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How she wished that just once she could turn the tables on him. Slay him with a single gaze. Wipe that cockiness off his face. Bring him to his knees.
But that highly satisfying image soon elicited memories. Vivid, hot, sensually arousing memories. Not appropriate for this situation. The last thing she wanted was any kind of sexual relationship with him.
Of course she didn’t. He infuriated her, that was all.
She only hoped she could calm down enough to sleep.
HE WAS HAVING TROUBLE sleeping. He wasn’t sure why.
It wasn’t because of his work. He had all the precautions in place, and things were proceeding as planned. It wasn’t because of jet lag, either. He’d been in Georgia for two days, long enough for him to adjust from Colorado time. There was no good reason for him to lie here staring at the ceiling.
Hell, Hunter, this undercover work has got you lying to yourself. He knew damn well why he couldn’t sleep: because of Brynn. He’d been so determined to take their reunion in stride, to treat her with the same casual lightness he treated everyone else. Yet here he was, reliving every moment he’d spent in her presence.
He’d been a little stunned when he’d seen her today.
Nine years ago, she’d been a soft-spoken, dark-haired beauty with natural warmth and kindness shining from her hazel eyes and heart-shaped face. He’d first seen her at a UGA football game, and he hadn’t been able to look away. She’d been there with his buddy John from crim law class—a good friend, although they hadn’t known each other long. Cade had felt a sinking in his chest, a heaviness in his gut, because he’d known, after one long look at Brynn, that he would do everything in his power to take her away from John. There was just something about her that struck him as so damn beautiful. So damn unique. He traded seats with the guy behind them, and was more than a little relieved when John introduced Brynn as his sister. Then he heard her voice. Talked with her. Laughed with her. And the certainty grew. She had to be his.
That had been nine years ago, when he was twenty-one. He’d done a lot of hard, fast living since then, had more than his share of beautiful women. When he’d checked into the inn today, he’d expected to see her with new eyes. Jaded eyes, as his friends might say. He’d also expected her to have changed in some fairly major ways.
But then he’d looked up from his arm-wrestling match and felt a sudden clutch in his gut. A sinking in his chest. A heaviness in his stomach. Because she was so damn beautiful. That same unique, angelic beauty still radiated from her. Still took his breath away.
And that had surprised the hell out of him. In his experience, life had a way of hardening people. Changing them from the inside out. After all he’d seen and heard in the course of his work, he doubted that the kid he’d once been even existed in his body anymore.
But Brynn hadn’t seemed to have changed in any major way. Her long dark hair was styled differently—in some fancy braid—and her slender figure had filled out into rounder curves. She now wore an air of authority with surprising ease. But the sweetness still glowed from her face and eyes, even when she was trying her damnedest to drive him away.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to resist testing her, prodding her, to see how she’d react. “Maybe you’d better keep me occupied,” he’d told her.
And that, he realized, was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. He was angry with himself. He’d started out so well, pretending not even to remember her name. His time here would pass much easier if he could avoid any meaningful personal contact with her. He’d almost made it to his room with his mask firmly in place. But then he’d taken the bait and allowed her to lure him out of his “impersonal” mode.
He’d gazed into her eyes, up close and personal, and breathed in her scent. And lost a little bit of his mind.
The old heated awareness had flooded her face, and so had that look of alarm. Which meant nothing had changed. She was still running from him. He still couldn’t have her.
That was another reason he couldn’t sleep. He was angry with her—because she still jumped to the wrong conclusions about him. Assumed the very worst about his character. “Trish doesn’t need a wolf like you ready to pounce on her,” she’d said.
Wasn’t that the story of his life, though? Hadn’t all the people he’d loved believed the very worst about his actions, his motives? His mother had given up custody of him when he was seven because he’d been “a handful”—and he hadn’t even known he’d been misbehaving. To this day, his father and stepmother considered him bad news, and their son and daughter naturally excluded him from family gatherings.
Cade should have learned by now. When it came to the important people in his life, he didn’t have whatever it took to be trusted, or even given the benefit of the doubt. He’d thought he’d learned to live with that.
