Swept Away (26 page)

Instead of responding, she simply turned back around, facing away from him again. His arm
still circled her—only more loosely now. And, to her shame, she still didn’t push it away.

“Tell me something, kitten,” he said, leaning near her ear again. “About that virginity of yours
—when did you finally lose it?”

“None of your business.” Spoken not with rancor, just frankness. “Come on,” he prodded, low and persuasive. “Tell me.”

“No.” It hadn’t been the best move she’d ever made, and he didn’t need to know that. In hopes
of sloughing it off further, she added, “It wasn’t a big deal. Nobody special.”

His voice came out somber, serious. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

His sympathy on this particular topic wasn’t welcome. And it lodged a thought in her head that
forced her to turn and narrow her gaze on him. “And I guess you think if it had been you, it would have been special.”

He lowered his chin and flashed an arrogant grin. “I’d have made it special. Just on pure skill
alone.”

He was trying to make her smile, and it worked. He was probably also trying to arouse her
again, and that also succeeded. Sadly, after the kisses they’d just exchanged, she believed him
completely about the skill.

And it could have been special if it had been with him. But that no longer mattered. Much like
their kisses just now—those didn’t matter, either.

Being forced to think back to the night she’d lost her virginity reminded her of how little such
events and connections sometimes mattered once they were over. And it reminded her, one
more stinging time, of that moment at the swamp when he’d made it so scathingly clear that sex
with her would be sex and nothing more. And that was good. Because soon this would all be
over, too. And life would be normal again, and he’d be gone, and she’d be a married woman.
Today’s kisses history. It was only about sex for Brock Denton.

“It’s not too late,” he said, voice brimming with confident flirtation. “I could make it up to you
after we get out of this.”

He had no idea, of course, that she’d managed to get angry with him all over again just because
of a memory. He still thought they were flirting, and wanting, and that something more might
happen now. But she was about to wake him up.

She didn’t think he was a bad guy. Sadly, for her, she thought he’d turned out to be a pretty
good guy. But not for her. Not for any woman in that manner, she suspected.

She hoped not, anyway, feeling wholly selfish about it. She hoped he’d never fall in love with
anyone, hoped he’d never give anyone the things she’d once wanted from him—and had
maybe let herself want again, just for a short, tiny moment.

She turned in his loose grasp and lifted her hand to cup his stubbled cheek. And she spoke
with the same sureness and confidence she always heard in his voice, in hopes that he would
finally hear her this time. “It is too late, Brock. Despite everything that’s happened today—the scary stuff, and the kissing—it has to be too late.”

“Because you’re still planning to get married Saturday.”

She gave a succinct nod. “Yes. Do you finally grasp that now?”

He stayed quiet, looked grim and—if she wasn’t flattering herself too much—sincerely disappointed. “Yeah, okay, kitten—I get it.”

Then he finally released his hold on her, making her feel a little bit abandoned—even though it
was definitely for the best—so she turned back around and bit her lip, trying to dull the loss.

Whether or not Ian was her dream guy was irrelevant—she’d agreed to marry him, and no
matter what happened, if you were going to be married, you had to respect the marriage, treat it
with reverence, place it above all things.

As for the fact that she’d just made out with Brock for a few blissful moments that had
temporarily made her forget Ian existed, she’d just have to make peace with that, forgive herself
and move on. From this moment forward, her commitment to Ian took center stage.

And if she was entirely honest with herself it also had to be too late because Brock had hurt
her once upon a time, badly, in ways he’d never even known about and still didn’t—and she’d
promised herself she’d never be wounded by a guy that deeply again.

As a beam of sun angled down through the trees overhead, casting one of those ethereal
glowing rays that always made her think of God, she permitted herself a fraction of a second for an ironic thought: The really great thing about marrying Ian was that he simply didn’t
possess the power to hurt her that much—because maybe she simply didn’t love him that much.

She pushed it away as quickly as it came, not wanting to believe it was true.

Then wrapped her arms around herself as the cold from the rain finally replaced Brock’s
warmth and began to seep into her skin.

Kat’s eighteenth birthday
Ten years ago

Kat checked her watch, then an elaborate gilt-framed mirror in the lavish room where no less
than fifty teenagers stood laughing, dancing, and eating—as well as occasionally throwing— birthday cake. The whole evening so far had felt surreal, like she was watching someone else’s party, a distant observer. She resented that a little—she’d looked forward to the party, not to
mention turning eighteen—but knowing what she was going to do with Brock in a little while overshadowed it all.

