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Savannah shook her head, unsure if what she was picking up off him was real or wishful thinking. “Rafe burned through all our cash chasing alternative medical treatments that didn’t work,” she said. “After he died, I had to sell the house to pay off his debts.”
And she’d come up short by a million. She’d counted on selling Rafe’s shares back to Siggy for enough money to clear the debt and maybe have a little bit to start over somewhere new.
But Siggy didn’t want his shares back. He wanted Rafe’s son.
“The only thing of value left is Dylan’s shares in the company,” she continued. “But I can’t touch that.”
“I don’t want money,” Trent said.
No, of course not. He could buy West Coast Records three times over. “What do you want?”
That she was putting herself in his hands occurred to her the instant the words were past her lips. But what else could she do? Siggy was willing to clear her debt but insisted she and Dylan move in with him. Her father-in-law’s opinion of her was low. He hadn’t approved of his son marrying her and he’d let her know that on several occasions. The thought of living in that toxic environment made her panic.
“Why did you marry my brother?”
The question came out of nowhere, and for several seconds Savannah didn’t know what to say. Discussing her marriage with Trent was fraught with too many complications. Trent would never understand or approve of what she’d done, because he couldn’t understand how her circumstances had left her feeling vulnerable and alone.
“You knew what I wanted. What was the most important thing to me.”
Something Trent was never going to give her—a family. They stared at each other while her unspoken answer hung between them. Speaking of her longing would open up old wounds and she couldn’t bear that.
I can’t give you what you want.
Her heart had shattered when he’d uttered those words two years earlier.
At last she sighed. “I wanted to be married. To have children.”
“I don’t understand why you chose Rafe. Was it because you were pregnant?”
Savannah noticed he didn’t ask her if she’d loved his brother. Why bother when the math was obvious? Dylan had been born six months after Savannah and Rafe had promised to love, honor and cherish each other until death.
“That played into it.” She’d been devastated that the man she loved couldn’t give her what she wanted and terrified of raising a child on her own.
Why had she chosen Rafe? Because he’d wanted her.
“Rafe was excited about being a father. Family was important to him.”
More important than she’d initially understood. And he’d been very persuasive. At the time she’d believed she could trust him. She wouldn’t have married him if he’d been like Trent. But he’d never once made her doubt his desire to be a father, and he’d been over-the-moon excited that she was carrying a boy.
“Rafe and Siggy were exactly alike,” Trent scoffed. “People mean no more to them than as a means to an end.”
It was humiliating to know just how right Trent was about that. She’d thought Rafe was her friend. Growing up he’d been the nice one, always upbeat and well mannered. He’d never hurt Savannah’s feelings when she’d tried to cheer him out of a bad mood. He’d been the one to lift her spirits.
From when they were kids, he’d known how she felt about his brother. A couple times he’d come upon her crying in the midst of teenage angst over Trent. And he’d made her feel less unwanted.
Rafe had been the one who’d encouraged her to take the modeling job in New York. And after she quit the soap opera and returned to LA, he’d been the one who’d helped her find a rental.
She’d never questioned why Rafe was so accepting about the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy. Nor had her suspicions been aroused by the fact that he’d been the one who’d handed her a box of condoms and sent her to Las Vegas to visit Trent and get him out of her system once and for all.
It wasn’t until after Dylan was born, when Rafe collapsed and she discovered the illness he’d been hiding, that she’d learned how he’d tricked her. That he’d sabotaged the box of condoms. Gambled that she would get pregnant.
He’d bought into his father’s notions of a dynasty. Wanted a son, but his cancer treatments had left him impotent and sterile. So he’d taken a chance and tricked her into getting pregnant by his brother.
At first she’d been shocked and appalled at being manipulated by someone she trusted. But in the end she couldn’t hate a man who’d made such poor decisions with a death sentence hanging over his head.
“That last time we were together,” Trent began, his voice pitched low. “Were you and Rafe already involved?”