In a way, he was glad his annoyance with Brynn had rescued him this evening. Otherwise, he might have started wanting her again. And that would be pure hell. He’d spent weeks, months, maybe years, reliving the long, hot hours they’d spent kissing, necking, petting. She hadn’t let him make love to her. Not all the way. But he’d known how to make her hot, and how to make her come. And he’d relished the power, the heat…and had wanted, needed, so much more.
It had become a constant craving. The scent of her, the feel, the taste—all made him believe that she had been made for him. He’d wanted to drive himself deep into her body. To fill her entirely. To possess her completely.
It hadn’t happened.
Make love to me, Brynn, or we’re through. They’d been words of desperation. Stupid, foolish, asinine. His ultimatum had only alienated her. He’d then compounded the mistake by trying to make her jealous.
But he wouldn’t think about any of that now. Those desperate, churning emotions were long dead and buried, and he was damn glad of it. He never wanted to want her again.
Punching the old-fashioned down pillow into shape, he glanced at the bedside clock: 2:00 a.m. He laid his head back down and shut his eyes, determined to sleep. He had a serious job to do here, and needed his rest.
No sooner had he begun to drift off, though, than he heard a faint jingling, like the rattle of keys. And a click. Then another noise. Half-asleep as he was, he vaguely recognized it as the squeak of a door opening. But, of course, he must be dreaming.
Or maybe not. His eyes flew open just in time to see a figure gliding toward him in the dark. His instincts kicked in, and he reached for the gun beside the bed, his mind instantly alert, his body poised for attack.
But then his eyes adjusted to the dark, and the shadowy figure materialized into a woman. A woman with long, free-flowing dark hair, wearing a soft, sheer nightgown.
Brynn.
3
HE WONDERED IF HE WAS dreaming. He had to be. No way in hell was Brynn Sutherland creeping into his bedroom in the middle of the night. But there she stood, right beside his bed, her beautiful, wide-eyed face faintly visible in the moonlight seeping between the drawn curtains.
“You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” The fierce whisper sprang at him, like a cat, from the darkness.
Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress, levered herself up and knelt beside him on the bed, her long hair billowing in sleep-mussed tangles around her. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”
He sat up in bed, stunned beyond words.
“Oh, you don’t think I’m up to it?” she cried. “You think I’m a prude, a tease? You think I’m a dud in bed?”
“No! God, no.”
“I’m anything but a dud, or…or frigid.”
“Frigid? I never said—”
“Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her gown over her head, struggled briefly to free her arms, then flung the garment aside. The effort threw her off balance. She swayed.
He grabbed her, pulled her to him. And his breath left him in a whoosh of sudden sensation. Her bare, jutting breasts, firm and full and impossibly soft, pressed against his chest, and a lavish abundance of cool, fragrant hair spilled over him. And her scent…ahh, her scent. He’d almost forgotten.
“Brynn,” he breathed, holding her tightly to him. She felt incredibly good. Incredibly right.
He fell back against the pillows with her, feeling as if he’d fallen into a fantasy. A purr hummed in her throat—a long, low moan of approval—and her breath steamed against his shoulder. His temperature spiked. His body hardened in arousal.
Sweeping his hand down her back, he relished the softness and warmth of her skin. It had been so long since he’d touched her. She wore panties, he discovered. But only panties. And she was here, in his arms, in his bed. Brynn.
She shifted against him, their bodies connecting fully from breast to hip, and she murmured something he didn’t quite catch. He rolled onto his side and pressed her down onto the bed, twining his leg with hers. He wanted to kiss her. Connect with her. Delve into her sweetness and heat. See if the magic could possibly be as potent as he remembered.
Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He swept his mouth across them, wanting her. Wanting her.
“Mmm,” she moaned. And smiled. And turned her head.
Turned her head? The surprise of that made him draw back. Never had she failed to respond to his kiss. It was her one true weakness. His doorway to heaven. If his lips touched hers, he’d always been assured of long, lush kisses, each one hotter and wilder than the last. He believed that was the reason she’d never let him too near, after they’d broken up. Because she couldn’t resist his kisses. Yet she’d turned her head just now. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Brynn?”
