The One

Prologue

Samuels Creek, Texas

Brenna Laine stood in the shadows of the birthday party, nursing a glass of champagne and watching the dance floor with a sense of envy.

The night was growing late. Enough so that the guests were inebriated sufficiently to be relaxed and feeling sexy.

The multitude of peach and white lights strung around the patio and gardens glistened over the couples on the dance floor. The tall lamp lights were turned down low; the music was slow and sensual. The air of sexual tension had begun growing throughout the night, drifting along the currents of music and weaving through the slowly swaying bodies.

Beyond, the water of the pool glistened with the lights, the gardens extending around it, drawing it in and making it a part of the natural landscaping as large, flat rocks and boulders extended up to the point where the water crashed into the pool below from the dining room.

The sound of the water, the sensual throb of the music and the heat of the night combined to create an atmosphere made for sex, sweat and earthy moans.

She watched them…well, more to the point, she watched a couple. The tall, muscular form of the male, so dark and inherently arrogant. Confidence oozed from every pore of his body, just as strength and power seemed to drift around him like an invisible aura.

The woman he held was as gorgeous as he was handsome.

Her raven-black hair was a little darker than her partner’s and fell to her nape, framing her face in a sleek, silky bob. Soft gray eyes stared up at her partner, and in her face, Brenna could see the intent to have him in her bed.

Her fingers clenched into fists, anger began to curl through her. She’d watched him for thirteen years. She’d loved him in one way or another since the day she had met him at the tender age of ten.

She’d dreamed of dancing in his arms, of being held against him, and every year she watched him dance with another woman. As the lights went low, the night began to age and the music began to whisper of sex and heat, she always stood in the same place and watched, year after year, as he danced with someone else.

Every year it became harder, every year it hurt more. And every year—

“When are you going to do something about this situation, Bren?” Aged and rasping, Poppa Jason questioned her as he moved behind her, the whisper of the electronic wheelchair silent beneath the sound of the music.

Turning, she resisted the urge to bite her lower lip in a gesture that would reveal the nervous energy beginning to plague her.

Every year it happened. Every year she watched the same scene, every year she was aware of the fact that the woman he danced with would also be the woman he slept with. And every year, the pain of it traveled deeper inside her heart.

“What are you talking about, Poppa Jason?” She tried to play dumb; she was usually pretty good at it.

Her stepfather wasn’t a man who was easy to fool though, and the fact that he had watched over her since she was ten years old gave him an edge on reading every emotion and every lie that crossed her expression.

The smile that curved his lips had no amusement to back it. His sun-weathered, aging face was lined with sadness though, and with somber knowledge.

“Ah now, baby girl, you know you can’t fool me that easily.” He shook his finger at her chidingly as his graying brows formed a deep vee. “I can see your heart breakin’ in your eyes, Bren.”

She lowered her head, turning it just enough to glimpse Jase, his son, a smile creasing his face at something the woman in his arms whispered in his ear.

She couldn’t stay here tonight. She couldn’t pace the floors, not here, as he fucked that bitch all night. And watching her smug smile the next morning would drive her to violence.

“Ah, Poppa Jason, it’s not that bad.” She sighed as she tucked a heavy strand of hair that fell over her shoulder behind her ear.

She couldn’t watch anymore.

The woman, Miriam Dallas, the personal assistant Jase had hired the year before, had been waging a seductive campaign to get him into her bed since the day she was hired.

Brenna could almost see her considering engagement rings and wedding gowns.

Her back teeth clenched in frustration at the thought.

“You’ve been in love with him forever,” Poppa Jason said knowingly. “You’re close to him, Bren, you have an edge the woman he’s dancing with doesn’t have. Miriam doesn’t stand a chance, sweetheart, if a chance is really what she wants.”

Brenna shrugged without commenting on Miriam. Poppa Jason was always making those oblique statements where Jase’s assistant was concerned.

“He sees me as his sister,” she finally said, regret tightening her chest. “No matter how hard I try to get him to see me as a woman.”

