From Here to Paternity Page 10

  But she didn’t do it.

  Instead she moaned again, as he peeled her shirt wide and guided it off her shoulders. She had to let go of him so he could get the sleeves down her arms.

  He threw it over his shoulder. She didn’t even care where it might land.

  Next, he reached behind her. One-handed, he unhooked her bra. It went the way of her shirt.

  And then he cupped a breast in his warm hand and lifted it. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “More beautiful, even, than I remember….”

  He lowered his head. She felt his warm breath on her skin. He took her breast, sucking, his tongue circling the nipple as he drew on it so sweetly and steadily….

  She thought she would die of pure pleasure, right then. Right there…

  He urged her down, onto the bed, and he came down with her. By then, it had all gotten…magical, somehow.

  And dreamlike. And so very erotic.

  She had no more thought of resisting him. Her own arguments of moments ago seemed foolish now. Pointless. Silly, even.

  No woman in her right mind would resist pleasure like this.

  He took away her jeans and her panties. In no time she was as naked as he was.

  He touched her. Everywhere, those clever fingers stroking slowly, maddeningly, along the tops of her thighs, bringing goose bumps, eliciting soft moans and lingering sighs….

  Slowly. Oh, yes. That was the word.

  He took her so slowly. So patiently, that at each step she ended up begging, “Oh, please. Brand. More…”

  His mouth found her breast again. He sucked on it, making her moan with the sheer delight of his tongue stroking her nipple. There was nothing like the warm wetness beyond his lips, the lovely, thrilling suction he created as he worked her nipple to an aching peak.

  His fingers brushed along her thighs, over and over, until she was squirming, yearning for them to move higher….

  She parted her legs for him, offered herself up to him.

  And he claimed her mouth again, kissing her deeply, as his fingers moved closer to the place she couldn’t wait for them to be.

  He touched her, at last, those knowing fingers parting her, sliding in where she was wet and open and yearning. She cried out at the pleasure of that. And he stroked her, all along the hot, feminine heart of her. She lifted her body toward his pleasuring hand. She kissed him as deeply as he was kissing her.

  Soul-kissing, they called it. Only with Brand had she understood the meaning of that word. They kissed forever as he played her below. She felt her body rising, reaching for the peak.

  Shining seconds later she went over, pulsing, so hot. So right. She cried out into his mouth, and he drank the sound as part of that endless, deep, soul-burning kiss.

  He had a condom. He rolled it down over himself. So thick, he was, so hard and hot….

  She wanted to touch him, to stroke him, to bring him the same pleasure he’d given her. But when she closed her hand around his shaft, he caught her wrist.

  “I can’t,” he muttered. “I have to…” Words seemed to fail him.

  But she understood. His slow, deliciously maddening seduction of her body had worked its magic on him, too.

  Now, all he wanted—needed—was to be inside her. And that was just fine with her.

  That was right.

  It was good.

  Funny, but now, naked and flushed with excitement, as he kissed her, as he rose above her and settled between her open thighs…

  As he pushed into her and her body—relaxed, satisfied, and yet, at the same time thoroughly aroused all over again—opened, welcoming, drawing him in….

  At that moment everything was right between them, everything was good. All the old bitterness, the anger, the deep hurt, the sad, ugly animosity…

  It was gone. All of it. Vanished. Pouf. It didn’t exist.

  He pushed in with a low groan and she took him, deep, all the way, lifting her legs and wrapping them tight around him. She met his thrusts and moved in answer, following his lead, crying out at the end as he pushed in hard, straining, and she felt him pulsing, felt her body tightening, finding release right along with him.

  They went over the moon together. It was so good, so perfect.

  No, she didn’t love him. She never would. Never again. She could never trust her wounded heart to him.

  Still, as the pleasure crested and she was lost in glorious sensation, she couldn’t stop herself from calling out his name.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brand knew she would try to send him away as soon as her breathing evened out and the afterglow faded.

