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CHAPTER THREE

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the fact that today she had signed away the last six years of her life. She had finally convinced Mark to sign the divorce papers. Waiting until he was furious, outraged at the fact he believed he had finally gone through the last penny of her inheritance. He wasn’t aware he had only gone through the portion bequeathed to her by her mother. Or maybe it was the fact that Brock was so dangerous, so sexual, so intensely male that she just couldn’t forget, nor resist his touch any longer. She had spent her adult life so far fighting the attraction, the need, until she was weak, starved for his kiss and his touch as she had never starved for anything. Whatever the reason, Sarah found herself letting them both into her home late that night, and trying to stem the attack of nerves that left her hands shaking. Could she satisfy him? Of course, she knew it wasn’t possible. But she knew she would try. She knew she had to.

“You’re trembling.” Brock August took the keys from her fingers and laid them on the small antique desk just inside the door.

Sarah shrugged. Why was she shaking? It wasn’t like she was a virgin with her first man. Or was she? Brock August was definitely not in her league, so wouldn’t that qualify as a cherry of sorts? She stifled her runaway laughter at that thought.

“I’m not used to bringing men home with me,” she finally sighed as she turned and faced him. Damn, he was gorgeous.

Sensual knowledge glittered in his eyes, sexual intent lit the banked fires that were said to burn hot and bright. Rumors of his sexual prowess, his carnal desires had been running rampant through Madison for years. Sarah was under no illusions that she could hold this man’s attention longer than it would take for him to climax and walk back out of her life. But the illusion he gave her satisfied her need to believe, just for a little while.

“Women perhaps?” He angled his head as he asked the question, watching her curiously.

Sarah felt the heat that seared her face at his question.

“No,” she bit out. “Not women. Why would you ask me something like that?”

He sighed, a small smile quirking his lips.

“You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah. There are no rumors of you taking lovers, or wild weekends, despite your husband’s infidelities. I was merely curious if you had a

She shook her head. “No lovers, male or female.” She nearly choked on the words as he began to crowd her slowly against the wall. He was big and broad, hot and hard. Her hands flattened on the tight muscles of his stomach as he pressed against her, feeling them clench, tauten in anticipation.

“You have one now,” he whispered, his hands going to her hips, his fingers testing the flesh there. “Or at least, you will have if you don’t shake yourself to death first.”

He was almost smiling at her. His full lips were tilted in a sort of half grin, his expression was patient, if a bit amused. He was so handsome he took her breath.

“I didn’t expect you to still be interested,” she said a bit desperately, staring up at him, wondering at the sudden flare of intensity in his eyes. “You’re very much out of my league, Brock. Then and now.”

“There’s a class system, then?” he asked her gently as his head lowered, his lips smoothing over her jaw line as her breath caught in her throat.

“Just for you and your brothers,” she gasped weakly. His lips were warm, his breath moist and caressing as a hand framed her face, tilting it so he could stroke his lips under her jaw. His soft laughter raced through her blood stream, pooling between her thighs as the muscles clenched in arousal. She couldn’t believe Brock August was touching her. That his mouth was sipping at her skin as though he found the taste of her pleasant.

Quiet, unassuming Sarah Tate had drawn the interest of this man, for this night, once again. She could barely comprehend it. But he was definitely here, holding her, one hand caressing her hip above the light cotton of her sun dress, the other holding her neck lightly as he tilted her head so he could experiment with the soft skin beneath her jaw.

She was shivering with the pleasure. She couldn’t contain her gasps, her little whimpers of delight as his tongue reached out and stroked her skin. She couldn’t stop her hips from lifting against him when he pressed his jean-covered erection against the softness of her lower belly. She couldn’t stop her strangled cry when his lips finally covered hers heatedly.

He took her mouth as though he needed her taste to survive. His lips moved over hers, his tongue stroking past them, tangling with hers as he groaned against them. Sarah’s hands rose to his shoulders, her nails bit into the soft shirt he wore as she pressed her breasts desperately against his chest. His kiss was addicting, the taste of his lips, his tongue like a dark, seductive liquor.

His body, hard and carefully controlled, moved against hers. The muscles were tense, his hands moving her. His kiss overpowered, washed over her with darting shafts of electric sizzles throughout her body. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She wanted to relish each moment of it. Every touch, every kiss. Oh God, was he groaning like that because her touch pleased him?

