by Lora Leigh
* * * * *
Brock sat at the edge of the bed and watched Sarah sleep. She looked innocent and sexy at the same time. It tightened his chest, made his throat ache with emotion to see her like this, curled close to him, exhausted from satisfaction. The silken, honey-gold strands of hair were tangled around her face and shoulders, the long, light lashes lay like soft shadows on her cheeks. One hand was tucked beneath her cheek, the other lay on his thigh.
He lifted the hand on his thigh, his fingers rubbing over hers lightly. They were soft, long and graceful with short, pink nails. Her palms were so soft, like satin. He brought her hand to his face, holding the warmth of her palm to his cheek as he closed his eyes.
He had waited for her. For six long years he had waited, knowing that eventually, sooner or later, married or divorced, he would have her. The taste she had given him when she was eighteen had driven him insane at times, making him almost desperate to rip her away from the cheating bastard she was married to. The nights he spent at the bar, listening to the braggart running his mouth about his frigid little wife had been hell. But he had endured. He knew better and he knew that to make his move, to show his hand to Mark Tate before the time was right would be a mistake.
He knew Tate too well. Much better than Sarah did, and he knew her ex-husband wasn’t about to let her go so easily. How Sarah had managed to get him to sign those divorce papers he had no idea. How she had escaped the marriage with no scars, he was even more uncertain. One thing he did know for sure, after this morning, he was going to have to keep a careful eye on the bastard. From what Sam had told him, he had come in just in time to keep Sarah from being hurt. First the unknown assailant, and now Tate. The danger was growing and he knew she couldn’t allow her to stay here much longer.
Brock sighed wearily. He wished he had her at the ranch where he knew she would be safe at any given time of the day. He had a bad feeling about this situation. A feeling Sarah had yet to escape from the bastard.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sarah was furious, embarrassed and intimately bald. The latter directly related to the former and she hated it. She couldn’t wear panties; Denise had strictly forbidden it for up to six hours after the waxing. Her flesh smarted, despite the cream the other woman had rubbed onto the flesh of her cunt, and further back to her anus. She had waxed it all. Every tiny hair was gone, and it had hurt.
Not that Brock seemed to care. When she left the house, he had jumped from the jeep, anticipation filling his expression. She wanted to shove him into the house and let the demonic, wax-happy bitch have a go at him. She changed her mind just as quickly. Denise Lamont appeared like a woman who would be more than happy to ply her trade on Brock’s sensitive flesh.
She sat now in Brock’s jeep, silent, her eyes narrowed as they drove back to the house. Brock appeared entirely too smug, the lustful glances he kept casting her way heating her blood despite her determination to not allow it. She didn’t want to get wetter. It might sting. It was stinging enough.
“You okay?” he asked her softly, glancing at her once again.
“Fine.” She stared mutinously out the windshield. She wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, Sarah.” He frowned, correctly interpreting her anger. “Hell, Marly has it done all the time.”
She cast him a controlled glance. She did not want to hear about Marly right now.
“How would you know?” she asked him coolly. “Last I saw, you had all your hair.”
He laughed. Damn him, she didn’t need his laughter.
“Let me see it.” His words had her head swinging around, her eyes widening incredulously at the question.
“Let you what?” she gasped.
“Raise your dress and let me see it.” His eyes were heavy lidded as he glanced over once again. “Come on, Sarah, no one will see.”
“That’s what you said at the bar,” she bit out. “Evidently someone did see it. Mark knew about it.”
She did not need the good gossips of Madison speculating about her riding in Brock’s jeep, flashing her privates. Her face flamed. It was bad enough already. All her old friends were filled with questions. The damned phone had rang off the hook before they left the house. She hadn’t been this popular since—Her teeth clenched. Since the week after the episode six years earlier. Terrific. Just what she needed. Everyone knowing about her sex life. She knew about it, she considered that bad enough.
“Mark knew about it?” The question seemed posed very carefully.
“Well, evidently he did. One of his friends was there and kindly informed him of the fact,” she bit out, remembering the way he had flung the information at her.
“He was laying on the floor to see it then,” Brock growled. “I’m not stupid, Sarah. I knew what I was doing.”
Jealousy, possessiveness, two emotions she hadn’t expected from him, colored his voice.
“Maybe he just guessed.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not flashing you in this jeep, in public. So you can forget it.”
Brock sighed, regret radiating from him.
“Can I touch it?” God, he sounded like a little boy wanting to play with a new toy.
“No, Brock.” She shook her head, flashing him an exasperated look. “You can’t see it and you can’t touch it.”
“Let me touch it and I’ll spank you later,” he bargained smugly.
Sarah felt her body heat, her face redden further and her heart jump with excitement.
“Forget it.” There was no way in hell she was going to let him touch her.
“Let me touch it and I’ll spank it later.” His voice lowered as he upped the stakes.
God, she was so depraved. The thought of that was actually making her wetter. And she was right. It stung. Damn him.
“No.” She knew her voice was strangled with her own excitement.
