her.
She was no longer kissing a boy, however clever and passionate that boy had been. She wasn’t kissing a memory, no matter how rich and clear that memory had been. It was a man she held now. A strong, hungry man who knew her much too well.
When her lips parted for his, she knew what he would taste like. As her hands dug into his shoulders, she knew the feel of those muscles. With the scent of sawdust around them, and the light gentle through the glass, she felt herself rocked back and forth between the past and present.
She was all he remembered, and more. He had always been generous, always passionate, but there seemed to be more innocence now than there had been before. It was there, sweet, beneath the simmer of desire. Her body trembled even as it strained against his.
The dreams he thought he had forgotten flooded back. And with them the needs, the frustrations, the hopes, of his youth.
It was her. It had always been her. And yet it had never been.
Shaken, he pulled back and held her at arm’s length. The color had risen over her cheekbones. Her eyes had darkened, clouded, in that way that had always made him churn. Her lips were parted, soft, unpainted. His hands were lost, as they had been countless times before, in her hair.
And the feeling was the same. He could have murdered her for it. Twelve years hadn’t diluted the emotion she could pull out of him with a look.
“I was afraid of that,” he murmured. He needed to keep sane, he told himself. He needed to think. “You always could stop my heart, Vanessa.”
“This is stupid.” Breathless, she stepped back. “We’re not children anymore.”
He dipped his hands in his pockets. “Exactly.”
She ran an unsteady hand through her hair. “Brady, this was over a long time ago.”
“Apparently not. Could be we just have to get it out of our systems.”
“My system’s just fine,” she told him. It was a lie. “You’ll have to worry about your own. I’m not interested in climbing into the back seat with you again.”
“That might be interesting.” He surprised himself by smiling, and meaning it. “But I had more comfortable surroundings in mind.”
“Whatever the surroundings, the answer’s still no.”
She started toward the steps, and he took her by the arm. “You were sixteen the last time you said no.” Slowly, though impatience simmered through him, he turned her to face him. “As much as I regret it, I have to say you were right. Times have changed, and we’re all grown up now.”
Her heart was beating too fast, she thought. His fault. He had always been able to tie her into knots. “Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean I’ll jump in your bed.”
“It does mean that I’ll take the time and make the effort to change your mind.”
“You are still an egotistical idiot, Brady.”
“And you still call me names when you know I’m right.” He pulled her close for a hard, brief kiss. “I still want you, Van. And this time, by God, I’m going to have you.”
She saw the truth of it in his eyes before she jerked away. She felt the truth of it inside herself. “Go to hell.”
She turned and rushed down the stairs.
He watched from the window as she raced across the bridge to her car. Even with the distance, he heard her slam the door. It made him grin. She’d always had a devil of a temper. He was glad to see it still held true.
Chapter 4
S he pounded the keys. Tchaikovsky. The first piano concerto. The first movement. Hers was a violently passionate interpretation of the romantic theme. She wanted the violence, wanted to let it pour out from inside her and into the music.
He’d had no right. No right to bring everything back. To force her to face feelings she’d wanted to forget. Feelings she’d forgotten. Worse, he’d shown her how much deeper, how much more raw and intense, those feelings could be now that she was a woman.
He meant nothing to her. Could be nothing more to her than an old
She was no longer kissing a boy, however clever and passionate that boy had been. She wasn’t kissing a memory, no matter how rich and clear that memory had been. It was a man she held now. A strong, hungry man who knew her much too well.
When her lips parted for his, she knew what he would taste like. As her hands dug into his shoulders, she knew the feel of those muscles. With the scent of sawdust around them, and the light gentle through the glass, she felt herself rocked back and forth between the past and present.
She was all he remembered, and more. He had always been generous, always passionate, but there seemed to be more innocence now than there had been before. It was there, sweet, beneath the simmer of desire. Her body trembled even as it strained against his.
The dreams he thought he had forgotten flooded back. And with them the needs, the frustrations, the hopes, of his youth.
It was her. It had always been her. And yet it had never been.
Shaken, he pulled back and held her at arm’s length. The color had risen over her cheekbones. Her eyes had darkened, clouded, in that way that had always made him churn. Her lips were parted, soft, unpainted. His hands were lost, as they had been countless times before, in her hair.
And the feeling was the same. He could have murdered her for it. Twelve years hadn’t diluted the emotion she could pull out of him with a look.
“I was afraid of that,” he murmured. He needed to keep sane, he told himself. He needed to think. “You always could stop my heart, Vanessa.”
“This is stupid.” Breathless, she stepped back. “We’re not children anymore.”
He dipped his hands in his pockets. “Exactly.”
She ran an unsteady hand through her hair. “Brady, this was over a long time ago.”
“Apparently not. Could be we just have to get it out of our systems.”
“My system’s just fine,” she told him. It was a lie. “You’ll have to worry about your own. I’m not interested in climbing into the back seat with you again.”
“That might be interesting.” He surprised himself by smiling, and meaning it. “But I had more comfortable surroundings in mind.”
“Whatever the surroundings, the answer’s still no.”
She started toward the steps, and he took her by the arm. “You were sixteen the last time you said no.” Slowly, though impatience simmered through him, he turned her to face him. “As much as I regret it, I have to say you were right. Times have changed, and we’re all grown up now.”
Her heart was beating too fast, she thought. His fault. He had always been able to tie her into knots. “Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean I’ll jump in your bed.”
“It does mean that I’ll take the time and make the effort to change your mind.”
“You are still an egotistical idiot, Brady.”
“And you still call me names when you know I’m right.” He pulled her close for a hard, brief kiss. “I still want you, Van. And this time, by God, I’m going to have you.”
She saw the truth of it in his eyes before she jerked away. She felt the truth of it inside herself. “Go to hell.”
She turned and rushed down the stairs.
He watched from the window as she raced across the bridge to her car. Even with the distance, he heard her slam the door. It made him grin. She’d always had a devil of a temper. He was glad to see it still held true.
Chapter 4
S he pounded the keys. Tchaikovsky. The first piano concerto. The first movement. Hers was a violently passionate interpretation of the romantic theme. She wanted the violence, wanted to let it pour out from inside her and into the music.
He’d had no right. No right to bring everything back. To force her to face feelings she’d wanted to forget. Feelings she’d forgotten. Worse, he’d shown her how much deeper, how much more raw and intense, those feelings could be now that she was a woman.
He meant nothing to her. Could be nothing more to her than an old
Similar Books