She wasn’t his sister. She had never seen him as a brother. Since she had been a teenager, he had held her all but mesmerized, filled her dreams and tormented her with a rapidly maturing arousal that was now a bitter, heated knot in her stomach.

“He knows you’re not his sister,” Poppa Jason informed her, his voice gentle. “Don’t fool yourself, girl. Get your ass out there on that dance floor and claim that boy. He’s not going to wait on you forever. Some men are stubborn and need more of a hint than others. And sometimes Jase is the most stubborn man I know.”

She had an insane urge to laugh. “The male does the hunting—”

“Don’t fool yourself,” he grunted again. “The female always does the hunting, girl. It’s simply that some females hunt out in the open.” He nodded to the woman Jase was dancing with. “And some women hunt with a more subtle grace.” His gaze came back to her. “Be careful, though, that you’re not too damned subtle.”

Subtle? If she dared get close to him at the moment, she would humiliate them both by begging for his touch. That would be her idea of subtle. And it would destroy her when he turned away, or worse yet, stared at her with pity.

“The rejection would kill me,” she said sadly. “I’m sorry, Poppa Jason, I can’t do it. And I can’t stay here tonight while he takes that woman to his bedroom. I’m going home.”

She hadn’t even gotten to give Jase his birthday present.

She’d tried to. She’d been in his office, ready to pull it from her purse, when Miriam had barged in. That present was still in the bag—only now it was in her bedroom rather than in his.

“I have to go, Poppa Jason.” Leaning close, she kissed his forehead gently. “I love you, but I can’t stay here tonight. Not tonight.”

She would go crazy. She would end up barging into Jase’s room and tearing Miriam’s hair straight from her head. The witch had been conniving, manipulating, scheming and lying for a year now. From the looks of it, tonight Miriam may well end up exactly where she wanted to be.

Poppa Jason didn’t see it, Jase didn’t see it, and sometimes Brenna wondered if it was her jealousy rather than Miriam’s faults that had her seeing it. The fact was, she had never liked any woman Jase dated or slept with. She had found faults with each and every one, and had refused point-blank to be more than simply coldly polite to them.

Moving quickly along the edge of the room until she reach the ballroom doors that were only partially closed, Brenna slid through the opening and quickly headed for the stairs. There was very little that needed to be packed. She could be on the road within an hour, headed to the airport and back to her small apartment in New York where she was attending college.

Her stepfather had been taking care of her since her mother’s death just after Brenna turned sixteen. He hadn’t forced her to return to the father who didn’t want her or her mother’s family, who had only been interested in the money they would have received for taking care of her.

He’d let her stay at the ranch, he’d bought her car, her clothes and paid the bills on her college apartment as long as her grades were high.

He gave her a small monthly allowance, and he’d made her a part of the family.

She was family as far as he was concerned, and he told her that often, as though he was afraid she might forget it.

She might be family, but she wasn’t blood, she thought as she unlocked her bedroom door and stepped inside the cool comfort of her room.

Heavy lace cascaded from the wood canopy surrounding her bed, the soft, antique-ivory color lending an elegance to the queen-size bed that she often spent hours lying within, fantasizing about Jase.

It was a bedroom straight out of a romantic fantasy. The lace spilling from the wood canopy, the heavy silk and lace duvet covering the feather comforter had just a hint of dusky rose in the floral design scattered over it.

Thick, fluffy pillows were stacked at the headboard, more lace spilling from the sides of the pillow shams as she moved them to the bottom of her bed and lay down with a weary sigh.

She was tired. She’d spent the better part of two weeks preparing for Jase’s birthday party and doing everything possible to ensure Miriam didn’t stick her dirty little paws into the planning of it.

And Miriam had tried, more than once. Even worse, her ideas had actually had merit. That merit had forced Brenna to use the ideas rather than ignoring them as she had wanted to.

Reaching to the bedside table, she thumbed the switch on the small lamp, spilling a soft, dim light around the area.

