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The combination of ragged jeans and pristine dress shirt summed up the mystery that was Trent Sinclair. He could go from polished businessman to rugged rancher in the blink of an eye. And both personas exuded confidence and sexuality.
Bryn felt the first ribbons of warmth from the fire. The room was small. Trent had created a roaring blaze that soon knocked the chill off the unadorned space. Other than the wooden chair where Bryn perched, the only furnishings were the straw tick mattress and the iron bedstead.
Trent opened a metal chest—thankfully mouseproof—and extracted a couple of old quilts, clean but worn. Bryn’s pulse jerked. Trent spread one over the mattress and dropped the second one at the end of the bed.
He stared at her. “You can take off that jacket, Bryn. It’s plenty warm in here.”
Was there a dare in his voice? She removed the garment slowly, aware that Trent’s narrow gaze tracked every movement.
She wore jeans like he did, though hers were newer, and a simple, long-sleeved tee. Because of the jacket, she’d decided to forgo a bra. Trent’s hungry expression signaled his approval. Her nipples hardened. He made no pretense of looking away.
He stalked her then, and she hated herself for backing up against the door. She wasn’t afraid of Trent Sinclair. But tell that to her ragged breath and trembling limbs.
When they stood toe-to-toe, Trent lifted a hand and touched her chin, just her chin. “Is this want you want? Sex with me?”
A brutally honest question. No euphemisms about making love. She inhaled sharply. “Do you believe me about Jesse?”
He stepped back, enough that she could breathe again. “I don’t know. Not yet. It’s too soon to tell.”
Her head dropped. “I see.”
He touched the soft fall of her hair. “I’m not sure that you do. He was my brother, Bryn. And I loved him. He died in suspicious circumstances, and I can’t wrap my head around that.”
“So what are you saying?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what the future will bring. I’m not convinced of your motives or your reasons for being here. But I can put that aside for the moment if you can.”
“To have sex.”
“Yes. We ache for each other. Don’t pretend you don’t know it. We’ve been waiting six years for this. That’s a long time to want something. I need you.”
I need you. The stark statement was a gift in its own way. The unflappable Trent Sinclair had allowed her a glimpse of his vulnerability. She could throw it in his face…try to hurt him. But any pain she inflicted would ricochet and shred her heart in the process.
She shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling as if she might fly apart. “And afterward?”
A flush of color marked his cheekbones, and his dark eyes glittered with desire. “I don’t think once will be enough. I want to take you over and over and over until we’re both too weak to stand.”
She gasped and covered the sound with a cough. The image painted by his stark words made her tremble with yearning. He wanted her. He needed her. Could she bear it if he turned on her when the deed was done?
“I’m scared.”
His wicked grin was a slash of white teeth. “You should be, Bryn. You definitely should be.”
Eight
A violent crack of thunder made them both jump. Bryn’s shaky laugh held nerves. “At least you’re honest.”
He sighed raggedly, wanting to make her happy, wanting to reassure her. “Nothing on earth could stop me from taking you in the next five minutes, Bryn,” he said. “Unless you change your mind.”
His outward calm was hard-won. He wanted to ravage her, rip the clothes from her body, and plunge inside her until the torment in his gut subsided.
“I won’t.” Her gaze was steady.
Suddenly he was consumed by a wave of tenderness. “Come here,” he said, the simple words guttural and low.
She hesitated long enough to terrify him, and then she closed the small gap between them. She lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, staring into his eyes as if she could delve the secrets of his heart. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to their makeshift bed. He had imagined having sex with Bryn a million times over the years, but in his fantasies, there was always a luxurious bed, scented sheets, quiet music. Reality was a stark contrast, but he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. His only regret was that Bryn might be disappointed.
