fact that she was pregnant, there could be no waking up in the morning with Buck. Mornings were for bolting down the hall, late as usual for her regular appointment with the toilet bowl. Buck didn't need to be a witness to that.