Her heart pounding, Shannon whispered, “From your lips.”
His expression did not change, and for a single, terrifying moment, she wondered if she had completely misread all those small and subtle things he did—fully catering to her tastes yet edging her into trying new things, the assessing gleam in his eyes when he looked at her, as if debating with himself and holding back.
Brandon leaned forward. His breath warmed her cheek for an instant before his fingers tangled through her hair, steadying her as he tilted his head and claimed her mouth in a kiss. His careful emotional distance over the past few days was not an indication of sexual inexperience. Their first kiss was not tentative, as she had expected. Neither was it sweet and slow, as she had hoped. Instead, he took her with decisiveness, urgency, and focus that made her senses reel as much from the disorientation as from the sudden jolt of intimacy.
Perhaps she clung on to him, threading her fingers through his hair, to keep the world from spinning around him. Or perhaps she clung to him to pull him closer, craving the feel of his hard body against her curves. Tears stung her eyes, as the spark of desire in her stomach twisted into flame. She had forgotten what it was like to be wanted, to be desired.
Shannon moaned, low and deep in her throat. She leaned into him, wanting more of him, but he pulled back just far enough to break the kiss but not the contact. “Do you taste the wine?” he whispered.
Her mind struggled to form the words. “What wine?”
Brandon chuckled. The low and sexy sound knotted in her stomach as he rose and tugged her to her feet. “I’m not going to let you get in the way of enjoying my wine.” With his wineglass in one hand, he drew her over to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantle before gliding the back of his hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “Let me,” he murmured.
“Yes.” Her heartbeat raced as his hands caressed her back as he tugged down the zipper and eased the straps off her shoulders. The black silk dress slid off her body to pool at her feet. He drew his breath in sharply. “You were dressed to seduce.”
Yes, she supposed she had—not necessarily consciously or deliberately, but she had soaked in the bath before dinner and smoothed fragrant ylang ylang lotion over her skin. She had selected a lacy black bra and thong, and worn her best dress.
She told herself she had been dressing for dinner. Now she realized she had been dressing for him, with every intention of stripping everything off.
“Take it off.” His voice rasped.
The tension and tautness in his stance shot a rush of power straight into her head. She unhooked her bra and let it fall. He gritted his teeth and shifted his stance, obviously in physical discomfort. She laughed softly, a throaty sound as she slid her thong down the length of her legs before stepping out of her discarded clothing.
She was about to kick off her high heels when he stopped her, his hand outstretched. “Don’t,” he said. “Leave them on.”
Shannon raised her chin and stared at him. Naked, except for her stilettos, she should have felt vulnerable, fully exposed to the hungry gaze of a fully dressed man, but she felt powerful. She was powerful, and when he stepped up to her, she welcomed him with open arms. The smooth spun cotton fabric of his shirt teased her nipples into hardness. The rough sensation of his denim jeans slid between her legs to ignite the heat between her thighs.
She closed her eyes, a gasp tearing from her lips, as she ground herself against his thigh. His breathing quickened, his desire a hard bulge in his jeans. “Not so fast.” He caught her wrists in his hands. “I intend to enjoy my wine first. Lie down on the rug.”
“You…” The coil of sexual heat speared through her. A smile spread across her face. “You’re a bastard.”
“Oh, yes.” He grabbed a pillow off the couch and slid it under her head. “Now, hold still.” He tilted his glass of wine, spilling a few drops onto her left breast. Shannon arched up into the sensation of liquid trickling down the curve of her breast, and gasped as the moist heat of Brandon’s mouth closed around her nipple.
Oh, God. She did not know which was more unbearable. The maddened swirl of sensation around her breast or the untended heat between her thighs. She reached down to touch herself, but Brandon’s grip closed around her fingers. “I’ll take care of you. Keep your hands by your sides or I’ll have to tie you down.”
She whimpered with hope, her cheeks flushed.
Brandon stared down at her and a slow, amused smile crept over his face. “You want me to do that, don’t you?” He used her discarded bra to tie her hands loosely above her head. The knot was slack to the point of being useless—she could have yanked her hands apart in a second—but the symbolism of it fanned the shy flame of eroticism—the flame she would never have dared share with anyone more than an intended one-night stand.
“I wish you could see yourself—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted. You’re beautiful,” he murmured as he stroked his hand along her side. She quivered at his touch, uncertain if she wanted his strokes to be harder and firmer or light and teasing like the whisper of butterfly wings.
Wine trickled between her breasts and down her flat stomach. Brandon’s tongue traced a path on her skin, warm where the wine was cool. The burst of conflicting sensations sizzled through her and she closed her eyes, her fingers digging into the carpet over her head. He shifted lower; she trembled in anticipation but jolted when his hands, instead of his tongue, clamped over her moist heat. She pushed against his hands, wanting more, needing more of his demanding touch as he touched her in her most private, intimate places.
She inhaled sharply when he slid his fingers into her, stroking and caressing, and when his breath caressed her cheek, she parted her lips for his kiss. The simultaneous invasion of her body pushed her senses over the edge, and she tensed as an orgasm swept over her. Her mind was still reeling when she felt him pull away.