As he watched, she lapsed into deep, rhythmic breathing, as if she were asleep. Which was impossible. No one went from anger to passion to sleep in a matter of minutes.
Thoroughly confused, he rose up on an elbow, reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. He saw her clearly then. Lots of creamy skin with a natural honey glow. Dark, lustrous hair spread over the pillows. Sinfully beautiful, she was. And nearly naked beneath him. And, unquestionably, asleep.
But…but how? Why? It made no sense.
A vague memory stirred. A bothersome suspicion.
The light, or maybe the shifting of his weight on the bed, disturbed her, and she frowned. Blinked. Opened her eyes. For a moment, she stared blankly, toward nothing in particular. Perplexity entered her gaze. And then she turned her head and focused on him.
Her eyes widened and she shot up into a sitting position, gaping at him as if he were a two-headed space alien. “Cade! What are you doing here?” It was as much an accusation as a question.
As if he’d done something questionable. “What am I doing here? That takes some nerve.”
She glanced around the room, and gradually her expression turned from perplexed surprise to distressed understanding. “Oh no,” she whispered, clearly mortified. “I’m in your room.”
He didn’t bother to confirm that conclusion. He just watched her through narrowed eyes. Maybe she understood what had happened, but he didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand.
“I…I guess I was…sleepwalking.”
“Sleepwalking.” He said it as if the idea was ludicrous, although the suspicion had flitted through his mind. He remembered hearing something about her sleepwalking in the sorority house. But, damn it, he didn’t want to accept that as the explanation. She’d come to him, wanted him. There was no mistaking that. He forced a nonchalant shrug and leaned back against the pillows. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”
“It’s true,” she insisted vehemently. “I was sleepwalking.”
He nodded and smiled.
She glared at him, then glanced down at her naked breasts, so high and round and pretty, with their proud coral tips and lilting bounce. With a little cry, she grabbed for the rumpled sheet and yanked it up to cover herself. The accusation returned to her gaze. “What did we do?”
Now that irked him. Did she really think it would be possible, if they’d made love or anything close to it, for her to sleep through it? He managed not to grit his teeth. “You’re telling me you don’t know? That you were unaware of what you were doing when you came to my room, unlocked my door, climbed into my bed and got naked?”
“I’m not naked!”
Heat sluiced through him in a surprising rush, just from thinking about her sitting there in nothing but those little panties and a bedsheet. He wanted his hands on her. And his mouth.
Along with the heat came unreasonable resentment. She’d been in his arms, ready and willing. He would not disregard that. “Oh, you’re not naked?” His gaze traveled pointedly to the sheet she clasped to her slim form. “Then show me what you’re wearing.”
Her fists tightened on the sheet. “I’m sure you know.”
“And why is that?” He tilted his face close to hers, the anger and the desire flaring in him. “Because you crawled into my bed wearing only those little panties and rubbed your body against mine, promising to keep me occupied.”
She looked stricken. “Oh, God.”
“Then you said something like, ‘Let’s go, Romeo.’”
“No!”
“You want me to believe you don’t remember any of that?”
His chiding pushed her too far, it seemed, and the spunk and sass returned to her face. Leaning back against the pillows, she crossed her long, shapely arms and lifted her delightfully cleft chin. “I don’t care what you believe. The truth is I was walking and talking in my sleep. It meant nothing.”
“At the very least it means you were dreaming about me. Dreaming about having sex with me.” The thought pleased him. Immensely. He raised a brow. “How often does that happen?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You could have been anybody. I had no idea who you were.”
“You said my name. You called me Cade. How many Cades do you know? And how many are registered to this room?”
“If I was dreaming about you, which I don’t remember at all, it had to be the first time. I haven’t given you a thought in years.”
He might have believed her if rosy color hadn’t climbed her cheekbones and she hadn’t averted her eyes. She was, without a doubt, lying. She’d dreamed about him before. Pleasure warmed him like fine whiskey. He wondered how often she’d dreamed of him, and if those dreams always involved sex. He hoped so.
