Remember Me. Laura Browning

      Brandon climbed in facing her, more water sloshing over the sides. Lucy had her eyes closed, her expression peaceful. She looked beautiful. She looked like she fit in his life. He wanted more than this week. He wanted them to become a couple when this vacation was over with. And when had he become tied to a female like his pathetic elder brother? Seth’s sole focus these days was Tessa, especially with her getting so close to delivering their child. He’d watched the protectiveness with amusement, but now he understood. Lucy had knocked him sideways, and he wasn’t at all sure she was even aware of it.

      He caught her foot beneath the water and began to massage it. Her eyes fluttered open and she purred. No other way to describe it and, oh man, did it make him go hard again. Too bad he hadn’t brought a condom with him. Her foot brushed his cock. Now her eyes snapped open.

      “Brandon?”

      He nodded. “Oh yeah, I’m hard again, but I’ll live.”

      “Yes, but I don’t want you in pain.” She shifted positions until she had somehow scooted between his legs. Her hand wrapped around him.

      “Oh man.”

      He let her caress him until he was afraid he couldn’t handle it any longer. When he rose from the tub, he held his hand out to her. “Come on. Grab some towels. We’ll continue this in bed.”

      They took turns drying each other off, and if their efforts became caresses and kisses rather than toweling dry, Brandon had no complaint. Now, with his lips traveling across Lucy’s taught belly to the weeping heat of her sex, he doubted she had any complaints either. At last, he would show her the exact way he wanted to pleasure her. She was so responsive, her body moving with him and her cries filling the air, that when he tasted her, his body tightened with the need to come yet again.

      Not yet. Not this time. This time was for her and her only. But in the end, Lucy wouldn’t let it happen with her as the sole focus. She pleasured him in return. Now at long last, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, the covers drawn up while they dozed in the aftermath of what they’d shared.

      Brandon had found the one thing he had doubted he ever would—his woman.

      It took a while, but hunger drove them into the living room. Lucy was once again in his Nationals sweatshirt and boxers, while he’d pulled on flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt.

      “This is getting to be a habit,” Lucy joked.

      “Mmm. One I think I like. Eat up, baby. I want to take you into town this afternoon.”

      They showered together after lunch, though it took some time to finish playing and start washing. Back in their skiwear, with snow boots replacing ski boots, Brandon dropped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out to his rental car. The trip was a winding one, but beautiful, made more so by the woman sitting next to him. Wow, he had gone nuts.

      Once they reached Falcon’s Head, Brandon had to juggle for a place to park. At the tail end of the ski season, it seemed everyone was trying to get one last trip in. Afraid they would become separated, Brandon took Lucy’s hand and laughed when she raised one brow at him. “I don’t want to lose you.”

      Her smile altered, her gaze grew serious. “You won’t. Not if you don’t want to.”

      “Lucy…” He brought her hand to his lips. “Come on. Let’s go in here.” He drew her in off the crowded sidewalk, not even sure what kind of store they were entering.

      “Oh!” At her delighted exclamation, Brandon realized they’d entered a small art gallery. And she had a masters in art history. He couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

      “Would you like to look around?”

      She smiled, her gray eyes alight. “You don’t mind?”

      An unaccustomed feeling of tenderness welled in him at the look of excitement on her face. Her gaze was drawn to a section including pottery and sculpture.

      “Oh. Brandon. Look!” She pulled him by the hand over to a sculpture of a cowboy huddled on his horse as if seeking shelter from inclement weather. “I think this is a real Frederic Remington sculpture…not a reproduction.”

      “How can you tell?” He was curious.

      She bent closer to the sculpture. “The base is the first clue. A lot of reproductions are mounted on marble bases. It’s very rare to see an original one outside a museum anymore. And I see this one is not for sale. No surprise there. When an original goes up for sale, it’s a big deal, like a Sotheby’s or Christie’s auction.”

      He could see how much she wanted to put her hands on the artwork, and knew admiring art was not her true love. She looked at it with the desire to create, to be able to feel what the artist had felt beneath her own fingers.

      “I see you’re admiring the Remington.” An older woman, either the owner or manager, approached them. “It is an original, and not for sale, I’m afraid.”

      “I thought it might be an original, but of course without being able to see the foundry mark and numbering…”

      The woman’s eyes lit. “You’re familiar with authenticating art work?”

      Lucy shifted. “I’m an art historian, but not professionally. I also work in clay.”

      Brandon stepped back and observed, seeing a side to Lucy that was new to him. Her personality was happy and easygoing, so envisioning her being intense about anything was difficult. But when it came to discussing art, she was in her element. He followed the two women from the Remington to a display of Native American pottery.

      The owner handed her a pot, which Lucy examined in detail. “This is modern pottery,” the owner said, “an olla, done in the traditional style.”

      “What’s an olla?” Brandon inquired.

      Lucy answered him. “It’s a type of unglazed pot that’s been a staple of most Southwestern Native American tribes for more than a thousand years. The jar would be used for soups, stews…any number of things. Ollas exist in every culture, but this style is consistent with this part of the country.” She turned to the owner. “It’s fantastic there are still potters keeping the tradition alive.”

      They looked at some more pots, Brandon content to walk behind the two women. “So are you a potter?” the gallery owner inquired.

      “Yes. I learned it from my grandmother. I had to give it up for a few years, but I’ve been working with several designs, some on the wheel, but others using a coil technique like many of the eastern Native American cultures.”

      “Do you have any of your work on display?”

      Lucy shook her head. Brandon saw her blush. “I haven’t made a determined effort to market it yet, so I guess it’s more of a hobby right now.”

      “If you’re interested in pottery, you should go over to the museum in Coyote Creek. It’s a long drive from here, but you can fly it in less than an hour.”

      Lucy started to shake her head. Brandon spoke. “I have a pilot’s license.”

      The owner brightened. “You can rent a plane at Air Service at the airport. Pilots are available most of the time, but if you have your pilot’s license, you could fly it yourself.”

      Brandon wanted to be able to give the trip to Lucy. He’d seen just how much pleasure being able to look around the gallery and talk to the owner had given her. He could imagine the trip to Coyote Creek would be even better. “We may do that. Thanks for the suggestion.”

      They chatted for a few more minutes, then said their goodbyes. Lucy was almost bouncing on her toes she was so excited. Brandon grinned. She looked at him and laughed. “I’m having so much fun. Thank you for bringing me into town.”

      He caught her hand as they started past a coffee shop. “How about some coffee and a snack? We can plan our trip to Coyote Creek.”