Savannah came out of her musing to find Trent standing within arm’s reach. Closer than she’d expected. He stood with his head cocked, his manner watchful, as if waiting for a sign from her. Suddenly she was having trouble catching her breath.
He hadn’t touched her. He showed no inclination that he wanted to. So why was she suddenly craving his kiss?
“Does it matter?” She should back away. Put the width of the room between them. A table. A chair. Better yet, a door. Several corridors. A couple dozen floors.
“Not to me.” His tone was light but his gaze was intense. “But my brother might have appreciated knowing you were cheating on him with me.”
“I wasn’t cheating on him. With you or anyone else.”
In her rush to vindicate herself in his eyes, she neglected to remember that little matter of math. Would Trent realize that nine months after they had been together in Las Vegas, she’d given birth to Dylan? The thought terrified her. What if he wouldn’t help her after discovering she’d kept the truth about his son from him? It was a practical concern, but not her bigger fear.
It hadn’t taken a lot for Rafe to convince her that once Trent learned the truth that he would still reject her and his son.
Which is why she hadn’t told him about Dylan when she’d discovered she was pregnant. Was it cowardly of her to hide the truth because she was assuming the worst outcome? Of course, but nothing Trent had ever said to her gave her reason to hope that he’d miraculously alter his way of thinking because he was going to be a father.
“I don’t want to talk about my marriage.”
“Then we’ve run out of things to say to each other.” Trent gestured toward his office door.
“That isn’t necessarily true,” she countered, snatching at something to keep the conversation rolling. If she kept him talking, he wouldn’t be able to throw her out of his office and maybe she could get the topic back around to the record label.
“What else did you have in mind?”
“You could ask me about Murphy.”
He’d gotten her the French bulldog as a Christmas present three years ago. At the time she’d thought he’d bought the cream-colored snore monster because he was starting to get ideas of taking their relationship to the next level. She’d been in heaven.
Having Trent all to herself for those two weeks had been magical. They’d snuggled on the couch and opened presents at midnight on Christmas Eve. The week leading up to New Year’s, they’d walked the puppy, browsed through Chinatown and the East Village, taken in a couple Broadway shows. They’d rung in the New Year with a bottle of champagne and the most perfect lovemaking of Savannah’s life.
Then, six weeks later, he’d canceled on her last minute, and she’d spent Valentine’s Day crying into Murphy’s soft puppy coat. She’d realized that the long-distance thing wasn’t working for her and she’d decided to quit the soap opera and move back to LA.
“How is he?”
“Wonderful. He’s devoted to Dylan. Follows him everywhere. Curls up with him at nap time.”
“How did Rafe enjoy sharing his bed with the dog?”
Questions like these were a minefield. How did she answer? She couldn’t reveal that she’d entered into a loveless marriage and had never shared a bed with her husband.
“He didn’t.” Which was at least true.
“I’m not surprised. Rafe was never an animal person.”
Unlike Trent, who’d fostered several rescues over the years. He liked helping out—something he’d deny—but the temporary nature of providing a home for dogs who after a couple months moved on to permanent situations demonstrated his unwillingness to commit and his distaste for being tied down.
She’d been so hurt by his refusal to move their relationship forward, even though she’d known that’s how he was when she’d gotten involved with him. She kept hoping that he’d change. That she’d be the one he’d fall in love with and would be unable to live without.
Instead, in her sorrow and loss, she’d let his brother manipulate her. In her heart she’d known Trent was a better man than his brother, and a small part of her had expected him to save her one more time.
Only he hadn’t. And she couldn’t blame him for leaving her to rot.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“It was wrong of me to get involved with Rafe.”
“I’ve been waiting a year and a half for you to admit that.”
Trent’s arms were around her, his lips descending, before she could guess his intention. Fire flashed along her nerve endings at the first touch of his hot mouth against her skin. She gasped as his lips trailed down her throat. In the space of one heartbeat, she transitioned from wary to wondrous. His teeth grazed the sensitive joining of neck and shoulder and her toes curled. He knew her weaknesses. Every single one. Obviously he intended to capitalize on her bad judgment.