But then another question occurred to him. “My God, Brynn…how often do you walk in your sleep? How many guests have you surprised like this?”
Her mouth opened and hung ajar for two or three heartbeats. “I’ve never done this before,” she cried, aghast. “I haven’t walked in my sleep since college. Well, except for once, when I ended up in the broom closet. Alone. Wearing pajamas.”
He believed her, and couldn’t have been more relieved—or more pleased that thoughts of him and him alone had stirred her to rise from her bed at night.
Then again… “If you don’t remember your actions after you wake up, how can you be sure? Maybe this happens more than you realize.”
“It doesn’t. I would know.”
He rubbed his chin and regarded her doubtfully. “I’m not too sure about that. You seemed pretty popular with those frat guys I met in the parlor. And if I understood correctly, they do come back year after year.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t hit him, storm out of the room or cut him to shreds with a razor-sharp comeback. Instead, she caught her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Are you accusing me of being…promiscuous?”
He stared at her, not because of what she’d said, but because her emerging smile caught him off guard. A dimple now danced beside her mouth and cute little she-devils played in her eyes. It had been damn near a decade since she’d sparkled at him like that. “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” he murmured, feeling shell-shocked.
“But you implied it. You implied that I climb into my guests’ beds on a regular basis.” With a toss of her thick, tangled hair, she held up her hands, like a perp surrendering to police. “You caught me. I can’t deny it. I never know which bed I’ll wake up in.” She looked so pleased at the notion that Cade almost laughed. Almost. But the sheet had drifted lower across her breasts, ending just above her hardened nipples, and he was helplessly aroused. “I see more action than those girls on Sex and the City,” she boasted. “I’m one hot mama.”
Cade rested his bare shoulders against the head-board and studied her, aroused, amused, mystified and intrigued. “That’s odd, then…considering what you said when you climbed into my bed.”
A watchful stillness came over her. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away, enjoying the sudden intensity of her gaze. He still couldn’t believe she was actually sitting here beside him in bed, talking about sex, wearing next to nothing, while he wore only his briefs. The possibilities were endless. And he couldn’t help dwelling on them.
“Cade, what did I say?”
“Well, at one point, you mentioned something about your being a dud in bed.”
The chagrin that filled her eyes said more than words ever could. He’d clearly hit a raw nerve.
So, of course, he prodded a little more. “I believe you also said something about being frigid.”
Her color flared. “What I say in a dream means nothing.” She nearly choked on the words. “Just a lot of garbled nonsense.” She looked wounded and terribly vulnerable.
Why? Of course it was nonsense. He had no doubt about that. But, incredibly, it seemed that she did have doubts. “Don’t tell me someone’s got you believing you’re no good in bed!”
“Of course not. It’s none of your business, anyway.”
He strongly felt that it was. “Are you involved with someone now?”
“Yes, and he’s a wonderful man. An excellent lover.”
“Who makes you think you’re frigid.”
“No!”
Cade ignored her denial, amazed that she could believe herself sexually inadequate in any way. She, the epitome of desirability. The standard by which he measured all others. A standard no one else had met.
He was also suddenly, violently, jealous of anyone who had had her. Anyone who had known her intimately. It took Cade a moment to find his voice and form coherent words. “You’re not frigid, Brynn, or a dud in bed. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
That wary stillness came over her again, and she concentrated her attention on him like a ray of noonday sun through a magnifying glass. “And how would you know that?”
He released a surge of breath and realized he was angry. She was wounded. Unfairly wounded. And he wanted to punish whomever was responsible. And tend to her wounds…
Sliding an arm around her, he cradled her against his chest and brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “I’ve never known a woman more responsive than you,” he said, meaning every word. “One who made me hot with just a kiss. No one, Brynn. Ever.”
Her breath caught, her neediness apparent. “Really?”