  He knew she would start doubting again, start beating herself up for letting it happen, for taking the man she’d despised for a decade into her bed.

  And that would be it. He’d be outta there.

  He wasn’t letting her send him packing if he could help it. No way. After all these years, he was finally back where he wanted to be. And he was totally shameless. Oh, yeah. Shameless. And proud of it. He’d use anything, do anything, to stay right there in Charlene’s bed, wrapped up all warm and tight in her soft arms.

  At least for the rest of the night.

  He had zero illusions. His eyes were wide-open. He knew damn well that great sex didn’t solve all the problems of the world. Far from it. She’d softened toward him; she was grateful that he was doing what he could to help her find Sissy.

  But she hadn’t forgiven him for turning his back on her a decade before. Maybe she never would.

  Maybe he’d blown it for good back then and this—tonight, with Charlene naked in his arms. This was all he was getting, all she could give.

  All the more reason, he figured, that they both deserved the rest of the night.

  His mission was clear: to distract her, to give her no opportunity for remorse or regrets. It was a challenge he was only too happy to accept.

  For starters, he licked the sweat from the side of her neck, caught her tender earlobe between his teeth and teased it. She moaned in protest and shoved halfheartedly at his shoulders—a woman satisfied and not ready to get worked up all over again.

  He went on kissing her. He kissed her collar-bones—a long, slow row of kisses, across the delicate shape of them. He kissed that tender hollow at the base of her throat.

  She sighed when he kissed her there—and he knew he was making progress. Suddenly, instead of pushing at his chest, she was wrapping her arms around him, running those soft hands up and down his back.

  He kissed his way up the side of her neck again, traced the delicate hollows and curves of her ear, even dared to dip his tongue inside, to whisper her name, to tell her she was beautiful.

  Which she was.

  So slim and strong, with breasts a little fuller than he remembered them, with softly curving hips, dark gold curls between…

  They had so much lost time to make up for. He had so much to make up for. And he would. Not matter what she said, he would earn her trust again.

  He kissed his way down her body. When he eased under her thighs and settled her slim legs over his shoulders, she didn’t protest.

  All she said was, “Oh, Brand…” And a moment later, “Yes…”

  Charlene woke at four when the baby monitor crackled to life with Mia’s cries. She turned on the light automatically. About then, she remembered she wasn’t alone in her bed. She glanced over her shoulder as Brand opened one eye.

  He yawned. “Is it morning?”

  “Technically, yes.” She threw back the covers and tried not to think how he was watching her bouncing bare bottom as she zipped over to the closet and snared her robe from the inside of the door.

  Mia cried louder.

  Brand shoved the covers away and jumped up. “I’ll help.”

  She made a point of not so much as glancing at his gorgeous naked body as she hurried past. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Aw, c’mon.” He bent and grabbed his boxers and was shoving his legs into them as she reached the door.<
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  In Mia’s room, Charlene switched on the small lamp to its lowest setting and bent over the crib. “Shh, honey. Here I am….”

  The baby fisted her little hands and kicked her feet and let out another wail as Charlene unsnapped her sleeper to get at her diaper.

  “What’s up?” Brand leaned in the open doorway to the kitchen.

  She slanted him a look as she lifted the baby from the crib. “She’s wet. I’ll change her. If that doesn’t settle her down, I’ll heat up a bottle.”

  He straightened and entered the cramped room. “Let me do it.”

  She hesitated, then shrugged. “Remember. You volunteered….” She passed him the fussing Mia. He carried her over to the changing table and set to work.

  Charlene wrapped her arms around herself, nibbled her lower lip and stared at his broad back. There was just something about a hunky guy in red boxers bending over a cranky baby, gently unsnapping her sleeper along her plump little legs.

  A woman could be a total sucker for a man who jumped out of bed when the baby cried, a man who actually offered to change diapers—and then displayed excellent follow-through.