So what?
It had always been like this between them. Hot. Delicious. Inescapable. She groaned, surrendering to pleasure. Why not? They were both consenting adults. She was no longer married to his brother. This had nowhere to go. She’d discovered the folly in trying to create a traditional family. Failing at that, what more did she have to lose by giving in to this rush of desire? And if she convinced Trent to help her in the process, what was the harm in that?
All these thoughts flashed through her head in the instant before Trent’s hand slid over her butt and pulled her pelvis into snug contact with his arousal. She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged to bring his mouth to hers. She wanted him, needed this—why deny it? Later she could chastise herself for this rash act.
Trent captured her mouth in a hot, sizzling kiss. The ache between her thighs pulsed with more urgency as his tongue plunged past her teeth. She met the thrust with ardent fervor. A growl vibrated in her throat. That they could be discovered at any second should have bothered her. On the other hand, maybe Trent had entertained enough women in here to make his staff wary of interrupting their boss.
That thought too should have disturbed her. But Savannah was beyond logic and reason.
She drew him toward the couch and pushed him onto it. He bounced a little as the cushions gave beneath him. With a sassy grin, she hiked up her skirt and climbed onto his lap. Settling her hot center against his erection caused them both to shudder. She wasn’t sure when the Courtney Day persona had fallen away. What she was doing now was pure Savannah.
Breath ragged, palms gliding up her thigh, he regarded her. His guards were up. He’d tightened his lips into an unyielding line and a sharp line appeared between his strong, dark brows. Questions gathered in his eyes. Savannah rocked her hips in a sultry move that caused him to exhale sharply in a low curse.
He started to speak. She shushed him and captured his face between her hands to keep him still while she flicked her tongue against his lower lip and then pulled it between her teeth and sucked gently. Strong fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. She smiled as she kept up the tantalizing seduction of his mouth.
Earlier when he’d pulled her against him, she’d felt the familiar square of tin that held breath mints and a little something extra in his suit coat pocket. Now she reached for the box and slipped it free. Trent heard the familiar rattle and leaned away from her kiss.
Savannah sat up straight and held the tin between them. “I see you haven’t changed your habits.”
“I like being prepared.”
She popped the lid and slipped a mint into her mouth. Sharp and cool, the peppermint flavor exploded on her tongue, making it tingle. “Want one?”
Eyes locked on hers, he opened his mouth and let her feed him one. While the mint dissolved, they regarded each other in silence. His gaze held challenge, but curiosity, as well. He wanted to know if she intended to get to what else the tin held. Savannah savored his anticipation. He liked being in charge. It’s why he hadn’t stuck around to be a part of his family’s business, but had struck out on his own.
No one was going to boss around Trent Caldwell.
But Savannah had found him to be a wonderful partner in bed. For as often as he’d swept her into his passion and demanded her surrender, there had always been opportunities when he let her take the lead. Because of this, her confidence had flourished, not only with regard to her sexuality, but also in her worth as an individual.
The heavy pulse of desire between her thighs hadn’t diminished one bit during this exchange. In fact, as she grew more committed to this next step, her hunger for him had only increased.
Savannah plucked out the square foil package and held it up. “Only one? You used to carry at least two.” She might have sounded confident, but she wasn’t. Courtney Day might not have thought twice about a quickie with her sexy ex, but Savannah was rapidly losing her nerve.
“What makes you think I haven’t used one already today?”
Trent had a healthy sexual appetite, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already had sex with three other women. She shouldn’t care. But it hurt all the same. Several deep breaths later she’d pushed down panic and dismay. This couldn’t become about what she’d had and lost. She needed a brief interlude to escape her troubles and there was no better man to rock her world than Trent.
But why was he baiting her? She could see from his flat stare that he expected her to back off.
“For a second I forgot who I was dealing with.” She closed the tin with a metallic snap and tossed it aside.
