Breaking Brent (20 page)

“I can see through the glass. What do you want?” Peyton said, leaving him and returning to her work. She heard the door close and looked over her shoulder to see him leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, eyes boring into her. “What?”

“Do you always open the door to anyone who knocks?”

“Are you serious?” She swept the shattered remains of a bottle into a pile and tried her best to ignore him. It was a difficult feat. He was well over six feet of muscle-wrapped bone and long-legged sexiness. The worst part was he knew it.

“Hell yeah, I’m serious. I could have been anyone. What if I had been here to rob you?”

“Are you?” she countered, cocking a dark eyebrow at him.

“No.” He pulled out a chair from the table closest to him, turned it around and straddled it.

“Then I have nothing to worry about.” She squatted and raked the pieces of glass into the dustpan and emptied them into a trashcan before looking at him again. He was watching her. His dark chocolate eyes matched his hair, but they seemed darker and more brooding than usual. Which was saying something. “What’s on your mind Brent?”

“What makes you think there’s something on my mind?”

“Well, let’s see. It’s a little after midnight on a Saturday night and you’re sitting here watching me sweep glass into a dustpan. Either you’re extremely bored or something’s on your mind. So, being the person that I am, I’m asking. What’s on your mind?”

Peyton watched Brent remove his Stetson, run his long, tanned fingers through the thickness of his hair and then replace it. She watched him watch her.

When Brent didn’t answer her question, she turned her attention away from his sullen pose and returned to what she was doing before. She made quick work of the mess, grabbed a damp rag from the counter, wiped the tables and was about to set out on a nightly garbage run when Brent appeared at her side.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you. Maybe I missed you.” He moved quickly and without any noise. Of course, the jukebox was now blasting a heavy Paramore tune and noise other than that could barely be heard.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.” Brent’s gaze was on her once more and once more she felt an odd and discouraging feeling rise from the bottom of her stomach.

“Don’t do that,” she finally said.

“Don’t do what? What am I doing?” He moved a step closer, crowding her, paralyzing her with his size, his heat, his everything.

“I haven’t heard one word outta you for years and then suddenly you miss me. We have sex, you disappear as soon as the sun comes up and then you just waltz in here acting all charming and damned mysterious. I don’t like that.”

“What do you like, Peyton? Tell me.”

Her heart didn’t flip or flop this time—it completely dropped to the bottom of her stomach. “If you want someone to inflate your ego tonight, Brent, you need to look further. I’m tired and I really don’t feel like playing your games.”

“I’m not playing a game with you, darlin’.”

“You are. You run hot and cold. You ignore me for years and then out of the clear blue sky you can’t stay away from me. You can’t keep your hands off me.”

“I can’t stay away from you. I can’t keep my hands off you.” To prove his point, he pulled her body to his. Her chest connected with his and on contact her nipples went hard and her heart hammered. She needed to choose a path and choose one quick. Tell him the truth now and see if it changed anything—see if the only reason he wanted her was because he thought he couldn’t have her. Or she needed to bite her tongue and let things fall as they may. If she kept the truth to herself then she kept Brent—even if it were just for a short while.

She knew if she didn’t decide on her path her heart was at risk of breaking all over again. What really worried her was the thought of it breaking no matter which direction her heart chose to move.

Brent didn’t know why he’d driven to the bar in the first place—just that he had. He’d had to.

He’d had to see her.

Had to be near her.

Had to breathe the same air she did. When he had first left the main house with his brothers questioning his destination as he went, he’d just driven and thought. He didn’t plan on going to Big Jack’s. He knew she closed at midnight during the week, but he’d made his way there anyway.

He’d watched as she hauled Lucky from the place and waited until Mitch had pulled away before exiting his truck and walking to the front door. The last thing he wanted was for Peyton’s uncle to see him entering the bar after everyone else had left. It would create some rather interesting questions. Questions he couldn’t yet answer.

All he knew was that existing without Peyton was a part of his life that was over. He thought about telling her just that, but stopped himself. She wouldn’t believe him—yet. He had to show her. She had to see that he needed her and she needed him—not Carter.

