Something to Prove Page 6

  He stood motionless. She could still back out if he wasn’t careful.

  “Does this hurt?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said honestly.

  With a sigh she raised his arm and pressed kisses across his scar. He lost it and picked her up, carried her to the couch. Something seemed to drop away—the gate he’d been keeping closed, the control he’d been adopting for her sake. But she’d asked for it, and he was here, and yeah, maybe this was truly who he was.

  He peeled away her bulky clothing—all of it, every last stitch—and he was glad for the crackling fire. “You, too,” she said, and he sat back, letting her undress him, helping her take off his jeans.

  Her fingers rested on his erection tenting the cotton boxer briefs, and he hissed out a breath.

  He was waiting for her to stop him. He didn’t want her to—he was ready for this—but if she was going to change her mind then he needed her to tell him so now, because he no longer could think of any reason he shouldn’t—

  Her hand edged beneath his boxers and gently stroked him, skin to skin. It took all his concentration not to move. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow.

  “Brody, it’s been so long for me,” she whispered, “you have no idea.”

  Like hell he didn’t. It had been two years for him, too, living like a monk in his self-imposed new way of life. “Believe me, I know.”

  And then he cupped her face in his hands. She’d shown him that what he’d done those two years was right. Just as what he was doing now was right. He wanted her to know that though he’d known her only a short time, in that short time he’d shared a deeper connection with her than he’d had with any other woman. And he wanted to complete that before she left. Because their time together was only temporary.

  But their connection didn’t have to be.

  She blinked and tilted her head to him, questioning. But he couldn’t tell her everything he’d been thinking, he could only show her what he meant. He was a physical guy; physical was what he did best. By making love to her, he would be holding on to the moment as long as he could. He pulled her onto his lap. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  She smiled, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, Brody.”

  “Good.”

  And then he pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her, deeply, again and again, using her gasps and whispered pleadings as his course markers.

  Her hands dropped from his shoulders to his waist, clutching him. And it was a pleasure to stroke her bare skin. To take his thumb and drag it through her beautiful curls. He caressed her, a rhythm she set with him by dragging her hips against his hand. Her skin was dewy and damp and she was smiling at him. It was more than a pleasure to glide his fingers inside her as her body pulsed and contracted around him.

  “You’re killing me,” she whispered.

  He drew back his hand.

  “No, I mean, I want you to…do everything. I want to feel you inside me…”

  The condom packet, he remembered. Cripes, the kid was smarter than he was. And then they were both fumbling for the box.

  “Let me do this,” she said. He let her take the condom and sheath him with shaky, unpracticed fingers, but he didn’t interrupt to help her. It was more erotic to him than anything he could imagine.

  When she was done, he took her hand and kicked open a door until he found the bed. It had a thick feather comforter, and he led her to it. She immediately pulled him to her, body to body, skin to skin. Her legs wrapped around the small of his back, and he almost lost it right there. He tasted the sweetness of her skin before he dragged himself to his elbows and cupped her cheeks. He kissed her, gently at first, and then more deeply.

  “Brody, please, I can’t wait.” She arched her hips to him and without hesitation, he stroked inside her. It was as if he were made to fit her. She rose to meet his thrusts, gasping every time his body touched her where she wanted it most, and when his mouth caught her nipple and sucked it.

  “I need this so bad,” she whispered.

  He became intent on loving her, his aim to fill her up, to bring her somewhere with him, to keep her pleasured and content. He could barely take a breath before she was rocking into him, coaxing him higher, better, closer to fulfillment.

  With a cry, she gripped his shoulders, shattered and came, a sweet release that went on and on. He caught her cries in his mouth and he came himself, muttering her name as her drove into her body, unable to stop, not for anybody or anything.

  “Oh, Brody.”

  He slumped in her arms, a roaring in his ears. He felt more rooted in his own body than he’d ever known. What’s going on? he dimly thought. Is it supposed to be like this?