She stroked her fingers over the side of his neck again, gasping as he bent his knees and drove his hips against the vee of her thighs, his moan dark. Dangerous. Like an

animal anticipating the coming meal. The sound exhilarated her, made her bolder, more confident. She had spent too many years in a sexual void. Mark’s infidelities had ruled out sex with him. His claim that she was frigid, that her body did nothing to excite him, had left her too unsure to seek another lover. Until now. Until the dreams and the need and the sexual cravings had pushed her further than her fragile control could bear. Brock’s lips moved from hers and swept over her jaw again. He asked for nothing. He took, he stroked over her, claiming her, stealing any resistance she may have thought to have. She angled her head, desperate to taste the tanned flesh of his neck as his mouth ate at her skin. Her tongue stroked and he stilled, a shudder wracking his body.

“I’m sorry.” She drew back, suddenly frightened. Why had he stopped? What had she done wrong?

“Sorry?” He was breathing roughly as stared at her. “Why are you sorry? Damn, Sarah-love, why did you stop?”

“You liked that?” She couldn’t stop her incredulous whisper. Mark had hated to be touched on his neck.

Brock’s face was sexually flushed, his eyes glittering behind heavily lashed lids.

“I don’t know,” he growled. “Do it again, for a long time, so I can decide.”

She saw the gentle teasing in his eyes and moaned in longing. He bent close again, rubbing his neck against her chin, and it was all the encouragement she needed. Her lips rubbed over the heated flesh of his neck, her tongue licking delicately as she savored the taste of his skin, her teeth nipping at his flesh, hearing him groan deep and low as his hands roved over her back, her hips, then began to draw the material of her dress to her thighs.

His taste intoxicated her. She couldn’t get enough. Those strong fingers seared her flesh as he stroked the skin of her outer thigh, and the way his thigh tucked itself between the bared flesh of hers sent a feminine thrill of sexual heat pulsing through her body. She felt fevered, each taste of him making her crazier by the second as her mouth moved along his neck, her fingers pulling at his shirt frantically as she fought to taste more of him. His chest. She needed to stroke her tongue over the hard muscles of his chest, test and taste the resiliency of his skin.

“Sarah-love,” he growled as her fingers fought with the buttons of his shirt. She trembled, shaking so hard she couldn’t manage to release the slippery little devils from their mooring. “Easy, baby. We have all night. It’s okay.”

“I can’t wait,” she cried out, mortally ashamed of the clawing need that had her humping his thigh with tight, desperate movements.

It had been so long since she had known a man’s touch. Had she known a man’s touch after Brock’s, all those years ago? Her husband had never made her feel this way. The touch of his hands on her body had been moist, not firm and dry and work calloused. She was burning alive, crying out as she fought desperately to release the burning tightness in her lower body. The harsh, driving ache that made her aware of

her own emptiness, the ache in her clit, and the desperate rush of moisture soaking through her panties.

She felt the perspiration that dotted her skin, the sudden fullness of her breasts as his hands whispered over them. Oh God, he was releasing the small buttons, his movements deft and sure as the edges fell apart and her full breasts were revealed. She closed her eyes, terrified of seeing the same disappointment she had seen in Mark’s eyes. Her body bucked. She cried out, her fingers clenching at his shoulders as she felt the heated moisture of his mouth on her nipples.

It was too much. She fought for air as the little bud hardened to the point of pain. She fought to still the racing of her heart, but the scrape of his teeth wouldn’t allow it. She was desperate for him. Dying, aching inside unlike anything she had known in her life. If he didn’t take her soon she knew she would die.

“Bedroom,” he growled as he moved to the next breast, covering it, nipping at the sensitive bud as she arched in his arms, her hands holding him tight to her. Who needed a bedroom? Her head fell back against the wall as his thigh ground against the moist center between her thighs.

“Now, Sarah. The fucking bedroom.” He jerked the dress to her waist as his lips went to her neck, drawing the flesh between his lips, licking erotically, biting at her skin with hot, desperate nips.

She couldn’t think. Where was the bedroom? She felt her panties tear. She heard the rend of the material as his lips covered hers harshly, his tongue sweeping in possessively as his fingers pushed between her thighs. Sarah stilled. Breath suspended, eyes opened wide in disbelief, she stared at him as his fingers plunged inside her. Sarah cried out harshly, wondering if she should be ashamed that she was so wet, so desperate that the sticky fluid seemed to gush over his fingers.

“Son of a bitch,” he groaned, his eyes dark, his face flushed. “Too fucking late for the bedroom now, Sarah.”

He dropped to his knees as she stared at him in surprise. His hands pushed her thighs apart, then as one hand held the dress to her waist, the other slid out of her hot entrance and his mouth consumed her.

