The Expectant Secretary (15 page)

“Brody,” she said, arching away from him but not daring to leave his embrace.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled her neck as the next song began. This tune was livelier, but Brody maintained a slow, erotic pace as if he were making love to her rather than dancing.

Suddenly she wanted to be closer to him, closer than prudence allowed in this setting. She needed to feel his arms around her, taste his kisses until she couldn't feel or think. She wanted all the doubts and strife that had built between them to melt away.

Knowing this was either the smartest or dumbest decision she'd ever make, trusting the unsteady beat of her heart more than she probably should, she curled her fingers along the back of his neck, feeling the tapering of his hair, the coarse texture against her sensitized flesh.

“Take me home,” she whispered.

Immediately he lifted his head and stared down at her. “Are you ill?”

She shook her head and stared into the warmth of his gray eyes. No, she was simply head over heels in love. And no longer willing to deny it, him, or herself. “I need… Brody, please, just take me home.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a half smile that tightened her stomach. He gave her a solid, reassuring kiss as an answer, and clasped her hand in his. “Anything you want, love.”

“G
et in the car. Quick!”

It was well past midnight and the night sky looked like a black hole absorbing all light. If Clint had bothered to take a closer look he would have noticed the dark gray clouds blocking out the stars and passing over the moon. Instead he only noticed shadows creeping along the adobe walls of the Double Crown's entrance gate. His nerves felt brittle.

“Hurry,” he said in a shouted whisper as he once again shot a look over his shoulder, half expecting to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser.

Betsy looked weary and well-used, like a crumpled napkin, with faded lipstick and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deeper than when she'd left early that afternoon to work on the Fortune wedding. She plopped into the passenger seat and tugged on the heavy door, but it stuck. Reaching across her slim frame, he yanked it shut. He flinched at the grating sound of the door's rusty hinges.

She pursed her lips to kiss him but he didn't have time. Or the desire.

“What the hell kept you?” he snapped, shoving the Ford's shift into drive. Stepping on the gas pedal, he heard the spitting of gravel as he swerved onto the
narrow two-lane highway leading away from the Fortune ranch.

“I had to stay and clean up after the wedding couple left. I couldn't leave before the guests. You didn't want me to get fired, did you?”

“It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Has something happened?”

“No.” Not yet, anyway. He gave her a cursory glance and saw the hurt in her drab blue eyes. Reaching across the cracked seat, he took her hand in his, felt the chafed skin, the nervous sweat. Had he pushed her too far? He couldn't chance losing her devotion. Not yet anyway. Not until he was far away from the Double Crown, Leather Bucket and San Antonio. Not until he was across the Mexican border. “Sorry I'm jumpy.”

She clasped his hand tighter. “It's okay. I understand. I'm the one that should be sorry.” She pulled his hand to her lap, laying his palm flat against her skinny thigh, and stroked his fingers. “I shouldn't have been so late.”

“It's okay, sugar,” he said, softening his voice, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease as the miles between him and the Double Crown multiplied. The breeze from the open windows slapped at him. “Let's go home.”

She looped her arm through his in a silent promise of passion. He had to give her credit. She was adventurous, willing to do most anything he asked…in bed or anyplace else. And she was always eager.

The clankety-clank of the oil pan made his hand tighten on the steering wheel. Tonight he'd decided
to steal another car as soon as everything came together. Betsy's Ford wouldn't do for his getaway.

“What did you learn tonight, sugar? Anything good?” He rubbed her thigh, pulling her skirt high on her leg, teasing her. God, sometimes he thought he could just about make her purr.

Leaning her head back on the seat, she sighed with pleasure. “It was hard learning all those Fortunes' names. There's so many of them. I guess the really big news, besides the wedding, was that Ryan Fortune's goddaughter—Willa something—is living on the ranch. She's a professor or something. Gonna teach at Texas A&M. Must be awfully smart.”

“What else?” He moved his hand higher.

“And then there's the Fortunes visiting from Australia.” Her voice trembled with desire and need. “Oh, I could listen to those accents forever.”

Irritation jabbed at him. “What the hell is wrong with a Texas accent?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Nothin'. Nothin' at all, honey. There's nothin' I like better than your voice, Clint. You make me wild.”

“Good. Now go on.”