Shannon cracked an eyelid open to see Brandon strip off his clothes. His skin—golden bronze in the firelight—stretched over taut muscles and a lean torso. “You’re not too bad looking yourself,” she murmured as he stretched out beside her.
He laughed. “Ah, compliments. You’re overflowing with them. More wine?”
“More you.” She parted her legs in invitation as he slid a condom over his hard length. Shannon freed her hands from the loose binds and glided her fingers over his muscular back, enjoying the feeling of them shifting behind her hands as he moved against her.
Languid from her orgasm, she relaxed against the carpet, content to let him find his release in her body. She was not prepared for the slow build-up of relentless pleasure as he filled her again and again. Her breaths quickened as she allowed her head to fall back, surrendering to the waves of sensation washing over her. She raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and gasped as he penetrated deeper into her. Coherent thought fled before the relentless tide of pleasure, and when the big wave surged over her, pulling her under, it tore a scream from her lips.
She was only dimly aware that Brandon had stiffened against her, his low gasp scarcely audible beneath her cries. The minutes drifted by, each second counted by the pounding of their hearts against each other. She murmured a protest as he pulled away from her. “Don’t go.”
“I don’t want to squish you.”
“You won’t. Not if you’re on the bottom.”
He laughed, the sound low and sexy, as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she sprawled over his chest. The appraising gleam in Brandon’s dark eyes was a dash of icy water against the warm flush of her afterglow. “I thought we had a deal. What inspired you to break it?”
“I suppose if we never intended to meet again after tomorrow, then it wouldn’t hurt anyone to take things a little further on our last night together.”
A frown deepened the furrow between his eyes. “And I thought I was the callous one.”
“I never thought you were, not for a moment
.”
“And you decided to seduce me because it would be a one-night stand?”
“The holiday ends tomorrow. We go our separate ways to our very different lives.”
“Not so different, or so far. Westchester is only an hour from New York.”
Shannon tilted her head and stared at him. She swallowed hard and waited until she was certain her voice would be steady. “What are you saying? That you want more?”
“I…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I want.”
She smiled down at him. “I want one night. Can you give me that?”
“You’ve already taken that.”
“Semantics.” She grinned.
“Technicalities are the soul of the law.” He flashed her a matching grin. “And technically, the night has just begun.”
The sun was a sliver on the horizon when Shannon handed her backpack to the taxi driver and slid into the backseat of the car. Her gaze flashed up to the bedroom window of Maggie’s villa. She had spent the night in Brandon’s arms, and her body, relaxed yet aching, reminded her of the hours of pleasure he had given her. He was a versatile lover, prepared to shift from sweet and tender to demanding and dominant—a creature of many faces, not unlike the many roles he probably played as a lawyer dealing with different clients and different cases.
Her heart ached as the car turned down the driveway. She kept her gaze on the window until it was out of sight. Perhaps some tiny part of her had hoped that Brandon would appear at the window, that he would call her back.
That he would tear up the virtual contract they had made.
But why would he? He had kept to the contract. She was the one who had broken it. Was the heaviness in her chest guilt or regret? Probably a blend of both. Brandon had given her an outstanding Italian vacation. He deserved better than a farewell note on his dresser, but she could not bring herself to drag out the goodbyes. They had agreed, hadn’t they, that they were looking for different things. They were at different stages of their lives. They were wrong for each other.
Yet, she had enjoyed his company beyond anyone else’s.
She expelled her breath. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong guy.
She knew it in her head as well as her heart. It was all wrong, so why did it hurt so much to let it go?
Brandon awoke to the glare of the mid-morning sun pouring in through the window. The house was so still he could see the dust motes floating in the pool of light. The vast expanse of the bed beside him was empty—not even an indentation to mark where she had lay.
Shannon was gone. He knew it even before his gaze fell on the envelope on the dresser.
Teeth gritted, he flung aside the covers and stepped out of the bed. Why did she leave? Her flight from Florence wasn’t until the late afternoon. They had agreed that he would drive her to the airport at noon, in plenty of time to catch her flight back to the United States.
Apparently, she had changed her mind. Was she so eager to be rid of him that she would pay for unnecessary cab fare and wait for hours at the airport just to avoid saying goodbye in person?
Crazy woman. Who knew what made her tick? She had blown his mind with her responsiveness and eagerness, but apparently, the sex hadn’t been as good as he imagined it was.
If he hadn’t overslept, he could have stopped her from leaving.
But then again, who was he to stop her from leaving? Their deal was for a week of companionship while touring Italy. Their contract hadn’t even included sex, but she had thrown it into the mix at the last minute.
It should not have altered their deal, but it did.
The unanticipated intimacy, the unexpected rightness of it changed everything.
Though, apparently, not for her. Brandon tugged the handwritten note out of the envelope.
Thank you for an amazing week. Shannon.
He scowled. What the hell. Was that the best she could do by way of a thank you note? She had run so fast, it was a wonder she hadn’t left skid marks.