The light caught the silver thread of the black evening gown she wore. More silk and lace, though the lace of her dress was more delicate, softer and amazingly feminine. She’d bought the dress with Jase in mind.

The silk slip beneath was like a cloud over her body, it made her feel feminine and sexy, while the four-inch heels would have placed her at just the right height to sway against him.

If he’d deigned to dance with her. Which he hadn’t.

When he’d chosen a dance partner, he’d chosen Miriam.

A soft knock at her door had her gaze jerking to the panel as it slowly eased open.

“Bren, baby girl, you okay?”

Her heart slammed into her throat, the muscles there tightening in sudden excitement as Jase stepped into the room.

His eyes were so dark they were nearly black. They were almost black even at the best of times. Almost as dark as his hair. Thick and heavy, straight and less than silky, the heavy strands fell over the collar of his evening jacket and framed the hair lines of his face, the sharp, high cheekbones, the thickly lashed dark, dark eyes.

She sat up slowly as he moved across the room, feeling suddenly deprived of oxygen, dazed as he moved to her and sat on the side of the bed.

“You okay, baby girl?” His voice was a low, rough rasp as he leaned toward her, his arm stretching across her body at her thighs as he repeated the endearment.

It was straight out of a fantasy. Jase walking into her room, moving to her, his arm stretching across her body. Except, in her fantasy, she didn’t sit up for him, instead, he came over her, his head lowering, his lips taking hers.

“Bren?” There was concern in his voice now.

“I’m fine.” She fought to breathe, feeling the heaviness in her chest as excitement began to surge through her body.

God, she wanted him. She ached for him. There was a heat that seemed as though it were singing her thighs, her clit and the inner muscles of her pussy as she felt the warmth of him surrounding her.

“Dad said you weren’t feeling well,” he said as he lifted his free hand to tuck that stubborn curl behind her ear where she preferred to keep it. “What’s wrong?”

She loved him.

She was dying without him.

She was aching for him so brutally that it felt as though her heart were being shredded.

“Happy birthday, Jase,” she whispered.

She couldn’t wait.

He would reject her. She knew he would, but she couldn’t hold back the need. She couldn’t hold back the hunger suddenly raging through her.

Her hand lifted to his neck as she pulled herself toward him.

He didn’t move.

Her gaze locked with his as she began shaking, trembling as much from fear as from need as she brushed her lips against his for that first heated caress. Fire and ice raced through her body at the rough, velvet feel of his lips as she stroked hers against them, sending a surge of such hunger racing through her that it was nearly unbearable.

A sharp cry parted her lips as his hands suddenly gripped her upper arms. At first, she thought he would jerk her away from him, that he would throw her back to the bed in rejection. She didn’t expect him to pause, his hands holding her, his lips moving against hers, parting hers.

She was suddenly more courageous than she had ever been. The hunger opened a door she hadn’t expected, and at the feel of their lips parting against one another, she let her tongue peek out to taste him. Just a little taste.

She’d been dying for this for so long. Just a taste, she’d told herself. She’d always said it would be enough. That she would make it enough, no matter how slight the caress.

Until he suddenly jerked her to him. Held her by her upper arms, her head tilting back on her neck from the force of the hunger that suddenly filled the kiss she had dreamed of. A kiss that shot a fury of electric pleasure tearing through her as his tongue pushed past her lips, stroked against hers, tasted her as she tasted him, and sparked a cascade of sensations that swamped her senses.

Heat and surging hunger. It was like a full rush of intensity tearing through every nerve ending of her body. Pleasure washed over her, around her. Surrounding her as his arms did, pulling her against the hard heat of his body as his lips slanted over hers. He pushed her to the bed, coming over her, his body blanketing hers as she pushed her arms beneath his jacket to hold on to him.

Her palms flattened against his back, feeling the shift of muscle, the warmth of his flesh. His lips and tongue raided hers, ravishing them with an uncontrolled need that sent hers burning further out of control.

As her nails dug into his back in pleasure, she felt his hand at her knee, gripping the skirt of her dress, dragging it up, pushing it to her thighs as his fingers found the dampened fabric of her panties and pushed beneath them.