“I’ll spank it if you don’t let me see it,” he threatened darkly, flickering a glance at her.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I get spanked either way, so why should I give in?” She tingled at the thought of that. She needed help. Serious psychological help, because she was getting used to the arousal, the needs he inspired in her. She didn’t consider it a good thing.
Brock shook his head, his lips tilting in that sexy, knowing grin. That grin made her nervous. He was up to something, she knew it. She trembled at that knowledge. She had promised him anything he wanted last night. His deepest desires if he would just fuck her. The memory of that had hit her the moment she awoke that morning.
“I get to look when we get home. Even if I can’t touch for a while.” He grinned at her. Evidently he knew exactly how long it would be before she should have sex.
She narrowed her eyes on him.
“I’m not as easy as you think I am, Brock.” She nearly winced. Oh, she had really proved that one.
“Sarah, I never imagined you were easy.” His voice was suddenly serious, his touch firm as he reached over and gripped her hand. “Anything but. I’ve waited six years for you, that’s long enough for any man.”
It was hard for her to imagine that he had been waiting for her, or wanting her all this time. She had assumed years ago that he would have forgotten about her.
Brock’s fingers caressed hers; running slowly from base to tip before he raised her hand, then took one into the warmth of his mouth. Sarah’s strangled moan filled the interior of the jeep. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and she felt his tongue wash over the digit, curling around it seductively.
Sarah watched his profile, seeing the flush on his cheek, the way his other hand gripped the steering wheel tightly. His jeans were bulged and a groan rumbled from his throat.
“I love feeling your mouth wrapped like that around my cock.” He gave her finger a last, lingering lick. “All hot and silky, drawing the life out of me as surely as you do my cum.”
Sarah swallowed hard; the memory of him filling her mouth took her breath. T
hen it strangled in her throat as he took her hand and cupped it around the cloth-covered bulge between his thighs.
“Brock, you are a dangerous man,” she whispered, breathing out with careful deliberation. “You should seriously be outlawed.”
He grinned, then groaned as her fingers tightened around his girth, caressing, her nails scraping over the rough cloth. He was hot, and so hard it made her mouth water.
“Thank God I almost have you home,” he growled. “You’ll pay for that later, Sarah.” The silky promise caused her thighs to tighten in need. The slight stinging of her sensitive flesh was now more erotic than painful. God, she thought desperately, she was so pathetic.
He pulled into the driveway and drove into the carport. Parking beside her small Corolla, he slammed the jeep into park and threw open his door.
“Let’s go, I want to see.” His voice was tight, anticipation lacing the tone.
“Geez, Brock, you’re so romantic.” She laughed as she got out of the jeep and headed for the door. “You act like it’s Christmas.”
“Damn. This has to have any Christmas present I ever got beat.” He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door with a quick flick of his wrist.
Brock grabbed her wrist, pulling her in behind him, then came to an abrupt stop. Sarah’s eyes widened at the destruction that greeted her. Her kitchen had been destroyed. The table lay in pieces, glasses and plates shattered on the floor. The refrigerator had been emptied, its contents staining the walls, counters, and cabinets.
“Oh my God.” She couldn’t believe the destruction.
She tried to push past Brock, but his body blocked her, tense and dangerous as he pushed her out of the house.
“Get in the jeep.” His voice brooked no argument.
“No, I have to see—”
“Dammit, Sarah, get back in the fucking jeep.” He threw his door open and pushed her inside before jumping in himself. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that door or I’ll tan your hide with my belt.”
The heavy violence in the warning had her sinking back in her seat, her eyes wide as she watched him. He started the jeep, backing up and pulling out of the driveway as he jerked his cell phone from its case at his waist.
“Sam, where are you?” he barked when the call was answered. “Forget the locks. Meet me on the street outside Sarah’s house, someone’s destroyed her place.”
He disconnected then called the sheriff. Sarah sat stiff and quiet as he parked on the tree shaded lane, listening to him talk. She wrapped her arms around her chest, fighting the shock that wanted to take over. Someone had destroyed her home. That knowledge lay like a hard, heavy weight in her chest.
Who could hate her that much? And if it were the same man who tried to kill her, what made him think this would hurt Brock? It made no sense to her. She stared through the trees at her home, watching it, wondering if he was still there. Was he still destroying everything she had while she sat, helpless, unable to stop him?
“Sarah? Are you okay, baby?” Brock wrapped his arm around her, leaning close as he tipped her head up to look into her face. “Damn, you’re white as a sheet.”
Sarah shook her head. She didn’t want to be cuddled right now, she didn’t want to be bothered. She wanted to sit here and try to make sense of what happened. Her well-ordered, fully structured life had just gone to hell. And she couldn’t figure out how.
“Sheriff will be here in a minute,” he promised her. “We’ll get this taken care of, Sarah. Don’t worry.”
How, she wondered, did he intend to take care of this? So far, she had been attacked, her house destroyed and her life ran roughshod over by the August men. It seemed to her that her problems had begun the night she brought him home with her. She wouldn’t change the time she was spending with Brock, but God help her, she was at a loss as to how to deal with this. From the looks of her kitchen, someone hated her with an all-consuming fury. Hated her enough to risk exposure to break in during the light of day to destroy her home.