Crumpling the note, he flung it into the waste paper basket. The holiday with Shannon—the brief and diverting interlude—was over. His scowl twisted into an ironic half-smile. Welcome back to reality.
Chapter 6
New York City welcomed Brandon with its distinctive cacophony of controlled chaos and plunged him into the endless cycle of work and social events. His client meetings and cases kept him in the office until late in the evening, and his meals consisted of take-out Chinese food, reheated in the microwave, or cold pizza.
Shannon, however, refused to quietly fade into memory. He saw glimpses of her in other women’s dazzling smiles, heard her in other women’s quick wit and self-deprecating good humor. Each time he coached a client through the legal aspects of a new business venture, he thought of her. Each time he worked through a client’s frustration with the convoluted medical insurance system, he remembered her.
It made no sense, he told himself as he returned to his Upper East Side townhouse late one night after a half-hearted date with a leggy blond legal secretary from another law firm. He should have scored with that woman, except that he had not cared enough to pursue it. In fact, he had not been able to work up more than a passing interest in another woman since Shannon.
Scowling, he poured himself a glass of merlot and took it out to the balcony. The cool breeze of an early October evening snapped at him as he leaned against the balcony and sipped his wine. Why Shannon?
Because she’s technically available. Because Westchester and New York City are near enough for a sustainable relationship. Because we got along insanely well together. And we had great sex.
It made sense, didn’t it? Surely she would have seen it too.
So why had she walked away?
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Brandon set down his glass, and looked out over the park, dotted with lights. The city continued to buzz and hum with unceasing activity. Just like my life, he reflected wryly.
Only in Tuscany had he truly been able to unwind from the stress that kept his mind more tightly coiled than a spring. In fact, it had taken days before his biting sarcasm gave way to a more laid-back sense of humor. It was a wonder he hadn’t scared Shannon off in those early days. But then again, perhaps the first fifteen seconds of their acquaintance had damaged her impression of him beyond redemption.
No. Nothing was irredeemable. If he wanted a second chance at a first impression with Shannon, he would have to make it happen on his own terms.
A month and a day into her new career as the owner of the Westchester Urgent Care clinic, Shannon returned home without the unnerving crawl of panic under her skin. For the past four weeks, she had been plagued by the certainty that she had bitten off more than she could handle and that it was merely a matter of hours, if not minutes, before her business completely fell apart on her. Each hour of each workday had unleashed a frenetic burst of activity that kept her and the nurses bustling, but on that particular day, she had finally relaxed into a rhythm that, although quick, seemed steady, even sustainable.
She could do it. She wasn’t going to screw it up.
And she wouldn’t have to blame Brandon for her distracted state of mind.
Heavens knew she had spent far more time thinking about him when she should have been focused on her business instead. He had the most annoying way of popping into her thoughts at random moments, like when she heard a man’s deep and sexy laughter, or worse when she saw reflections of his masculine good looks in his sister’s stunning beauty—and Maggie, damn it, was apparently on the cover of every fashion magazine.
Shannon let herself into her townhouse and locked the door behind her. She shrugged off her coat and tossed her tote onto the couch before sinking into an armchair and closing her eyes. As it was her habit, she drew three deep breaths. The first dispelled the stress of that day. The second pushed away the worries of the next day. The third—
The third breath failed to do what it was supposed to do—dismiss
thoughts of Brandon Smith. Against her better judgment, she reached for her smartphone. Despite Shannon’s best intentions to capture only the local aspects of Tuscany, Brandon had shown up in more than one of her vacation photographs—forever immortalized in her smartphone and her cloud drive. Technically, she could have deleted those photographs. Emotionally, she wasn’t ready to do so.
Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man. But Brandon had, nevertheless, given her something amazing beyond mere memories. He had given her hope that perhaps there might someday be a right time, a right place, and the right man.
Shannon swallowed hard against the ache in her chest as she scrolled through the photographs, pausing at one Brandon had not even known she had taken. He had looked out upon a Tuscan vineyard, his face set in profile. He had not been smiling, and would have looked sad if not for the relaxed set of his eyes. It was the image of a man in repose, a man at peace.
That man was the man she wanted.
Brandon, as he rarely was.
Too bad. It’s a damned shame.
The doorbell buzzed, and with some effort, she hauled herself from her comfortable seat and opened the door to see a deliveryman with a package. “Miss Larson?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Please sign here.”
She scribbled her signature on the tablet he held out and accepted the narrow but heavy box from him. “Thanks.” She closed the door on the man and removed from the package something snuggled in layers of bubble wrap. She unwound it carefully and stared in surprise at the bottle of wine.
Domaine Zind Humbrecht Riesling 2012.
A smile immediately spread across her face as she picked up the note that accompanied the wine. Continuing your education. Brandon.
Beneath his signature, he had left his phone number.
No, no, no. Bad idea. But it would be a shame to waste a bottle of wine. She poured a glass for herself and curled up in her favorite seat by the window. She picked out her favorite music station, filling her home with the soothing instrumentals of harp and violin.
Lured: A Love Letters Novel Page 5