  And then her eyes met his, so shy and shining with happiness just to be with him, and he thought, Yeah. Yeah, it is.

  She drew the sole of her beautiful foot up his leg to the small of his back, settling there. Maybe he’d found a little piece of heaven.

  This, he would hold on to. This, he would make a place for.

  HOURS LATER, AMANDA STRETCHED, her body throbbing. She and Brody lay tangled in the twisted sheets, the scents of their skin intermingled.

  Never had she done anything so outrageously out of character as to have sex—and unbelievable sex, at that—with a man she’d only known for a day.

  It must be Italy. Smiling to herself, she caressed her fingers over the broad, hard planes of Brody’s chest and biceps. He was built like a masterpiece. Thick muscles, masculine, lightly haired skin, a rugged jaw lined with a day’s growth of faint, prickly beard.

  He stirred, shifting his weight to lay his head across her belly, holding out an apple slice to her, snagged from the picnic basket Steve had brought them. Opening her mouth, she let him feed her, the fresh fruit tart on her tongue, his fingers sweet to her lips.

  Amazing how she felt so little embarrassment or self-consciousness in being with him, completely naked and unashamed, not a care in the world.

  Sighing, she rolled over and nuzzled her head inside the crook of his arm, as naturally as if she did this sort of thing all the time. Which was funny because it wasn’t as though she had a lot of experience with men. Yeah, she’d been with a couple of guys in college. Not during the school year—she’d taken her course work too seriously for that—but during summer breaks. That was before her mother had gotten sick, before the trouble with her father. Back then, she’d been so young, really, so untouched by love and loss.

  She looked away, out the window and to the black night beyond. She’d turned off her phone—they both had—but from the darkness outside, she guessed it was midnight. Jeannie’s party would soon be over.

  “Brody?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” The syllable from his chest echoed inside her core, striking a chord deep within her. There was something about him. It was as if she instinctively knew he’d been through the wars, just as she had.

  She reached out and pushed a lock of light brown hair from his eyes. He wore his hair short and straight and it felt soft in her fingers. “What was going through your mind in the interview room today?”

  He smiled and rolled to his side. With his hand tracing her cheek, he said, “I was thinking there was nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Her insides heated. She wanted him again. Reaching for a condom, she rolled it onto his erection.

  “Will you say that again?” she whispered.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He lifted her hips to slide inside her. The sweetest sensation filled her; she felt as if she’d never understood what lovemaking was until now.

  She would remember this night and this man for the rest of her life. Squeezing her eyes shut to block the emotion, she cupped her hands around Brody’s butt. So amazingly muscular and round. A skier’s butt. She could hold him there all night.

  And much longer than that.

  Though she didn’t see how.

  THE SUN WAS A FAINT BRIGHTNESS on the horizon when Brody woke. He lay on his bac
k, naked, his arms flung over his head. He rolled over and felt the warm indent on the sheets where Amanda had slept. The last he remembered, she’d been curled beside him, her smooth hair fanned over his chest, blanketing him.

  He sat up, blinking. But he then heard the water turn off in the bathroom, and he lay back down, stretching, waiting for her to crawl back into bed with him. He didn’t know what time it was, but judging from the sun, they didn’t need to leave just yet. They’d only slept for about three hours, tops, and he felt lazy. Lazy and sated. Last night had been all about sex, but in his mind, they’d conversed volumes together. It felt as though he’d lived with her months, he’d been that comfortable.

  None of which had been in his plan. But he honestly didn’t regret it. No, sleeping with Amanda had been perfect.

  He glanced over in time to catch her exiting the tiny bathroom, tiptoeing. She was dressed in her ski outfit, with her ski boots in her hands.

  Aw, hell.

  He sighed. She probably had an earlier morning than he did and couldn’t linger. He lowered his lashes to a slit, anticipating a wakeup kiss. Maybe he could coax her into making love one more time, before exchanging numbers.

