A Silken Thread - Brenda Jackson [4]
Brian heard the sound of a car door closing and knew Erica was home. He stood up and a feeling of anxiousness flooded him. Anxiousness and love.
He heard the rattling of the keys at the back door and knew within seconds he would be seeing the woman he’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with, the woman he wanted to have his babies, share his name, be by his side forever. He would honor her, love her and respect her for as long as he lived.
Trying to get a grip on all the emotions that began overtaking him, he drew in a deep breath the moment she opened the door. Their gazes immediately connected and the smile on her lips seemed to stroke every single inch of him.
She was wearing her hair down, and tonight it fell around her shoulders in fluid waves. Some of the dark strands seemed lighter underneath the brightness of her kitchen light. His gaze moved to her face. The first thing that had captivated him about her was her eyes. They were cat eyes, hazel in color and so captivating that a man could take one look in them and lose his senses. He definitely had that the first time. The next feature he noticed were her lips. They were perfectly shaped, made exclusively for his. She’d once said she hadn’t experienced a bona fide kiss until she’d kissed him.
His gaze traveled slowly from her face to her feet, admiring everything he saw in between, especially the curves that shaped her figure. She wasn’t as tall as most women he’d dated, but he thought her five-four height perfectly complemented his six-three frame.
Yes, Erica was a strikingly beautiful woman, a creature that sensual fantasies were made of. His chest tightened. She was so damn gorgeous that when he looked at her he couldn’t think straight, and a fierce, primitive need rumbled through him. He felt himself take his first steps toward her at the same time she kicked the door closed with her sandaled foot and moved toward him.
The moment she was within arm’s length he reached out for her, mumbled from deep in his throat, “Welcome home, sweetheart,” just seconds before he captured her mouth beneath his. He felt her immediate response as she automatically plastered her body to his as if she had every right to do so.
And she did.
By asking her to marry him and putting that ring on her finger he’d given her rights he’d never given another woman. Rights he would continue to give her. She was his heart, the very epitome of his soul, and he loved her in a way he had thought he could never love a woman. In a way he truly hadn’t wanted to love a woman.
At fifteen he had been old enough to remember the hurt and pain his mother had endured when they’d lost his father unexpectedly. Patrick Lawson had been there one day, a vital part of their lives, presumably in the best of health, working as a partner in a prestigious law firm—the same one where Brian was presently employed, but then the next he was gone. Neither Brian nor his mother had been prepared for the loss, and even now, nearly fifteen years later, he often wondered if his mother would ever recover, since she hadn’t allowed another man in her life.
He pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the woman in his arms, the way her tongue was tangling with his, diligently determined to swipe any and every thought out of his mind except for one—making love to her with a need he felt all the way to his toes. For now that was all that mattered. She was all that mattered.
He’d been having erotic dreams of Erica every night since last seeing her. She hadn’t helped the situation during their nightly talks. She had been better than any dial-up sex line any man could have called. During their late-night talks, she would deliberately make her voice even huskier in their sexually explicit conversations. She would whisper things she would do to him when they were together again that he was certain weren’t found in any sex manual. They were promises that only