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He lifted the hand on his thigh, his fingers rubbing over hers lightly. They were soft, long and graceful with short, pink nails. Her palms were so soft, like satin. He brought her hand to his face, holding the warmth of her palm to his cheek as he closed his eyes.
He had waited for her. For six long years he had waited, knowing that eventually, sooner or later, married or divorced, he would have her. The taste she had given him when she was eighteen had driven him insane at times, making him almost desperate to rip her away from the cheating bastard she was married to. The nights he spent at the bar, listening to the braggart running his mouth about his frigid little wife had been hell. But he had endured. He knew better and he knew that to make his move, to show his hand to Mark Tate before the time was right would be a mistake.
He knew Tate too well. Much better than Sarah did, and he knew her ex-husband wasn’t about to let her go so easily. How Sarah had managed to get him to sign those divorce papers he had no idea. How she had escaped the marriage with no scars, he was even more uncertain. One thing he did know for sure, after this morning, he was going to have to keep a careful eye on the bastard. From what Sam had told him, he had come in just in time to keep Sarah from being hurt. First the unknown assailant, and now Tate. The danger was growing and he knew she couldn’t allow her to stay here much longer.
Brock sighed wearily. He wished he had her at the ranch where he knew she would be safe at any given time of the day. He had a bad feeling about this situation. A feeling Sarah had yet to escape from the bastard.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sarah was furious, embarrassed and intimately bald. The latter directly related to the former and she hated it. She couldn’t wear panties; Denise had strictly forbidden it for up to six hours after the waxing. Her flesh smarted, despite the cream the other woman had rubbed onto the flesh of her cunt, and further back to her anus. She had waxed it all. Every tiny hair was gone, and it had hurt.
Not that Brock seemed to care. When she left the house, he had jumped from the jeep, anticipation filling his expression. She wanted to shove him into the house and let the demonic, wax-happy bitch have a go at him. She changed her mind just as quickly. Denise Lamont appeared like a woman who would be more than happy to ply her trade on Brock’s sensitive flesh.
She sat now in Brock’s jeep, silent, her eyes narrowed as they drove back to the house. Brock appeared entirely too smug, the lustful glances he kept casting her way heating her blood despite her determination to not allow it. She didn’t want to get wetter. It might sting. It was stinging enough.
“You okay?” he asked her softly, glancing at her once again.
“Fine.” She stared mutinously out the windshield. She wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, Sarah.” He frowned, correctly interpreting her anger. “Hell, Marly has it done all the time.”
She cast him a controlled glance. She did not want to hear about Marly right now.
“How would you know?” she asked him coolly. “Last I saw, you had all your hair.”
He laughed. Damn him, she didn’t need his laughter.
“Let me see it.” His words had her head swinging around, her eyes widening incredulously at the question.
“Let you what?” she gasped.
“Raise your dress and let me see it.” His eyes were heavy lidded as he glanced over once again. “Come on, Sarah, no one will see.”
“That’s what you said at the bar,” she bit out. “Evidently someone did see it. Mark knew about it.”
She did not need the good gossips of Madison speculating about her riding in Brock’s jeep, flashing her privates. Her face flamed. It was bad enough already. All her old friends were filled with questions. The damned phone had rang off the hook before they left the house. She hadn’t been this popular since—Her teeth clenched. Since the week after the episode six years earlier. Terrific. Just what she needed. Everyone knowing about her sex life. She knew about it, she considered that bad enough.
“Mark knew about it?” The question seemed posed very carefully.
“Well, evidently he did. One of his friends was there and kindly informed him of the fact,” she bit out, remembering the way he had flung the information at her.
“He was laying on the floor to see it then,” Brock growled. “I’m not stupid, Sarah. I knew what I was doing.”
Jealousy, possessiveness, two emotions she hadn’t expected from him, colored his voice.
“Maybe he just guessed.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not flashing you in this jeep, in public. So you can forget it.”
Brock sighed, regret radiating from him.
“Can I touch it?” God, he sounded like a little boy wanting to play with a new toy.
“No, Brock.” She shook her head, flashing him an exasperated look. “You can’t see it and you can’t touch it.”
“Let me touch it and I’ll spank you later,” he bargained smugly.
Sarah felt her body heat, her face redden further and her heart jump with excitement.
“Forget it.” There was no way in hell she was going to let him touch her.
