Something to Prove

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“No,” he said honestly.

With a sigh she raised his arm and pressed kisses across his scar. He lost it and picked her up, carried her to the couch. Something seemed to drop away—the gate he’d been keeping closed, the control he’d been adopting for her sake. But she’d asked for it, and he was here, and yeah, maybe this was truly who he was.

He peeled away her bulky clothing—all of it, every last stitch—and he was glad for the crackling fire. “You, too,” she said, and he sat back, letting her undress him, helping her take off his jeans.

Her fingers rested on his erection tenting the cotton boxer briefs, and he hissed out a breath.

He was waiting for her to stop him. He didn’t want her to—he was ready for this—but if she was going to change her mind then he needed her to tell him so now, because he no longer could think of any reason he shouldn’t—

Her hand edged beneath his boxers and gently stroked him, skin to skin. It took all his concentration not to move. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow.

“Brody, it’s been so long for me,” she whispered, “you have no idea.”

Like hell he didn’t. It had been two years for him, too, living like a monk in his self-imposed new way of life. “Believe me, I know.”

And then he cupped her face in his hands. She’d shown him that what he’d done those two years was right. Just as what he was doing now was right. He wanted her to know that though he’d known her only a short time, in that short time he’d shared a deeper connection with her than he’d had with any other woman. And he wanted to complete that before she left. Because their time together was only temporary.

But their connection didn’t have to be.

She blinked and tilted her head to him, questioning. But he couldn’t tell her everything he’d been thinking, he could only show her what he meant. He was a physical guy; physical was what he did best. By making love to her, he would be holding on to the moment as long as he could. He pulled her onto his lap. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, Brody.”

“Good.”

And then he pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her, deeply, again and again, using her gasps and whispered pleadings as his course markers.

Her hands dropped from his shoulders to his waist, clutching him. And it was a pleasure to stroke her bare skin. To take his thumb and drag it through her beautiful curls. He caressed her, a rhythm she set with him by dragging her hips against his hand. Her skin was dewy and damp and she was smiling at him. It was more than a pleasure to glide his fingers inside her as her body pulsed and contracted around him.

“You’re killing me,” she whispered.

He drew back his hand.

“No, I mean, I want you to…do everything. I want to feel you inside me…”

The condom packet, he remembered. Cripes, the kid was smarter than he was. And then they were both fumbling for the box.

“Let me do this,” she said. He let her take the condom and sheath him with shaky, unpracticed fingers, but he didn’t interrupt to help her. It was more erotic to him than anything he could imagine.

When she was done, he took her hand and kicked open a door until he found the bed. It had a thick feather comforter, and he led her to it. She immediately pulled him to her, body to body, skin to skin. Her legs wrapped around the small of his back, and he almost lost it right there. He tasted the sweetness of her skin before he dragged himself to his elbows and cupped her cheeks. He kissed her, gently at first, and then more deeply.

“Brody, please, I can’t wait.” She arched her hips to him and without hesitation, he stroked inside her. It was as if he were made to fit her. She rose to meet his thrusts, gasping every time his body touched her where she wanted it most, and when his mouth caught her nipple and sucked it.

“I need this so bad,” she whispered.

He became intent on loving her, his aim to fill her up, to bring her somewhere with him, to keep her pleasured and content. He could barely take a breath before she was rocking into him, coaxing him higher, better, closer to fulfillment.

With a cry, she gripped his shoulders, shattered and came, a sweet release that went on and on. He caught her cries in his mouth and he came himself, muttering her name as her drove into her body, unable to stop, not for anybody or anything.

“Oh, Brody.”

He slumped in her arms, a roaring in his ears. He felt more rooted in his own body than he’d ever known. What’s going on? he dimly thought. Is it supposed to be like this?

And then her eyes met his, so shy and shining with happiness just to be with him, and he thought, Yeah. Yeah, it is.

She drew the sole of her beautiful foot up his leg to the small of his back, settling there. Maybe he’d found a little piece of heaven.

This, he would hold on to. This, he would make a place for.

HOURS LATER, AMANDA STRETCHED, her body throbbing. She and Brody lay tangled in the twisted sheets, the scents of their skin intermingled.

Never had she done anything so outrageously out of character as to have sex—and unbelievable sex, at that—with a man she’d only known for a day.

It must be Italy. Smiling to herself, she caressed her fingers over the broad, hard planes of Brody’s chest and biceps. He was built like a masterpiece. Thick muscles, masculine, lightly haired skin, a rugged jaw lined with a day’s growth of faint, prickly beard.

He stirred, shifting his weight to lay his head across her belly, holding out an apple slice to her, snagged from the picnic basket Steve had brought them. Opening her mouth, she let him feed her, the fresh fruit tart on her tongue, his fingers sweet to her lips.

Amazing how she felt so little embarrassment or self-consciousness in being with him, completely naked and unashamed, not a care in the world.

Sighing, she rolled over and nuzzled her head inside the crook of his arm, as naturally as if she did this sort of thing all the time. Which was funny because it wasn’t as though she had a lot of experience with men. Yeah, she’d been with a couple of guys in college. Not during the school year—she’d taken her course work too seriously for that—but during summer breaks. That was before her mother had gotten sick, before the trouble with her father. Back then, she’d been so young, really, so untouched by love and loss.

She looked away, out the window and to the black night beyond. She’d turned off her phone—they both had—but from the darkness outside, she guessed it was midnight. Jeannie’s party would soon be over.

“Brody?” she asked.

“Hmm?” The syllable from his chest echoed inside her core, striking a chord deep within her. There was something about him. It was as if she instinctively knew he’d been through the wars, just as she had.

She reached out and pushed a lock of light brown hair from his eyes. He wore his hair short and straight and it felt soft in her fingers. “What was going through your mind in the interview room today?”

He smiled and rolled to his side. With his hand tracing her cheek, he said, “I was thinking there was nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Her insides heated. She wanted him again. Reaching for a condom, she rolled it onto his erection.

“Will you say that again?” she whispered.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He lifted her hips to slide inside her. The sweetest sensation filled her; she felt as if she’d never understood what lovemaking was until now.

She would remember this night and this man for the rest of her life. Squeezing her eyes shut to block the emotion, she cupped her hands around Brody’s butt. So amazingly muscular and round. A skier’s butt. She could hold him there all night.