  He hit the lever of the diaper pail with his toe. When the lid sprang up, he dropped the wet diaper in and let the lid drop. Then he cleaned Mia up with a baby wipe and put on a fresh diaper. Within two minutes, he was snapping her back into her sleeper again.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” Charlene observed when he raised the still-fussing baby to his shoulder and patted her little back in an effort to soothe her.

  “I’ve changed a diaper or two in the last year or so,” he said. “I’ve got three nephews, after all.” Each of his brothers had one baby boy. Though only Brett still lived in town, Buck and his wife and son came to visit now and then. Glory, who had Bowie’s son, would accompany them.

  “Well, I’m impressed.”

  “I’m a talented guy.” As if in response to that remark, Mia let out an extraloud wail. Brand winced. “Watch the eardrums, there, gorgeous.”

  “She’s hungry. I’ll get a bottle ready….”

  Brand wanted to feed her, so Charlene let him, silently reminding herself the whole time not to get too used to having him around, not to get all dewy-eyed over the sight of him, bare-chested and so handsome it hurt, sitting in the rocker with Mia in his arms.

  Once she ate, she needed changing again. Brand carried her right in and took care of it. Charlene returned to the bedroom, where he joined her a few minutes later.

  He hesitated in the doorway. “I’ve changed two diapers and fed the baby. Don’t you even think about sending me home now.” He said it teasingly, but she could see the apprehension in his eyes.

  By way of answer, she held back the covers for him.

  He dropped the boxers on the floor again and slid in beside her.

  She switched off the lamp and stretched out on her back and stared into the shadows near the ceiling, feeling him right there, beside her. So close she only had to reach out her hand.

  She did just that, tentatively, touching the space between them first, then closer, until she brushed his hip. He took it from there, his warm fingers closing over hers.

  “We can play it by ear,” he said, his voice low and husky, coming out of the darkness at her side. “How ’bout that?”

  “People will talk,” she replied, still staring at the ceiling, smiling to herself as she realized that she really didn’t care what people said about her and Brand. It was just something you had to consider in a small town like the Flat, something that you had to be aware of.

  His fingers tightened over hers in a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll talk no matter what we do.”

  She made a noise of agreement. And then she gave in to her own desire to be closer and curved her body into him.

  His big arms encircled her.

  It felt good, Brand’s embrace. Really, really good.

  Nothing lasted forever. Charlene had learned that hard lesson young. But for the time being, there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be than right where she was, held close in Brand Bravo’s cherishing arms.

  The next day was Sunday. The diner was closed.

  Charlene, Brand and Mia had breakfast at the B&B with Irma. Irma remained her new, lovely self. Brett’s wife, Angie, called Brand on his cell while they lingered over second cups of coffee.

  Angie invited Brand and Chastity for dinner.

  Brand joked that he’d only come under one condition: Charlene, Mia and Aunt Irma had to be invited, too.

  Angie said, “The more the merrier.”

  So they spent the evening at Brett and Angie’s house down by the river. Brett barbecued chicken and Irma got to hold not only her grandniece, but Angie’s baby, Jackson, too. He’d been born March 8, just a week before Mia.

  Later, when Charlene was helping load the dishwasher, Angie remarked on what a “sweetheart” her aunt Irma was.

  Charlene grunted and shook her head.

  “What?” Angie bent to drop dessert forks into the flatware basket.

  “Oh, nothing. My aunt is…a whole new woman lately, that’s all. I’m kind of waiting to wake up one morning and find the old Aunt Irma has come back.”

  Angie flipped on the faucet and rinsed her hands. “You make it sound like that wouldn’t be good.”

  Charlene almost changed the subject.

  But she liked Angie. And Angie probably knew the basic story, anyway. Brett’s wife had been a year ahead of Charlene in school and gone off to college before Charlene’s folks died. Though Angie hadn’t returned to live in town until last year, she had a huge extended family, including eight siblings. Most of them lived in the Flat. Charlene was betting Angie’s mother or one of her sisters would have told her all about how Sissy had been sent away to live with an aunt in San Diego.

