by Day Leclaire
“Shall I show you?”
Four
“I think this might be the ‘something more’ I had in mind.”
“Might?” It took every ounce of Brandt’s self-control to keep from taking her then and there. “I’d say it was definitely the ‘something more’ you had in mind. At least, it’s the ‘something more’ I had in mind.”
Miri stared up at him, her sea-green eyes soft and luminous. “Then why have you waited? Why haven’t you tried to make love to me before this? Is it because of who I am?”
He wouldn’t lie to her. “Yes. Who, what. There are warnings and conditions stamped all over you and I’d be a fool to ignore them.”
“That’s funny. I could have sworn the stamps had your name on them and maybe a small warning that says, ‘Open with care.’”
“I wouldn’t do it any other way.” She was too precious for anything other than care. “Not with you.”
He’d never been one to take advantage of a woman, and he didn’t plan to start with Miri. All Brandt’s previous lovers had known the score, he’d made certain of that. For the most part they’d been experienced women interested in a mature relationship. Since he refused to put an offer of marriage on the table, that’s all he had to offer them. But with Miri, instinct warned him to tread carefully. She was a Montgomery. A Princess of Verdonia. He couldn’t take a woman like this for his mistress, not without all hell breaking loose.
Miri’s mouth curved to one side, a teasing look he’d become intimately familiar with. She loved to give him a hard time, and he found, much to his surprise, that he thoroughly enjoyed being on the receiving end of her ragging. “Tell me the truth. Do these warnings you claim to see scare you?” she asked, draping her arms around his neck.
“Without question.”
“What if I gave you permission to ignore them?”
He released a frustrated bark of laughter. “I don’t understand you. I never have.”
Sooty brows drew together. “What’s to understand?”
“Most people find me off-putting.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s the sort of thing I mean. They wouldn’t have the nerve to tease me the way you do.”
“And you’ve used that reaction to your advantage, haven’t you?”
“It would be foolish not to.” He cupped her face. “But it never worked with you. You were always perfectly comfortable around me. Why is that?”
“Because I know you. I recognize you. I did from the first moment I saw you.” Her arms tightened around his neck. “And I’ve learned something during our time here on Mazoné.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I’ve realized how right this would be. Us. Together like this. Don’t you feel it, too?”
He did. But it was too soon, with too much still unresolved between them. Once he took her, they’d be indelibly connected, joined in a way he didn’t think she was prepared for. Theirs wouldn’t be a casual fling, regardless of what she might think. He knew better. Taking this any further would bind them irrevocably.
Before he could set her aside, she lifted upward and sealed his mouth with hers. Her lips parted and she breeched inward for a delicious seduction, offering heat and passion and a burning desire. She left no doubt as to how much she wanted him. The sweet truth of it was there in her kiss, one that gave him every bit of herself, unrestrained, leaving herself open and vulnerable to rejection.
Not that he could reject her. He forked his fingers deep into the silken weight of her hair and deepened the kiss. A sigh of delight slipped from her mouth to his, a sigh that filled him with her essence, invaded every sense, overriding sensibility. He could take her here and now, and she wouldn’t offer a single word of protest. She’d submit. Hell, she’d more than submit. She’d welcome his possession.
“Miri, we need to stop.” But even as he said the words, he slid his hand from her hair and followed the sweep of her neck to the edge of her bikini top. He traced the plunging line with a fingertip. “We can’t let this go any further.”
She shivered beneath the delicate caress. “Finish what you’re doing and then we’ll stop.”
“Good plan.”
He pinched the clasp between her breasts and a bubbling laugh escaped her. Peeling back the triangles of her top, he exposed her breasts. They were perfect, fitting into his palms as though made for his touch. The deep rose nipples tightened in reaction and he bent down to savor them. A musky woman’s scent rose up to greet him. Her scent. A scent more erotic than any perfume.
He should stop. This was the wrong time, the wrong place, even if it was the right woman. If they took this the next step, he wanted a better understanding between them, to deal with the ramifications beforehand rather than with regret afterward.
“We can’t.” He shuddered with the need to finish what they’d started. “We can’t do this now.”
She peeked at him through lowered lashes. A delicate flush warmed the sweep of her cheekbones and gave a rosy glow to her breasts. “If not now, then when?”
He closed his eyes. “Tomorrow.”
“Not tonight?” He could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“I have a business meeting. I don’t know how late it’ll run. And we need to talk before we take this any further.” He looked at her then. “I’m not interested in something temporary. Not with you.”