Aware that he was scrutinizing her every move, she placed the wrapped condom between her teeth and set her hands to loosening his belt. Up until now she’d been doing a good job of appearing confident. But beneath Trent’s unreadable gaze, she felt a tiny fizz of nervous energy dance along her spine, making her fingers clumsy. Trent made no attempt to help her. In fact he didn’t move at all, except for the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.
At long last Savannah slid down his zipper and freed him. His erection sprang into her hands, eager for her attention. Overwhelmed by joy at what they were about to do, she paused for a moment, fingers coasting along his hot silken length. With a half smile she tore open the wrapper and unrolled the condom, sheathing him. His head had fallen back against the couch while his breath hissed out between clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and held perfectly still, every muscle in his body tense beneath her.
In her stylish but conservatively cut dress, Savannah might not have appeared as if she’d planned for a hot night at the club, but she’d chosen a red lace bra and thong set to wear underneath. Had she thought in her wildest dreams she would be in this position? Perhaps her subconscious had wanted this all along.
Before she could change her mind about what she was about to do, Savannah cupped Trent’s erection in her palm, slid aside her thong and brought his tip into contact with her wet heat.
For the first time in several seconds Trent shifted. He cupped her butt in both hands and moved her forward and down until he was sheathed inside her. They groaned simultaneously as she came to rest, fully seated on his lap once again. Savannah put her hands on his shoulders, needing him for balance as her head began to spin.
This wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex between them. But there were no words of love or affectionate looks exchanged. This was a crazy, impulsive interlude that she desperately needed. Her goal was oblivion, and being with Trent always enabled her to forget her problems. Even when what was troubling her was Trent himself.
They rocked together in a familiar rhythm, maintaining a steady, relaxed pace.
“Take your hair down,” Trent demanded, his voice an unsteady rasp.
Happy to oblige, she reached up and pulled out half a dozen pins and demolished the smooth, controlled hairstyle with a languid shake of her head. Long blond waves tumbled around her shoulders and tickled her cheeks. Trent had always loved her hair. He sank his fingers into the thick silky mass and brought her lips back to his.
* * *
Trent wasn’t sure how he’d come to be on his couch buried deep inside Savannah, her tongue dancing with his in a passionate kiss, her manner every bit as wild as he remembered. Another woman might have pleaded with him for help or screamed abuse when he refused to fall in with her plans. He’d had only the briefest suspicion that Savannah intended to seduce him into helping her before he rejected the idea. Her hunger for him was as all-consuming as his for her.
That didn’t make this a reunion between lovers. Not in the traditional sense. Sixteen months of bitter silence lay between them. Part of him didn’t want to open the door to her. The part of him that did was in charge at the moment. Maybe what they were doing was saying goodbye. But as her teeth nipped at his lower lip, driving him closer to orgasm, he knew this brief taste of her had only revived his unquenchable desire.
Trent fought to make the moment last. But he was only able to hold on until he could determine that she hovered on the brink of a climax.
Her soft keening and the accelerated rhythm of her hips pushed him over the edge and they came together. Heart thundering, Trent sat perfectly still, his body drained, his heart twisted wreckage. Damn her. She’d made him do what he promised he wouldn’t. He’d let her back in. His first instinct as he labored to breathe was to kiss her long and deep and never let her go. His second instinct was to remove her from his lap and kick her out of his office.
He did neither.
Instead, he sank his fingers into his hair, let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. It was the pose of a man wondering what the hell he’d done.
Displaying no regret, Savannah pushed off the couch and got to her feet. Hips swaying in unconscious allure, she crossed to the bar and found a towel, bringing it back to him. By the time Trent had cleaned up and disposed of the condom, she was putting the last hairpin into her impromptu updo. The only signs of how she’d spent the last ten minutes were her flushed cheeks and smeared lipstick.
He glanced up and down the length of her as she stepped back into her tall heels, and all he saw was a tranquil, confident woman. Gone was the femme fatale. Trent couldn’t decide if he was glad or sorry.
“This doesn’t change anything.” His tone was brusque, his words more clipped than he’d intended. “I’m not going back to LA to bail out West Coast Records.”