  Charlene said, “Irma’s the one who took me to court to get custody of Sissy.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah.”

  Angie reached for a towel and leaned closer to Charlene as she dried her hands. “I think I heard somewhere that the woman who took your sister was a raving bitch—no offense to your aunt or anything.”

  “Why would I be offended? It’s the truth. Aunt Irma was a raving bitch. Back then. And at least up until last Wednesday, when I called her on the phone and she said any number of cruel and unforgivable things to me. I still don’t know exactly what’s happened to suddenly make her the sweetest woman in California. Every time I ask what’s going on with her, she puts me off. But she has…apologized, for how hard she was on Sissy, for how harsh she’s been to me.”

  Angie hung the towel back on its hook. “Some people do just…wake up one day and see the light. Maybe that’s all there is to it. Your aunt Irma has seen the error of her evil ways and decided it’s time she made amends.”

  Charlene chuckled. “Is that your professional opinion?” Angie was a nurse. She worked with her husband, who ran the town clinic.

  Brett’s wife shook her dark head. “I’m afraid I’m just too cynical to buy that. My guess would be…” The words trailed off. She looked at Charlene sideways. “You know, on second thought, you don’t need my opinion. That’s all it would be, really. Just an opinion….”

  Charlene sighed. “Look. Don’t worry about freaking me out. I’ve already been thinking it has to be something awful that’s snapped her out of a lifetime of pure, flat-out meanness, like maybe a terminal illness.”

  Angie gave a bleak shrug. “Or extreme emotional trauma. That might do it. And then there’s what you said at first…”

  “Exactly. That she hasn’t really changed at all, she’s simply…up to something.”

  Angie shook her head. “I don’t know. If she’s faking it, she’s really good. Because I buy it. She comes across as a truly nice person.”

  Charlene had to agree. “She does, doesn’t she—and you know what? The more we talk about this, the more I like your first suggestion. Aunt Irma finally woke up and smelled the
coffee. She caught a flight and came right to my house to try and make up for all those years of awfulness. For now, until I can get more information out of her, I’m going with that. And I’m also enjoying her.” Charlene said that again. “Enjoying my aunt Irma. Now, there’s something I would have sworn a week ago you’d never hear me say.”

  Tanner called the next evening, while Charlene and Brand were fixing dinner. Brand was peeling potatoes at her sink and Charlene was trying not to feel too ridiculously sappy and domestic, trying not to sigh over how well they got along together, trying to keep in mind that it wasn’t forever, that nothing ever was etc., etc.—and besides, it hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since she called him at nine-thirty at night and he obligingly came right over and carried her straight to bed.

  She was watching him wield that potato peeler and reminding herself for the hundredth time not to get too attached to this new thing with him, when the phone rang.

  Tanner said, “I have some information to go on. I wanted to give you a brief report before I follow up.”

  Charlene’s legs went to rubber. She lowered herself carefully into the nearest chair. Brand had stopped hacking at the potato in his hand and was looking at her, wearing a worried expression. She mouthed “Tanner” at him and then spoke into the phone. “Yes. Please. Tell me.”

  It was brief. He’d checked in all the Western states, using the various databases he had access to and found nothing on Sissy for the past year. “All that means,” he explained, “is that she probably hasn’t been arrested. She hasn’t registered a car or gotten a parking ticket. She hasn’t used any credit cards—not under her own name, anyway. She’s pretty much dropped off the map.”

  “You’re saying you’ve got nothing to go on, to try to find her.”

  “Not completely. I still have the phone numbers you gave me. I’m going to talk to that girl your sister knew in junior high, see if I can jog her memory a little.” He said that the numbers from her phone bill were all cell numbers. It had taken a little extra digging, but he’d matched them to billing addresses. He’d cleared off his other commitments for a couple of days and was heading first to Southern California and then to the Bay Area to knock on doors.