She smiled radiantly. “Neither am I.”
Brandt drew a deep breath and refastened her top. Forcing himself upright, he held out his hand and pulled Miri to her feet. “Time to go.”
He gathered her close and kissed her a final time. It was a kiss of longing. Of celebration. Of promise. Soon she would be his. And once she was, he’d have everything he’d ever wanted. Finally, he released her and she started to slip back into the pool. Brandt reached out and stopped her at the last minute.
“Tonight,” he stated.
She didn’t bother to ask what he meant. He could see in her eyes that she knew, her gaze promising a moon-drenched night filled with unforgettable passion. Or at least, he thought so, at that point.
By later that evening, King Stefan was dead and Miri had returned to Verdonia. Of course, she left a note. But it was too late. By then, everything had changed. What had seemed so certain, would never be. His grandfather had taught him well. Honor. Duty. Responsibility. And one thing more. He thought he’d also learned choice at his grandfather’s knee. But Miri had been right, after all.
What he’d learned was sacrifice.
Night had fallen on Brandt’s wedding day hours earlier and the only light in the room came from a small fire blazing in the fireplace across from his chair, a fire he’d deliberately built for a single purpose. Opening the letter Miri had left for him on Mazoné, a letter creased from more readings than he could count, he traced the words written there. A bittersweet smile twisted his mouth as he reread it.
Miri’s handwriting epitomized her perfectly—passionate and grief stricken. After explaining that she was on her way to the airport to fly home after learning of King Stefan’s death, she’d then addressed her hopes for their relationship. Her feelings for him poured from every scrawled word, painting a beautiful, if impossible, future.
Once upon a time he thought he could have it all. A life with a woman who adored him, who wanted nothing more than to love him. To bear his children. To grow old with him.
He closed his eyes, picturing what would never be. He’d given himself these few hours to indulge in foolishness, something he couldn’t afford to do again. This was his wedding day. Instead of marrying Miri Montgomery, as he’d once thought possible, he’d taken Alyssa Sutherland as his wife with a cold-blooded deliberation that he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee. Well, he’d made his decision, and he wasn’t a man for second thoughts or half measures. He’d committed himself to Alyssa and he’d live up to that commitment, no matter how difficult.
/> Up until now, he’d considered the Sutherland woman a nonentity. A tool. He drew in a deep breath. That would have to change now that she was his wife. He couldn’t simply dismiss her from his mind and life because he would have preferred a different bride. She would be an integral part of his future and the future of Verdonia. As much as he resisted, she deserved answers. And soon, he’d offer them to her and see if they couldn’t establish a marriage of compatibility and affection, if not love.
A hint of honeysuckle and coconut wafted upward in the quietest of protests. Not Miri’s perfume. The sunscreen she’d worn on that last day by the waterfall. His smile faded with the memory. It was time. Time to bind himself to his wife. Time to move forward and never look back again. Leaning toward the fire, he allowed Miri’s letter to slip from his hand. It floated in the air for a brief moment before swirling above the flames in the grate. The paper blackened and then the oils on it caught fire and in a soft whoosh it exploded in a shower of sparks. He waited until the last ember died, before closing his eyes.
“Goodbye, Miri,” he whispered.
Miri froze in the private doorway between Brandt’s suite and hers, watching as the letter she’d left for him in Mazoné drifted from his hand into the fire.
She covered her mouth with a hand to keep from crying out. He was breaking her heart, a heart she’d already thought broken beyond repair. Yet, seeing the undisguised despair lining Brandt’s face she conceded that his decision to marry Alyssa hadn’t come easily, and that he’d chosen this time alone to say goodbye to what they’d once shared.
Slowly, carefully, she drew in a deep breath. Then another. In the hours she’d been sitting in her room lost in memories, she’d reached a decision. She’d track him down and confront him. Demand an answer. But standing here, watching him, she realized he’d already given her that answer.
He’d married Alyssa—thought he’d married Alyssa—in order to win the throne. What more did she need to know? Not that his plan would work. Merrick would see to that. If Brandt became king, it would be in a fair election against Lander, not through an illicit marriage to Alyssa Sutherland.
It was pointless to stand here, expecting more from him, expecting something he couldn’t give. She should leave now. Her job was done. She should return to Alyssa’s suite and search the place for a paring knife or sewing shears and cut her way out of her wedding gown. Chances were she’d be able to slip away with no one the wiser.