Peering into the glass, she licked her freshly glossed lips and imagined Brock’s reaction when
he saw her. No flirty sundress tonight—instead, she’d worn a black sheath that hugged her in all the right places. Demure enough to suit her parents, but not the dress of a little girl. And
instead of wearing pink lace panties, she’d worn none at all.

Only Brock Denton could inspire her to such hedonism.

Growing warm from anticipation, she was just about to slip out and start toward their rendezvous point when a male hand closed around her wrist. She looked up to find Scott
Powers, quarterback of the football team and the best-looking guy in her class. She’d dated him
briefly, but they’d broken up because she wouldn’t have sex with him. He’d thought she was a
prim Goody Two-shoes, but the truth she’d been too kind to tell him was that he just didn’t do
it for her. Sure, he was hot, but his kisses were sloppy and his hands surprisingly fumbly for a quarterback, and he was too aggressive, no finesse. She simply hadn’t wanted to have sex with him—there’d been no zing, and certainly no emotions.

A fleeting thought assaulted her—maybe Brock had found her kiss sloppy, her hands fumbly. He’d thought her a little girl in the very same way she’d thought Scott a clumsy schoolboy. It
withered her confidence just slightly.

“Some of us are going swimming now. You coming?”

It had been part of the professionally printed invitation designed by her mom—Swimming after
dinner and cake—don’t forget your suit!

“Later,” she said to Scott. Much later. She had way better plans.

But instead of releasing her wrist, he leaned in close. She smelled beer on his breath as he
whispered, “Come into the pool house with me, Kat.”

She drew back slightly, more from distaste than surprise. Scott lacked the ability to frazzle her.
“And why would I do that?”

Despite the dryness of her tone, he gave a grin that looked more like a leer. She couldn’t help
thinking how badly he was handling whatever small amount of alcohol he’d managed to
smuggle into the party. “Are you still a virgin, Kat? Hmm?”

She flashed an oh-grow-up look. “And that would be your business because...?”

He smiled wide, and in spite of other circumstances, it reminded her what a good-looking boy
he was. “Because I thought you might want to change that. It’s your birthday, you know.”

She blinked, attempting to look bored, since she was. Mostly. “Yes, I’m aware.”
Then he tried to go earnest on her. “I’ve wanted you ever since we quit going out.”

“What about Nicole?” A cheerleader he’d been dating, and screwing all over town, from what
she’d heard.

He shrugged. “She’s okay. But it’s you I really like. I’ve always liked you, Kat—you know that.”

“Hmm,” she said, skeptical.

In a surprisingly smooth move, he released her arm and slid his hand to her butt, squeezing
lightly. “Why don’t you let me show you how much?”

She looked him in the eye, wondering if he could tell she wasn’t wearing panties, then took a
step back. “Sorry, Scott, I don’t think so. I’m into somebody else.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

She shrugged and let a small smile leak out, starting to feel just a little giddy about what lay
before her. “It’s a secret,” she said, then spun and walked away—out into the breezeway that
led to the pool, but she turned in the other direction, toward the front entrance.

The humidity had lightened over the last few days, and a sea breeze had reached inland to waft
over her, lift her hair slightly, and cool her rather heated thighs. She walked with confidence
down the sidewalk that led from the club’s buildings and parking lot, glad the distance was
short, since she’d worn her sexiest strappy heels, and also suddenly glad she’d worn black so
that if anyone stood lingering around the front entrance, she wasn’t particularly noticeable.

When she reached the tall wrought-iron gates, they stood propped open as usual, and she
stepped through, looking up and down the quiet-at-night road. Brock hadn’t arrived yet, but
she was a few minutes early. She sat down on a big boulder used for ornamentation, careful
not to snag her dress, then drew in a deep, refreshing breath of air, still amazed he’d changed
his mind about her, and apparently wanted to change even more than that.

Part of her felt foolish for agreeing to go with him tonight—he’d been so mean out at the
swamp, things had felt so horrible and final. But how could she turn him down?

Because maybe this meant something big. Maybe her graduation seduction attempt had given
him a chance to think, to figure out how much he liked her, and how dumb he’d been to reject
her. Maybe tonight would be the start of something special between them—finally. She glanced
up at the stars through the palm fronds that towered above, drank in the scent of nearby
bougainvillea, and let out a feminine sigh. This was going to be the beginning of something
perfect, she just knew it.

When she spotted headlights in the distance, she stood up and walked toward the road—only to
see a sedan go speeding by. A minute later, more headlights, but they belonged to a truck. She sat back down.

By five after ten, she was miffed. Where was he?

Calm down, Kat, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t stand you up.

Would he?