“Well, then there's the gossip about Brody Fortune. He's here working on something for the two companies. I couldn't figure out what. Anyway, he brought his assistant with him. A real pretty gal. And she's pregnant! It was obvious to everybody that a little hanky-panky has been going on in that office.”

Clint chuckled.

“Maybe we can fool around ourselves when we get home,” she said suggestively.

“Whatever you want, sugar.”

She scooted across the seat to snuggle beside him. Her hand eased up the length of his thigh along his faded jeans. Then she stopped, shifted on the bench seat and pulled his fake ID out from under her. “What's this?”

The hair along the back of his neck raised. He shrugged as if it didn't matter. “You got it out of my cabin. Don't you remember, sugar?”

“Yeah, but I didn't leave your ID here in the car. It makes me nervous.” She clasped his hand, holding on to him tight, as if he might vanish in front of her eyes. “I worry I'm gonna wake up one mornin' and you're gonna be gone.”

He would be. But she didn't have to know that. Not till he was gone.

“Nothin' for you to worry about, sugar. When the time comes…after I get even with Ryan Fortune, then we'll leave. Together.” He shifted, hooking his arm around her narrow shoulders. “Now, there's one more thing I need you to do for me. Are you willing?”

She kissed his neck, and the point of her tongue drew a moist line to his ear. “You know I'd do anything for you, Clint.”

 

Brody could hear the blood pumping in his ears and felt it course through his body at a rapid pace. He wanted to take Jillian to his home, his apartment, his bed. But as she had asked, he drove toward her sister's house, unsure how the evening would end.

She'd been giving him shy signals that she was ready to take the next step. But maybe it was his own desire clouding his better judgment. Maybe she was
simply tired and wanted to go home. Or maybe she was nervous and didn't want to stay at the wedding.

Whatever she wanted, he would give her. He would take care of her. It was an undeniable need.

The question now was how would he accomplish that? From afar? As a friend? Or as something more, with the intimacy that he yearned for?

His rental car's headlights slashed through the darkness. Only the sound of their breathing filled the interior. With her hand in his, her warm, moist palm against his, her delicate fingers entwined with his, he had a difficult time concentrating on his driving, much less the ramifications of his actions. All he could focus on was her soft fragrance that reminded him of a summery ocean breeze and the feel of her smooth, silky skin against his.

When he paused at a stoplight near her sister's home, he had an urge to run the light. The streets were deserted. What harm could it do? He needed the answer to the simmering question—was she ready or not? But he waited, unwilling to risk her safety.

A few minutes later he pulled up in front of her sister's house and parked, switched off the headlights and cut the engine. He took a deep, steadying breath and said, “I'll get your door.”

He helped her out of the low-slung sports car. When she stood, they were but a breath apart. He wanted to dip his head, to taste her lips once more, to test and tease. But if she wanted him, wanted him as much as he needed her, then it was her move, her decision. He wouldn't push or tempt her. Even if the restraint required killed him.

The walk up the sidewalk to the front porch seemed
as long and as arduous as setting out across the Outback on foot. Night sounds surged around him. Crickets chirped. Fireflies flickered. A dog barked in the distance. Jillian's heels clicked against the concrete walkway. Her hand brushed his, and he felt his skin contract with desire. They stepped around a pumpkin someone had carved and set on the front stoop, and entered the halo of the porch light.

“Well,” he said, his voice sticking in his throat like glue.

“Well,” she repeated.

The awkward silence tripped between them.

“I suppose I'll see you on Monday,” he said, “at the office.”

A strange light glinted in her eyes and she tilted her head to the side, staring up at him with what he only imagined was longing. But he was probably mistaken.

“Brody,” she said, her voice soft as the fall breeze rustling the leaves covering the lawn. “I… My sister is out of town.”

Was she scared about entering the house by herself? Staying alone? It would push him beyond his limit if she wanted him to sleep in another room like a guard dog for protection and companionship.

“You'll be fine.” He took a step back, angling himself toward the stairs. He had to go now, before he did something he would regret.

“Brody…” She reached out and touched his hand. Her feathery caress stirred something inside him that he could only label as uncontrollable desire. “Don't go.”

“Jillie… What are you saying?” His heart stumbled.

This time her touch was bolder. She took his hand and tugged him closer. “I thought you understood.”

“That I want you? That you're driving me crazy?”