Sarah shuddered, crying out desperately as she felt his tongue swipe through the slick folds of skin. He was licking her. Oh God, like a cat licking at cream, he was licking her, groaning in pleasure at her taste. He was making hot, desperate sounds of hunger as he drew the wetness into his mouth, savoring it. She felt her womb tighten, spasm and more of the hot cream seeped from her vagina. She couldn’t stand it. Sarah felt her knees weakening as the pleasure rose inside her. It gripped her stomach, tightening it almost painfully as the waves of near ecstasy washed over her again and again. Her hands were clenched on his shoulders, her thighs spread wide, his lips and tongue playing with her clit as his fingers thrust repeatedly into the hot channel that wept with the attention. She knew she was spiraling out of

control. The fires searing her body were making her buck against his mouth, thrust into his fingers, tightening her body, drawing her into a vortex of such mind numbing pleasure that she exploded.

Sarah heard her own keening cry as she felt her body come apart. She tightened, thrust against his immoveable mouth and lost her breath as extreme pleasure flooded her entire being, bursting over her flesh and leaving her shaking, gasping in completion as she slowly wilted.

Brock was there to catch her. His arms went around her as he stood to his feet, his eyes staring down at her in stark lust.

“Where is the fucking bedroom, Sarah, before I take you here in the middle of the hallway.” His voice was dark and rough, rasping with the force of his own need.

“Upstairs,” she gasped as he swung her into his arms. He took the stairs quickly, his big body sheltering her smaller one. He glanced around the hall, then turned to the first door. He pushed it open, then stopped abruptly.

“Who the fuck is that?” His tone was only mildly curious, but the pulsing fury underneath it concerned her.

Sarah glanced in confusion at the bed, then her eyes widened in horror. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t. But he had.

Mark was entwined, in her bed, with his young lover. The room reeked of alcohol and sex. Her bedroom was in complete disarray. Clothes were thrown everywhere, the lamp had toppled to the floor and a chair lay on its side. She shook her head, unable to believe it.

“God, this could only happen to me.” She shook her head as Brock set her slowly on her feet.

Her knees were weak, so it took her a moment to steady herself, and all she could do was stare in shock at Mark and what was her name? Sarah could never remember. But there they were, nude, enfolded in each other’s arms, snoring softly. Tears filled her eyes. Not from pain at seeing her husband, or ex-husband in her bed with his lover. But the deeply humiliating pain of knowing the man behind her was slowly, furiously aware of the situation.

Sarah fought to draw the bodice of her dress back over her body. She struggled with the small sleeves, dragging them up her arms, all the while more than aware of Brock’s tense anger.

“Where’s your clothes?” He surprised her when he went to the closet and began rummaging through it. The dresser drawers were lying on the floor, her underwear, bras and T-shirts scattered along the carpet. It would be hard to find anything salvageable in that mess.

Brock jerked several dresses from the small closet, laid them over his arms and came back to her. He took her arm and pulled her quickly from the room. Sarah

followed him in a daze, nearly stumbling as he strode from the room and back downstairs.

“Your purse.” He picked the small handbag up and pushed it into her hands.

“Anything else you have to take?”

She shook her head quickly, blinking up at the harsh features of his face.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked curiously as he dragged her out the front door and slammed it behind them furiously.

Brock didn’t stop, he didn’t ask permission to drag her out of her house, away from yet another of Mark’s humiliations of her. Not that it mattered as much now. They weren’t married anymore and she was more than thankful for that. Still, she couldn’t believe the lengths he had gone to this time to shame her.

“To the ranch,” he bit out. “I’ll take care of that bastard in the morning. But I’m telling you, Sarah, I’m so damned hard and hurting tonight that you may be days getting back in that house.”

He threw her dresses into the back seat of the jeep, then pushed her into the interior with hard hands.

“Buckle up, or would you prefer to stay here with hubby and company?” His eyes bore into her in the dim light of the jeep. Anger pulsed; lust arced like white hot, invisible strands of electricity between them.

She shook her head desperately, fumbled for the seat belt and snapped it in. Her dress was still unbuttoned. As Brock started the engine, she fought to re-fasten the tiny pearl buttons that held the front of the cream-colored sundress together.

“Shit.” His expletive had her flinching as he turned in his seat and quickly fixed it for her.

Tears gathered in her eyes. Her body still hummed with desire and she was terribly afraid he was going to be disappointed in her now. No mature, sophisticated woman couldn’t button her own dress at this point.

Then Brock was tilting her face, his lips taking hers in a kiss so hot, so furious, she reeled under the invasion. Her arms went around his shoulders again, her lips opening, her tongue twining desperately with his.

“Enough,” he growled, jerking away from her. “Dammit, we’ll both be lucky if I make it out of town before I bury myself inside you.”

The jeep pulled out of the driveway with a squeal of tires. Sarah sat silently, still in shock, still pulsing with lust. He was taking her to the ranch? Dear God, was she insane? What had happened to her night of passion? Why had it suddenly gone to hell?

She sighed deeply. Mark. He had ruined this night just as he had ruined every night of her life since she married him. Someone needed to shoot him and put the world out of the misery he brought to it.