Ever so gently, he brushed his fingertips over her chin and titled her head back until her eyes met his.

“What?” she asked a split second before his lips settled against hers. The kiss smothered her words and halted her protests—if she had any. Heaven. He was in heaven. Brushing back and forth created a friction that generated waves of lightning throughout his entire body. Evidently it went through hers as well because he felt her tremble, or better yet ripple beneath his mouth.

Reassured he didn’t have a kick to the groin coming, he traced his tongue along the seal her lips created. She gasped and the movement gave his tongue safe passage into the sweet warmth of her mouth. Letting his tongue tempt and tease at will, he kissed her until she responded. And boy did she respond.

Shock and elation ran though his bones when she grabbed his forearms and pulled him gently into her body. He didn’t know if she realized she had done so, but he didn’t care. He let her fit her body into his, loving the way her frame met his.

He took the opportunity and pulled her closer to him. He heard her moan and the sound made his cock throb harder than ever. He felt the front of his jeans caress his flesh and her hips cradle his hardness. Perfect. His hands were still and idle for the briefest of moments before they ran along her spine and around to her rib cage.

The back of his knuckles brushed the underside of her breasts and he felt the weight and the softness of them. Deepening their kiss and finding her willing and accepting, he pressed further. Leaving his left hand on her ribs, he brought his right to rest fully on her rounded breast.

He heard her moan again and he smiled into her open and wanton mouth.
Damn
, he thought. His palm itched to mold and shape the firm and heavy flesh, but he was still weary of Peyton. At any minute she could change like a storm and unman him. That was the last thing he wanted.

His eyes flew open when he felt her hand cover his. Pulling away, he looked into those eyes that had held fire for him earlier. They still held it. Only it was a different type of fire. Her eyes seemed to glow and gleam and were only halfway open and shaded by those long lashes.

His lips brushed hers once more before he caressed the breast under his and her hand. Her breath quickened and she squeezed his hand, causing his to do the same to her breast. Her head fell back a bit, but she never relinquished the hold she had on his hand.

“Damn,” he whispered, before capturing her mouth again. With quick movements, he backed her against the counter. Releasing her breast, he grasped her waist with both hands and raised her until she was seated on the bar. Before she could regain her composure or close her open thighs, Brent placed his body between them. Instantly, she clasped his body to hers.

He smiled up at her and kissed her damp, swollen lips. He meant for it to be a quick kiss, but she wasn’t having that. Her hands ran the length of his back until they rested on his shoulders. The top of her head nudged his Stetson back. Grabbing the hat from his head, he placed it on the counter beside her.

With one less obstacle in the way, he went back for more. More of Peyton. Catching sight of the fluttering pulse in her neck, Brent ran his lips along the length, letting his tongue follow suit. Tipping her head to the side, she gave him all the access he needed to devour her throat. His teeth raked the flesh, causing goose bumps to form on her arms. He could feel them beneath his fingertips. He would bet all the money he had on him that Carter had never caused goose bumps on Peyton’s flesh.

Brent made his way slowly, painfully so, back to her mouth. Before, he had been the aggressor, this time Peyton took control. Her lips sought, her tongue played and she devoured him the way he wanted to devour her.

“God, you taste good,” he said as he fused their mouths together. He could feel his dick throbbing between her open, welcoming thighs. “I want you. I want to be inside you.” Watching her eyes flare gave Brent a burst of courage. He caught the front of her T-shirt in his large hands and pulled it from the waist of her snug jeans.

The material was soft but not nearly as soft as her skin. Brent leaned back and watched as he moved the white barrier inch by inch, revealing the flat line of her stomach and then the white bra covering the twins that tempted him all night long. The bra was nothing fancy. Not seductive or sultry. Just plain and white, but it had the same effect on him as those little ones in a Victoria’s Secret catalog. He wanted her naked. Naked, wet and willing.

“Are you wet?” he asked in between kisses.

In reply, she seized his mouth and sucked his tongue deep into hers. “Maybe.”