She smiled then, but her eyes remained wide and luminous in the moonlight, like deep dark oceans. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”

Her words blocked out the last of his rational thoughts. The next thing he knew, they were kissing and fumbling with the lock, stumbling inside. Their breaths hot, their hands urgent, their mouths greedy. All questions and doubts faded beyond his need for Jillian.

 

She gave a sly, confident smile to the building manager. “Mr. Fortune will be so appreciative of you letting me into his apartment.”

“Well, I don't know.” The wiry man looked nervous, unsure as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Trust me.” She slipped a nice tip into his hand then. Before he could change his mind or call for security, she closed the door between them, shutting him out of Brody Fortune's luxury apartment. She had to get ready.

She leaned back against the door and took a deep breath, inhaling what she imagined was Brody's cologne. Her nerve endings electrified, trembled with apprehension.

She didn't need the overhead lights to see the money that had been poured into the decorating. Marble and hardwood floors, elaborate molding along the high ceilings, silver accents and rich mahogany
woods that reflected the moonlight streaming through the windows had been used in subtle, classy ways. Thick drapes skirted the tall windows that ran from floor to ceiling.

The ticking of a nearby clock alerted her. Although the hour was late, she felt wired, as if she'd had one cup of coffee too many. It wouldn't be long. Brody would be home soon. And she would be waiting.

Waiting for him.

Setting her cumbersome bag on the entry table, she walked through the shadows darkening the apartment. The dim glow of lights along the floorboard lit her way. Expensive furnishings filled each room. She breathed in the scents of leather and lemony furniture polish. Her heart hammered anxiously in her chest.

Meandering through the kitchen, she trailed her finger along the smooth tile countertop, over the rough butcher-block cutting board and along the cool blade of a knife.

Then she entered what she imagined was his study. For a few restless minutes, she sat in a comfortable stuffed chair beside a rolltop desk and imagined Brody sitting here, concentrating on some big business deal, adding more money to his already fat bank account. She smoothed her hands down the arms of the chair over the textured fabric.

Restless, an itchy feeling tingling beneath the surface of her skin, she located his bedroom. Her gaze settled on the wide, expansive bed. Unfolding her body along the satin comforter, she laid her head on Brody's pillow. She wondered what he dreamed about. She felt a ruffle of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. What did he long for in the early morning
hours when he hung in a suspended place between sleep and full consciousness?

Soon it wouldn't matter.

Soon he'd have new plans.

Plans involving her.

She imagined his shock and surprise when he discovered her in his bedroom, curled up on his bed. Waiting for him.

Then soon she'd be the bride she'd always imagined.

 

Jillian felt like a virgin bride.

Jittery, awkward, excited.

Eager, nervous, self-conscious.

Her heartbeat pulsed erratically in her throat. Part of her wanted to crumple inward, withdraw, but Brody's wildly tempting kisses awakened a wanton side of her as they stumbled into her sister's darkened house. It was a side of herself she'd never experienced, never known existed.

She tugged and yanked on his shirt, pulling it loose from his slacks until she could run her hands over his bare back. His muscles were firm, rippled with strength. She felt the hard edge of his shoulder blades and the ridges of his spine as her fingers trailed downward toward his hips. Hot to her touch, his skin burned, branding her with his own inner heat, his own desire.

Urgency radiated off his skin, pulling her in, magnetizing her. Her insides vibrated with need. For the first time in her life she felt out of control sexually, desperate, eager, demanding. As if she had no choice. No resistance.

Maybe that was best. Since none of her decisions over the past few years had been worth a damn. But holding on to Brody, her breasts pressing against his chest with each ragged breath, feeling his hands touching, caressing, stroking, possessing, she knew this was right. Oh, so right. She felt it straight through to her soul.

“Ah, Jillie,” he murmured against her ear, his voice deep and penetrating, his breath arousing, his tongue tempting as it swirled along the outer edges of her ear. “This is crazy.”

“I know.” The pounding of her heart deafened her to any doubts or questions. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

Against her mouth, she felt his lips pull into a crooked smile. That smile that had won her heart so long ago. He cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze hot with need. “I've waited too long for this moment with you.”

“Me, too.”

Brody sucked in a harsh breath. He could take her hard and fast. It would end the burning ache inside him. But he knew the pressure, the need, the desire wouldn't disappear entirely. He'd never get enough of her. He wanted more. So much more.