  The door creaked as it opened. His heart dropped into his gut and he bolted upright.

  But she was already halfway out the door, not even bothering to look behind her. No kiss, no note. Nothing. It was as clear a ditching as he’d seen.

  “Manda?” His voice was hoarse from lack of sleep.

  She froze in her tracks like a surprised prowler. “Brody?” she whispered. “I, uh, didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Forget about that.” He cut right to the chase. “Can I see you again?”

  “I, um, have wedding stuff all day, and then I’m flying home early tomorrow morning, so I don’t think…” Her voice trailed off.

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. She was really cutting all ties? Her body language telegraphed it; she leaned as far away from him as she could. He knew what that meant from all the times he’d done that himself.

  “I have to go,” she mumbled.

  Yeah, he’d said that, too, way back when. Of anyone, he knew the score.

  “Right.” He forced out a laugh. “I get it.”

  Because he already knew all the excuses: the sex was great, but there was no way it could work between them. There were a thousand reasons she couldn’t see him again and he couldn’t see her, starting with her career and ending with his. She liked her life the way it was and didn’t want to change it. She didn’t need the complications he gave her. Agreed.

  How many times had he made up stupid excuses like these? Just get out the door and run. Say anything and be gone.

  He lay back on the pillows. Suddenly, he couldn’t smile anymore. Maybe everything was coming due. There’s more to integrity than winning ski races. Or sleeping with a woman you think you share a connection with.

  “At least kiss me goodbye, sweetheart,” he tried to joke.

  But she only bit her lip and shook her head.

  He knew it was just as well, but it still hurt to watch her walk out the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  REGRET. THAT WAS THE FIRST thing Amanda felt when she looked at Jeannie, standing before her in their mother’s beautiful white-lace wedding gown.

  Her eyes stung and she had to blink, hard, to keep the emotion locked inside. This was the part of the ceremony she’d been dreading. She hadn’t wanted to think about it because it didn’t serve anybody to bring up the obvious: Mom had desperately wanted to see Jeannie celebrate her marriage vows, but she’d passed away too soon.

  “Have you seen Massimo?” Jeannie asked. He was all Jeannie thought of today, and for a moment, Amanda blinked. But for her sister’s sake, she swallowed the pain and crossed the side room where she and Jeannie had gathered. At the doorway she peered into the ancient Italian chapel.

  There he stood, Jeannie’s beloved, grinning from ear to ear beside his long line of groomsmen. The priest stood at the altar behind them, calmly waiting for Amanda and Jeannie to walk down the aisle so the wedding mass could begin. From the choir loft above, an organist solemnly played “Ave Maria.” But the church wasn’t hushed. Low murmurs filtered throughout. On Jeannie’s side of the aisle sat her female ski-team friends and a smattering of aunts and cousins. A sparse turnout, but that was their sparse family.

  Amanda’s eyes watered. But no, she wasn’t going to think about her mother. Instead, she glanced to the groom’s side of the church.

  It was packed, with everyone from Italian grandmothers sobbing into their handkerchiefs to children scampering beneath the pews. A line of hard-bodied skiers filled the back row, and, for a moment, Amanda found herself looking for the hottest one of all.

  Yeah, right. When I win the Pulitzer Prize. This was a one-night stand, and you knew it going in.

  So why was she suddenly wishing with all her heart Brody had come?

  Because I’ve never had a one-night stand before.

  Can I see you again? Brody had asked. But all one-night stands said that the next morning, just to be polite. Didn’t they?

  A tear rolled down her cheek and Amanda swiped at it. Jeannie’s arm curled around her waist.

  “Mandy, this is a happy day,” Jeannie said.

  “It is.” I’ll get over it, she thought. The key was to keep her feelings locked inside and let them out only when it was safe.

  Now was not safe. She trained her gaze on the granite floor, and felt another tear dripping down her nose.

