PROLOGUE
Summer, 1997
Sarah was everything he wanted, everything he had dreamed of for over a year now. He had waited, put aside any thought of her until she turned eighteen, ignored his rising lust each time she smiled at him. Just as he now ignored the little voice in his head that said she was still too young. Much too young for what he needed from her.
But how could he resist her any longer? His body ached for her, his c**k throbbed with a constant erection, his hands itched to stroke her silken skin. He was starving for the touch, the taste of her, and could no longer deny himself the pleasure he knew he would find in it.
So, he watched and he waited, planning just the right time, just the right way to draw her to him. She wanted him; he could see it in the soft golden brown eyes, the flush that mounted her cheeks when she looked at him. The way her hands trembled and her br**sts rose and fell with her quickened breathing.
And he knew when she left the party after receiving his note to search the shadows of the house for him, that she needed him, too.
“Sarah?” He moved from where he hid as she stepped hesitantly toward him. “Where’s your shadow?”
Mark Tate had been damned near impossible for him to get rid of.
“Mark?” She bit her lip nervously, glancing back at the corner of the house as though afraid the other man would suddenly appear. “He went off to the barn with some of his friends.” She turned back to him, watching him intently in the dim light of the full moon. “He’s just a friend, Brock.”
Mark wanted to be more. Brock was determined he wouldn’t be.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He moved closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body that seeped into that cold, dark place in his heart.
He watched as she swallowed tightly, her big brown eyes following him, looking up at him as he stopped within an inch of pressing against her heaving br**sts.
“You asked me to come,” she whispered on a sigh. “You knew I would be here.”
Her admission was like a fist of desire to his loins. Brutally sharp, agonizing in its intensity.
“Will you come for me every time I ask?” He was more than aware of his play on words.
Sarah frowned, her face turned up to him, her lips tempting him. “If I can.”
God, she was too innocent for him. Too soft, too vulnerable.
“You have no idea how much I want you, Sarah,” he told her, fighting to keep his voice soft, tender.
“How desperately I want to touch you.”
She took a deep breath. Her br**sts brushed against his shirt, the light material of her sundress doing nothing to hide the hard little ni**les beneath it. She licked her lips nervously, and Brock was lost.
“Come upstairs with me.” He lifted his hand, touching the fall of dark blonde hair that brushed her bare shoulders. “I promise not to hurt you, Sarah. Whatever you want. Just come with me.”
Her hand, small and graceful, the fingers slender with delicate pink nails touched his chest. He felt that touch clear to his soul. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, hungry.
“I’m nervous,” she whispered. “What if I can’t—”
He would explode, but he would accept it.
“Then I won’t,” he promised her. “Whatever you want, Sarah.”
She was scared. He could see it in her eyes. Scared, but she wanted him, wanted him just as much as he needed her.
“Just us?” She asked the question almost fearfully. “Just me and you, Brock?”
Gossip was the spice of life. Had she heard the gossip, the truth of what he was?
“Just us, Sarah.” He lowered his head until his lips could brush her temple as his hand smoothed up her bare arm.
He heard her breath catch, felt her body melt against him. He clasped her other hand in his as he moved back. He drew her into the house, then up the stairs to his room. The barbeque was in full swing outside.
Laughter and music drifted into the house, though it seemed distant, unreal. The only reality for Brock was Sarah as she followed him up the stairs, down the hall and into the room he had prepared for her.
Tall, thick candles graced the walnut dresser and bedside tables. Their soft light spilled over her, creating
a soft glow on her creamy skin. She trembled, a blush stealing over her cheeks as she glimpsed the bed, turned down and inviting.
“Sarah,” he whispered her name as she halted in the middle of the floor. “I promise. Only what you want.”
She followed him, her steps careful as he moved her to the bed.
“I’ve never—” Her voice shook.
“And you don’t have to now.” His c**k was raging at him; his heart was breaking for her. “I just want to hold you, kiss you.”
He needed her like sunlight. God help him, she brought light to his soul when nothing else had in years.
He would do anything for her, kill to have her. But he didn’t think he could survive another night without holding her.
He stopped by the bed, pulling her against his body, unable to wait another minute before he touched her. His lips covered hers, catching the breathy little moan that escaped as one hand clenched in her soft hair.
Her hands were on his shoulders, her soft belly pressing against his cock, and Brock knew he was on the edge of his control. He pressed his tongue to her lips, sinking into the dark velvet of her mouth as she shuddered against him. Her nails bit into his shoulders, her tongue tangled timidly with his, drawing him deeper in the maelstrom of pleasure that touching her evoked.
Moving slowly, his lips still covering hers, Brock lowered her to the bed. He wanted her until he couldn’t breathe. Her skin was soft, her moans heady as he pulled his shirt from his shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Her cry was mingled with shock and pleasure as he lowered the bodice of her dress, pressing the hard points of her ni**les into the muscles of his chest.
His lips were at her neck, nibbling, licking the fragrant skin as she trembled and gasped in his arms.
“I could eat you up,” he growled, kissing a soft line to the rising mounds that tempted him. “Like candy, Sarah. Like a man starved for the taste of you. Just you.”
A fever of need burned inside him. Lust had never been like this. It had never stolen his control, had never wiped the pain of his memories from his mind. It had never sent his heart beating so fast it shuddered through his body. It had never made him tremble from his hunger.