“Honest to God. I can’t tell you how many times over the last nine years I’ve gotten hard just thinking about you, and the things we used to do. With only our hands…” He trailed his fingers down her arm to her slender wrist and rubbed his thumb over the center of her palm. His gaze then drifted to her lips. “And our mouths.” Desire coursed through him, hot and strong, making his voice gruff. “Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” she admitted with a trembly exhalation.
“Things couldn’t have changed that much. At least, not between you and me.”
Her eyes darkened in that old familiar way, and the need to kiss her propelled him closer, until he breathed in the honied warmth of her mouth. But before his lips touched hers, she pulled back, pressing deeper into the pillow. “If you remember me so clearly, Cade, how is it that you didn’t quite recall my name?”
He pressed his lips together to keep from cursing—not at her, but at himself. He should have known that that silly, impulsive ploy would cost him. He’d just had to call her Brenda. “I was trying to slow you down a little. You were ready to throw me out on the street. As if we were enemies or something.”
“I hate to break this to you, Cade, but we’re not exactly friends. We didn’t part on a friendly note.”
He couldn’t deny that. The last few times he’d seen her on campus, she’d looked straight through him. “You’re right. We didn’t part on friendly terms. And it was my fault. I never should have given you that ultimatum.” Make love to me, Brynn, or we’re through. He winced at the memory. “I’m sorry for that. It was stupid and cruel, and I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d never said it.”
“Forget it.” Her voice and eyes remained cool, though. “No harm done.”
No harm done.
An odd urgency gripped him. He couldn’t allow her to hide behind coolness again—not after she’d smiled at him and very nearly kissed him. “I’ve never forgotten you, Brynn,” he vowed. “Not for a single day. And, believe me, I’ve tried.”
Surprise entered her eyes, and she searched his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. The very fact that it mattered to her gave him hope.
He had to convince her. Had to convey his feelings. Had to close the distance between them and keep her here, in his bed. Make her want him again. Make her need him…deep inside this time.
Splaying his fingers along the delicate curve of her face, he kissed her.
It began as a gentle nudge of his mouth. A signal of intent. A silky, sweet “Hello, may I come in?” With a sigh—not of reluctance, but of pleasure—she opened to him. The kiss progressed slowly at first, into a simple inhalation of mingled breath, a savoring of scent and texture. A blossoming of erotic warmth. A sensuous sliding of smooth, tender flesh in a sumptuous, mutual tasting.
Ahh, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Not for him or for her. In a simultaneous rush, they surged closer, delved deeper. The heat intensified with startling suddenness, like a flame touched to tinder.
Cade reveled in the blaze, in the freedom to hold, squeeze, feel and indulge. She reveled in it, too, he knew, her pleasure evident in the quickening of her breath and the tiny hums and moans vibrating her throat. He’d forgotten how eloquent her kisses were.
And he’d forgotten the way she moved whenever he kissed her—the provocative arching of her back. The instinctive ebb and flow of her hips. The crush and rub of her breasts against him, as if she were driven to get close, closer, closest….
No, he hadn’t forgotten. Any of it. Every detail was indelibly etched somewhere in his being. He’d deliberately turned away from those memories. But she was back in his arms now, his body conforming to hers, moving with hers, moving against hers, with a growing need to dominate, penetrate. Merge. The subtle movement of her pelvis stroked him to unbearable hardness.
He slid his hands down the bare, lush curves of her body, captured her bottom and rocked his arousal against her, straining at the barrier of their underwear. And each new joining of their mouths incited an even more voluptuous kiss.
The fire leaping inside him was one he hadn’t felt for nine years, and he fed it now with serious intent. Hooking his thumbs into the sides of her little satin panties, he tugged them down to midthigh. He’d have to get a condom from his wallet, he knew, but not quite yet. He couldn’t bear to pause just yet….
“Cade.” She broke the kiss, flushed and panting. “We’ve got to stop.”
Stop? He couldn’t have understood her. Or maybe she’d meant that it was time to get a condom.
“Soon,” he murmured, loath to release her even for a moment. He kissed her again and led her back to those enticing undulations, spreading her thighs as far as the panties would allow. The satin garment had to go. And so did his briefs.