  “Mandy, what’s wrong?” The celebrants were getting itchy. Heads were turning. Voices rising to open conversation.

  “I wish she were here,” Amanda whispered.

  “I know, sweetie.” She felt Jeannie’s scratchy lace sleeve slide over her shoulders. “But you have to know you took good care of her. Mom told me so herself. You couldn’t do anything more to help her.”

  “She wanted to make it to this day. She wanted to be here, desperately.” The waterworks were flowing harder now. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do this to her sister.

  “Don’t you know?” Jeannie dabbed Amanda’s eyes with her “something borrowed, something blue” handkerchief, and then tucked it into Amanda’s hand. Who was the big sister and who was the little sister now? “Mom is here with us, Mandy. Can’t you feel her spirit?”

  Amanda hugged her sister. Yes, she could feel her mother’s calm presence, because Jeannie was her mother’s calm presence. They were like twin souls. And Amanda had never understood how they could stay so accepting of life as it was, and not as it should be. “Aren’t you mad?” she asked. “Don’t you feel cheated? Don’t you feel like you deserve more?”

  And then Amanda did what she’d been avoiding doing all week—she looked specifically at her baby sister’s metal crutches. The crutches that would be part of her life every day for a long time, maybe always. The crutches that were all her father’s fault because he’d pushed her and pushed her, even when she wasn’t physically ready to race that mountain.

  He’s not even here, she thought bitterly. He can’t stand for everyone to see what he did to her when she hobbles down that aisle. And he should stand it. Oh, he should.

  But Jeannie just smiled—that same, angelic “mom” smile that used to drive Amanda crazy—and she kissed Amanda on the cheek as she handed her the maid of honor’s bouquet of yellow daisies and white baby’s breath. “I do deserve more, and I found it. He’s standing at the altar waiting for me.”

  Amanda couldn’t help smiling. “Massimo, the Prince of Men.”

  The gentle Italian was nothing like Dad. He wouldn’t hurt Jeannie.

  And Jeannie, in the most important way, was nothing like Mom. She had a boatload of accomplishments under her belt. More accomplishments than Massimo, if that was possible. Jeannie would always have the power to fight back and stand up to him if she ever needed to in their relationship. The two of them would always be on equal footing.

&nbs
p; “Don’t worry, Amanda,” Jeannie promised, “we’re going to find someone for you, too.”

  I’ve already found someone I like, Amanda thought, and he hates Dad more than I do.

  And for that alone, it was impossible to have anything more with Brody than their stolen one-night stand. She lifted her chin and gripped the handkerchief in her fist.

  And then she steadied her other hand against her sister’s back and prepared to walk her down the wedding aisle.

  BRODY SAT WITH HIS TEAM at a trattoria in the village. The remains of a wolfed-down lunch lay spread over a pockmarked table, though Brody hadn’t touched his plate. Franz, fluent in Italian, was turned to the television on the wall and was translating the commentary from a news program about politicians and sex scandals. Hermann and Steve cracked jokes, and even serious Jean-Claude tossed in his X-rated two cents.

  Just what Brody needed; he felt like crap as it was. He closed his eyes and held a heavy white porcelain cup, steaming with thick espresso, to his face. He’d dragged himself through two morning meetings followed by a grueling workout and then this lunch meeting, but the whole time his mind had been fixated on the early-morning hours and his last conversation with Amanda.

  He’d made a huge mistake with her last night. Taken a risk and been kicked in the teeth for it. Maybe it really was karma, and he had a lot to make up for before he could earn the life he wanted. He wasn’t entirely sure he bought into that stuff, but why else would he have fallen for a city-girl reporter who lived six time zones away?

  And yeah, he’d had sex with her. Sweet God, had they had sex.

  His body still throbbed with it. No amount of weightlifting or cardio could push away the memory of her skin sliding over his. She was under his skin even now, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. And he couldn’t start over with her, track her down and ask for her phone number, because MacArthur was attending the wedding reception where she currently was.