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“At first I made the mistake of thinking that Melanie was all right. She was a little vain, but I chalked that up to her being a model. We dated casually, but it wasn’t anything serious. The papers got wind of it and blew it out of proportion, but I really didn’t care. Not until I understood what it was that Melanie really wanted.”

“Which was?”

“My father.” Brig let the full impact of his statement settle upon her before continuing. “As a model, Melanie was hot, starting to climb toward the pinnacle of her profession. But she wasn’t getting any younger, and modeling is a young woman’s game. Melanie was smart enough to realize that her career would only last a few short years at best. She liked the good life. Even with the money she earned, she was always in debt. It takes a lot of cash to keep a townhouse in New York, a condo in L.A., and a cabin in Aspen. That woman could spend money faster than the treasury department could print it.”

“And so she became romantically involved with your father,” Becca guessed with a sickening feeling of disgust.

“More than that. She was pressuring Dad into marrying her.”

“But the press . . . why didn’t they know? This sounds like something the gossip columnists would get wind of.”

“Melanie had to be patient. Dad insisted on it.” Brig looked away and squinted against the rising sun. “Patience wasn’t Melanie’s long suit, but she played her cards right. When she knew I wasn’t interested in her, she moved in on Dad. He was probably her target all along. Anyway, Melanie had to wait in line.”

Becca understood. “Because he was involved with Nanette Walters.”

Brig frowned and shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me understand Jason’s choice in women, not since Mom died. But there it was. And even though Nanette was just one in a long succession of women, my father cared for her.” Brig’s hands slid down Becca’s spine and he pulled her close to him. “Jason made sure that all the women in his life were . . . comfortable. He gave Nanette her walking papers along with a sizable gift of jewelry.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked, aware of the soft touch of his hands against the small of her back.

“I wish I knew,” he admitted, kissing the top of her head.

Chapter 7

Nothing was resolved, and, for the moment, it didn’t seem to matter. Becca accepted Brig’s silent invitation to stay with him for the remainder of the weekend. Upon his suggestion, she donned her jeans and sneakers and they hiked together through the leaf-strewn trails of the lower slopes, holding hands and flushing out a frightened doe and twin fawns who quickly bounded out of sight and into the protection of the dense woods. Brig held her hand warmly in his and with the other, pointed out secret treasures from his boyhood. The abandoned tree house he had unskillfully crafted at twelve was missing more than a few of its floorboards. It looked weathered and discarded in the ancient maple tree. The bend in the path where he had discovered a broken arrowhead was now overgrown. The deep pool in the mountain stream was as crystal clear as it had ever been, though it had been twenty years since he had last caught a native trout in it or swum naked along its bank.

Becca felt that Brig was showing her a secret side to his nature. A dimension she had never before been allowed to see. It warmed her heart to think that he would share his fondest memories with her. She walked with him until her muscles ached, and they laughed into each other’s eyes as if they were the only man and woman in the universe. They were alone, male and female, basking in shared affection, afraid to call their feelings love.

When twilight began to darken the hillside, they raced back to the cabin. Becca lost by a miserable margin, and Brig’s gray eyes danced with his victory. She pretended wounded anger, but he saw through her ruse and as she attempted to brush past him into the cabin, his hand shot out and captured her waist. Her head tilted backward and her golden hair fell away from her face, framing her twinkling green eyes in tousled, tawny curls. Her cheeks were pink from the cool fresh air and her lips parted into a becoming smile more sensual than any Brig had ever seen.

“You love to win, don’t you?” she asked.

“I love to be with you,” he responded, his eyes darkening mysteriously.

Her arms entwined around his neck. “I can’t think of another place I’d rather be.”

“That, Ms. Peters, is an invitation I can’t ignore,” he replied, tightening his grip on her waist and bending his head to mold her chilled lips to his. She closed her eyes and let the taste of him linger on her lips. She savored every moment she shared with him. Too long she had waited for the intimate pleasure of his touch.

His fingers spanned her waist to grip her possessively. His tongue slid between the serrated edges of her teeth to explore the warmth of her mouth. He groaned when the tip of her tongue found his. The pressure of his mouth against hers hardened with the passion that fired his blood.

When he lifted his head, it was to smile wickedly into her passion-glazed eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of you,” he mused against her ear.

“I hope not,” she breathed fervently.

They walked into the cabin silently, arms entwined, bodies barely touching. While Brig started the fire, Becca managed to put together hodgepodge sandwiches from the dwindling supply of food in the refrigerator. Together they drank chilled wine, nibbled on the sandwiches, and warmed their bare feet near the glowing embers of the crackling fire. The tangy scent of burning pitch filled the air. Sitting on the floor, her head nestled against Brig’s shoulder, Becca felt more at home than she had in years.

She watched him as he finished the last of his wine. The firelight sharpened the lines of his face, but even in the hard light, the charm of his smile was undiminished. The last six years had added a rugged quality to his masculinity. He was as lean as he had ever been and his hair was still near black with only the slightest sprinkling of gray.

He turned his gaze to her and found her staring intently at his profile. His eyelids lowered and his smile became provocative. “You’re an interesting woman, Rebecca,” he whispered hoarsely. With his finger he traced the line of her jaw and let it lower to the column of her neck. His finger stopped its descent at the hollow of her throat where it began drawing sketchy, lazy circles. “I’m not sure I like what you do to me.”

Her eyebrows raised, prompting him onward. She couldn’t find her voice, it was lost in the soft swirl of emotions generated by his feather-soft touch.

“I’m not in control when I’m around you, not in complete command of myself.”

His fingers found the top button of her blouse, released it, and toyed with the edge of her collar. Becca closed her eyes and she felt her body warming from the inside out, heard the ragged sound of her uneven breathing as he unhooked another button and then another. She had to draw in her breath quickly when his hand slipped under the soft fabric of her bra to lovingly cup a breast.

“Oh, Brig,” she sighed, turning her body, twisting in his arms in order to move closer to him. She felt her nipple harden, and moaned in contentment, when his head lowered and he took her breast in his mouth. The soft movements of his tongue and lips comforted her and helped increase the thundering tempo of her heartbeat.

Slowly he undressed her and then when she was naked, he discarded his own clothes. He lowered himself beside her, letting the hard length of his body mold against the soft tissues of hers. His arms wrapped around her, his hands kneaded the soft muscles in her back. “You’re mine,” he whispered roughly against her neck. His lips warmed a trail of hungry kisses down her throat, over the hill of her breasts, around her navel. “You’ve always been mine.”