It was like a storm of hunger. It raged between them, through them.

Her legs parted for him, a cry tearing from her throat as his fingers stroked over the swollen folds of her pussy, finding her juices and the sensitized intimate flesh.

A growl echoed from his throat as his lips jerked back from hers. They smoothed over her jawline, down her neck as he licked and nipped at her flesh. Between her thighs, his fingers stroked, caressed, found her clit and rubbed around the tight, tortured bud as her hips jerked upward to him.

“Jase. Oh God, yes. Please yes.” She writhed beneath him as the sensations gathered around her. One was still surging across her senses when more came, then more, until there were so many layers of pleasure she had no desire to escape. No desire to resist the chains that formed around her heart and bound her to him in emotions that would prove to be unbreakable, even if her heart wasn’t.

When he moved, it wasn’t to take her though. It wasn’t to strip his clothes and move between her thighs. It wasn’t to possess her completely.

Before she could process what he was doing, he had jumped from the bed and stared down at her in shock, his eyes black with lust and inner fury, his fists clenched at his sides for a moment before he raked them through his tousled hair.

“Jase?” She whispered his name, suddenly aware of exactly what the movement meant.

He was finished. He had no intention of taking her. Somehow, she had a feeling, he’d never meant for that kiss to turn into what it had. And he wasn’t just shocked, he was horrified. Repulsed.

“God, Bren, I’m sorry.”

She was going to cry. She could see the regret on his face, see it filling his eyes as she slowly sat up and pushed the skirt of her dress over her thighs. She watched the movement, unwilling to watch his expression or the myriad emotions that had nothing to do with wanting her or loving her.

“I was drinking—” He seemed to halt, to pause.

Bren shook her head desperately. Please, God, no excuses. She couldn’t bear to hear them.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he finally stated, his voice, which had been so rough, so sexually hungry moments before, was now icy and emotionless. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t,” she whispered as she pushed herself from the bed.

Her body felt heavy. She hurt from head to toe, an encore of agony racing through her soul.

“Bren, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“But I did.”

She looked up in time to see the ice suddenly melt and his expression transform to shock once again. “What did you say?”

“I said, I did mean for it to happen,” she admitted, her voice thick with the tears she refused to shed. “I’m tired of being on the outside looking in, Jase. I’m sick to death of watching you disappear into your bedroom with another woman, whoever your favorite of the month is. And I’m tired of eating my heart out for a man who never sees me.”

If he looked shocked before, he looked poleaxed now. He simply stared at her, his expression slowly becoming icy once again.

“You’re my sister,” he stated with chilly resolve.

It felt as though he had shoved a dagger into her chest, straight to her heart, then twisted it savagely.

She had to fight back her tears, had to fight back the loss of the one dream she’d had for far too many years.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not your sister. But I’ll make certain I don’t trouble you again.”

She didn’t bother changing from the evening gown. Moving to the bag at the end of her bed, she reached in and lifted out the gaily wrapped present before turning back to him. She placed it carefully on the bed between them.

“Happy birthday, Jase.” She rushed from the bedroom, anger and pain churning inside her.

She had wanted to hand him the present personally, but now she didn’t dare. He would have probably thrown it back in her face.

She’d worked a part-time job for months for that present, saving every penny she could of her allowance to put with it. To buy him one of the few presents she knew he wouldn’t buy for himself.

She left the house, determined to place enough time and enough distance between them to get past the hurt.

If that were possible.

A part of her knew it wasn’t going to happen though.

She loved him. And loving Jase was the biggest mistake of her life.

As the door closed behind her, Jase stepped to the top of the stairs, holding the gift in one hand while the fingers of the other fisted in a dark, brutal emotion he couldn’t name.

A ring. She’d bought him the silver and turquoise band fashioned by one of his favorite artists. An original, to never be made again and personally signed. It had been gone when Jase had returned several weeks ago to buy it, and now he knew why.

Opening his hand, he stared down at the ring and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now?