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“How long was it before he got over her leaving?”
“I don’t know that he ever did. But he learned to man up and show he didn’t need her to be happy.”
But he did. Apparently Jesse had needed Etta a heck of a lot, and when he was a teenager, she wormed her way back into his life and drove him crazy. The thought gave her a shiver. She wanted so badly to unburden herself to Trent, to lean on his strength and counsel.
But with the specter that Jesse might not be a Sinclair, she didn’t know what to do. It was naive to expect Trent to believe that Allen was Jesse’s son without proof. She had wanted Trent to take her on faith, but her feelings were not as important as making sure Allen was taken care of.
Anything could happen to Bryn. And Aunt Beverly wouldn’t always be around. Bryn had believed for six years that her son was a Sinclair, heir to a mighty empire that would make his life secure. The truth needed to come out. For all of them.
Once again, she eyed her distant jeans.
Trent stood, arms crossed over his chest, and grinned at her predicament.
“Aren’t you being a little ridiculous, Brynnie? I’ve seen it all.”
Her face flamed. “That was different.”
“Different, how?”
“We were in the mood.”
“I seem to always be in the mood around you.”
His self-deprecating smile loosened the knot in her chest. A teasing Trent made her willpower evaporate. “We need to keep track of the time.”
“We have all the time in the world.”
He glanced at his watch, and her stomach flipped…hard.
He handed her the pizza box. “But never say I seduced you on an empty stomach.”
“No seduction,” she said primly as she gobbled a slice of pizza with unladylike fervor. “We have to go see Mac.”
His eyes were like a watchful hawk. “It’s only two-thirty. I can do a lot in an hour and a half.”
Every atom of oxygen in the room evaporated as their eyes met. Hunger snapped its bounds and prowled between them. She trembled as each second of the heated moments in her bedroom unfolded in her imagination in Technicolor images complete with scent and sound.
The crust she held fell with a loud thud into the box. Trent took the cardboard container from her numb fingers and tossed it in the trash can. He sat beside her on the bed and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “We’ll figure this all out, Bryn.”
The knowledge that she was lying by omission choked her. “I don’t know that we can. Some things can’t be fixed.”
He kissed her softly, then with more force. “I’ll make it all right. You’ll see.”
She let him hold her, but her heart ached. Trent Sinclair was a man used to winning, to conquering, to molding the world to his specifications. But even the king occasionally had to admit defeat.
He nuzzled her neck. “Don’t think so much. Just feel, Bryn. Let it happen.”
Their lips met tentatively. Last night everything had seemed new and different. Now she knew the truth. Trent Sinclair was a hard-ass as far as the world was concerned. He kept his feelings under wraps. But beneath that proud, arrogant exterior, he was a man of great passion.
She kissed his chin, his nose, his eyelids. “I feel guilty. We should be at the hospital.”
“He’s sleeping. The doc said so. Hush and let me love you.” He stroked her back as he magically made her reservations disappear.
She heard the four letter word and managed not to react. It was something men said when they wanted a woman. He didn’t mean he loved her. She realized that. She was far too intelligent to delude herself.
Which meant that she had to be smart about this. She wanted Trent. Badly. But now was not the time.
“You nearly convinced me,” she said, her heart aching for a multitude of reasons. “But one of us has to be sane. I’ll go sit with him. I’m sure you have some business calls you need to make.”
Trent pondered what would have happened if they had not been interrupted last night. Today the mood was less mystical, more pragmatic. But she was as much a siren to him as she had been in the quiet intimacy of her bedroom. He reclined on his side, easing her down with him. Beneath her shirt, he traced the lace at the edge of her bra, feeling gooseflesh erupt everywhere his fingers passed.