Brock’s hands rubbed up and down her arms as he spoke. His voice soothing, low and deep as he tried to comfort her. Sarah lay against him, absorbing the heat of his body, still trying to reject the reality she had seen within her home.
“I’m ready to wake up now,” she told him, fighting her tears as she turned away from the house. “Wake me up now.”
“Oh, Sarah.” His voice was pain laden, harsh with worry. “If I could just wake you up and make it all go away, then I swear I would, darlin’.”
“Who’s doing this? Why are they doing this?” She couldn’t understand the reasoning behind such actions. She wondered if there even was a reason.
“I don’t know who or why, baby,” he sighed against her hair. “But I promise, we’ll find out. That’s all I can do.”
As he spoke the flashing light of the sheriff’s cruiser reflected in the rearview mirror. Sarah looked over at her house once again and had a feeling she had spent her last night in it.
“Sheriff’s here with Sam.” He eased her up minutes later, frowning as he lifted her face once again. “I know you’re scared, Sarah. We’ll get this taken care of. Come on, let’s talk to the sheriff.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The sheriff wasn’t the only one arriving. Pulling in behind him was Sam and behind him the elder brother, Cade August and his petite lover, Marly. Cade was tall, stern looking, with steel hard gray eyes, and a finely tuned muscular body. He resembled the brothers in looks, though Sarah could tell the man would be a much more dangerous adversary than his brothers. If you got on his wrong side. She knew he had been at her home the night of the attack, but she didn’t remember seeing him. And he and Marly had left before she awakened the next day.
Marly was another story. She was small, delicate, with expressive deep blue eyes and a very worried expression. The minute she caught sight of Brock she ran to him, throwing herself in his arms. His arms went around her in a swift hug, his big body wrapping around her in a protective manner. Much as he did with Sarah, while having sex.
Releasing her, he stepped back to Sarah, wrapping his arms around her again as he looked at Cade questioningly. Sarah could smell the delicate scent the other woman wore on him how. A scent she smelled on him often. God, she couldn’t believe what she was allowing herself to get sucked into. Did she have no resistance to this man?
“You’re all right?” Marly questioned him, staring up at him in concern. “We were on our way out here when Sam called. You scared the life out of me, Brock.”
“I’m fine, Munchkin, we both are,” he promised her, frowning as his brother watched them from shuttered, cool eyes.
“Why were you headed out here?” Brock frowned at his brother. Cade’s eyes flickered to Sarah, before returning to Brock.
“We have trouble,” Cade informed him quietly, keeping his voice low as Sam took care of the sheriff and led them to the house. “ Get Sarah some clothes, you’ll have to bring her to the ranch. Rick refuses to even consider that a guard outside her house is enough now.”
Shock held Sarah rigid. What guard? And who was he to insist she go anywhere?
“Excuse me, but Brock isn’t my keeper, Mr. August,” she informed him sweetly, ignoring the flash of trepidation that his spearing look sent through her stomach. “I don’t need to come to the ranch.”
Marly bit her lip as Cade’s body seemed to tighten dangerously. Sarah watched that telling sign. Why would her defiance be a source of worry?
“Ms. Tate, I understand your reluctance to do so. But there’s more going on here than you know. The attack was bad enough, but it won’t stop. And it endangers not just your life, but Brock’s,” he warned her, the color in his eyes shifting, swirling.
“What happened?” Sarah didn’t like the suspicion or the throb of concern in Brock’s voice.
“I received an envelope of pictures in the morning mail.” Cade’s hard glance sliced into Sarah once again, almost making her shiver. “Evidently, we didn�
��t get the right man last year.”
“Pictures?” Brock asked carefully.
Cade glanced at Sarah and she felt bile rise in her throat.
“A candlelit room and a very willing woman,” Cade told him carefully. “Get your woman home, Brock. Until we can find out what the hell is going on.”
Sarah stared in shock at the elder brother. Pictures? A candlelit room? Her face flamed. He had to be talking about her and Brock and the night they spent in the living room. She opened her mouth to pour out a torrent of questions when the sheriff chose that moment to step forward.
“Brock, I need a statement from you two,” he told him, his voice brisk, official. “Let’s get it taken care of so Ms. Tate can find a place to stay tonight. We won’t be finished with the house until late.”
Sarah turned to the sheriff carefully.
“It was just the kitchen,” she said, though she somehow knew better.
“I’m damned sorry, Sarah.” Joshua Martinez shook his head carefully, pulling the sheriff’s hat from his head, watching her with sympathetic eyes. “Whoever it was got the whole damned house. Clothes, furniture. Looks like he took an ax to just about everything.”
Sarah gasped, her knees weakening. She knew if Brock hadn’t been holding onto her, she would have fallen to the ground in shock. Everything? She didn’t have much, but damn, it had been hers.
“Easy, Sarah.” Brock’s voice wrapped around her, gentle, supportive.
She shook her head, pushing away from him, desperate for enough room to think.
“Who would do this?” She shook her head, finding it hard to understand such destruction.
“What about Mark, Sarah?” The sheriff glanced back at Brock shortly, his suggestion loaded with implications.