Brent smiled into her lips once before asking his next question. He had never been vocal in bed before. But Peyton made graphic images appear in his head and he wanted her to know. Telling her what he was feeling and thinking turned him on. He hoped it had the same affect on her.

“How wet?” Lowering his head, he caressed the small amount of breast visible above the shield the cups of the bra made. He could see the deep color of her nipples beneath the almost transparent material. His mouth watered. “Your nipples are hard.” He covered them with his hands and rubbed the tight peaks between his thumbs and fingers. “So hard.”

“I’m not the only one that’s hard.” The tone of her voice was his undoing. Peyton’s voice was always low and throaty, but arousal made it even more so. Wasting no time, his lips found hers just as his hand pulled the material away from her breasts. His fingers found her nipples and he pulled and plucked until they were throbbing beneath his touch and she was pressing herself into his hand.

She was making him burn. Burn to be inside her. Deep inside her. The effects her kiss and her body had on him were making his head spin and hammer. The hammering noise continued until he couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t until he felt Peyton pull away that he realized the knocking wasn’t in his head, but at the front door of the bar.

Looking a little guilty, she pushed him away and pulled her bra up and her shirt down. Hopping down from the bar, she made her way toward the door, tucking her shirt in as she went. Brent drew in a deep breath, readjusted the mass of hard, throbbing flesh in his jeans and replaced his Stetson.

“Shit.”

Hearing Peyton hiss the word made Brent wonder even more who the hell was at the door and why the hell they were here in the first place at this time of night. Two seconds after she opened the door he understood the reason for Peyton’s curse. He muttered a few of his own.

Standing just inside the door, duffel bag over his shoulder, Stetson pushed back carelessly on his head, was none other than the fiancé himself—Carter Nash.

In that moment, Brent felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time as far as Carter was concerned—guilt. It consumed him.

All those feelings he had felt toward Carter were now reversed. He had felt betrayed. He had felt angry and hurt at both of them for what they had done. He was no better now than the asshole he had accused Carter of being years ago. At least Carter hadn’t gone after Peyton when he had been with her. Carter had waited until Brent was out of the picture. That wasn’t the case this time. Brent had gone after Peyton because he wanted Peyton—no matter who or what was in his way. Carter was well in the picture and Peyton was his.

Brent felt like a bastard. He felt like the lowest son of a bitch ever to walk the face of the earth. He should have known better. He should have known that guilt would tag along with the other feelings he had been having. He just never thought the guilt would outweigh all those other feelings raging inside of him.

Chapter Nineteen

“Carter?” Peyton thought at first that her eyes and her mind were playing tricks on her—horrible tricks, unthinkable tricks, mean and downright nasty tricks.

“I went by the house but you weren’t there, and it seems I’ve lost my key. How you doing, girl? Brent.” Peyton watched as Carter moved in front of her and extended his hand toward Brent.

“Carter,” Brent said, tipping his hat, but not accepting his hand. Peyton waited for someone to speak—anyone. She wasn’t surprised when neither of the two men spoke. They only stared each other down. Peyton watched the two with a cautious eye. The last time they both had been in the same room for any length of time they had gone at each other, fists drawn and ready to beat each other to a pulp—they nearly had until Chase and Jason Kiel had torn them apart. Peyton didn’t think she could muster the strength she would need to pull them off each other.

She watched as Brent looked from Carter, who had stepped back to her side, and then back to her before he spoke.

“I need to be going. Good to see you, Carter.” He tipped his hat. “Peyton.” He walked past them, turned the knob on the door, opened it without pause and disappeared into the darkness.

Peyton had no earthly idea how long she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the closed doorway he had exited. It could have been a minute. It could have been an hour. She didn’t know. All she knew was that he had walked away. Again. He had left her confused, wanting and angry.

So angry.

Angry with him.

Angry with Carter.

And more than anything—angry with herself. She had done it again. She had allowed herself to feel. She had allowed herself to want him. She had allowed herself to think, to dream and to want what she couldn’t have.