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she bowed her head and faced the painful truth. She didn’t want to go. She wanted an opportunity to say goodbye, just as Brandt had. Looking up, she stared into the darkened room. The fire had died to a faint glow. The only other light came from a sliver of moon slipping in one of the windows to form a tight halo around the chair in which Brandt sat. Just one night, that was all she asked. One night to say farewell.
Not giving herself time to consider the foolishness of her actions, she entered the room. Silently, she crept across the carpet until she reached his chair. Once there, she crouched, staying well clear of the moonlight.
“Brandt,” she whispered, doing her best to imitate Angela’s accent, hoping she was correct in assuming it came close to matching Alyssa’s.
His head jerked up and he glanced at her. A full minute ticked by before he spoke. “You surprise me, Princess.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re here. I thought I’d have to track you down.”
She gave a careless shrug. “You might have, except for one thing.”
“Which is?”
She allowed an exasperated note to enter her voice. “I can’t get out of this stupid dress.”
His features relaxed ever so slightly. “My apologies. I’d forgotten it would be necessary to cut you free. Another Verdonian tradition you may not be familiar with.”
“Would you mind? It’s getting late.”
He stood, and so did she, her skirts rustling as she took a quick step backward, allowing the shadows to swallow her more fully. Bypassing her, he walked to a door leading to the outer corridor. Opening it, he spoke quietly to whomever stood outside. When he returned he held a dagger.
“Your men are well prepared,” she commented faintly.
He shrugged. “It’s part of their uniform,” he said, reaching for a light switch.
“Don’t.” She fought to modulate her voice. “Please, I’d rather you didn’t turn on the light.”
“I need to see what I’m doing.” She couldn’t think of a reasonable response to that, but to her relief, she didn’t have to come up with one. “But I won’t turn it on if you’d rather I didn’t. Let’s see if this will work.”
Returning to her side, he dropped a hand on her shoulder and guided her into the moonlight. She was careful to keep her back to him, terrified that he’d catch a glimpse of her face. Even though Merrick must have gotten far away by now, any extra time she could give him would only help. Not that her plans for this evening had anything to do with helping her stepbrother.
“Hold still,” Brandt instructed, sweeping her hair off her back. “I don’t want to cut you.”
She felt a slight tug at her bodice before it loosened. Inch by inch it sagged forward, slipping from her shoulders. Folding her arms across her chest, she held the gown in place. The silence grew deafening, broken only by the harshness of her own breathing.
When he finished cutting her free, he didn’t step away. “Your skin is amazing.” He traced a path from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. “The moonlight has turned it to silver.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“You know what I’m doing.” He continued his stroking touch, sending shivers shooting through her. “We can make this work, Alyssa.”
Alyssa. Miri closed her eyes against the sharp bite of pain. “You really expect me to consummate this marriage?”
He continued to stand close, so tall he made her feel tiny. “Do you want romantic words? I can give them to you if you wish. But they wouldn’t be true. Because the truth is, we need to consummate our marriage in order to make it legal.” His hands tightened on her. “That doesn’t mean it has to be an unpleasant experience or that we can’t enjoy the physical part of our relationship. How we proceed from here is up to us. This can be a beginning, for both of us.”
“You’d find it that easy?” It hurt unbearably to think so. “A tap to turn on or off? Is that how your emotions work?”
“No. No more than with you. But I’m determined to make our marriage work, if you’re willing.”
“We’re strangers. You know nothing about me. And I—” Her hands clenched, her nails biting into her palms. “And I know nothing about you.” She’d only thought she did. But she’d been wrong. So horribly wrong.
Sliding an arm around her waist, Brandt spooned her close, her spine tight against his chest. His hand splayed across her abdomen, warm and heavy and possessive. The warmth of his breath washed over her as he traced the curve between her neck and shoulder with his mouth. She shivered beneath the delicate caress, relaxing into his embrace. The instant she realized what she’d done, she stiffened in his grasp. Taking a hasty step forward, she edged farther into shadow.
He followed, maintaining contact. His fingers trailed along the path his mouth had followed, gently easing the gown off her shoulders. The sizzle from that stolen touch burned like fire, igniting a shockwave that caused the beadwork on her loosened gown to glitter in agitation.
“Slow and easy, wife,” he attempted to soothe. “We have all night.”
She’d thought she could do this, thought she’d steal this night with him with no one the wiser and no one hurt. But hearing him call her by another woman’s name, having him address her as wife was killing her by inches.
“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow.” The suggestion escaped in a breathless rush. “Wait until we’ve had a chance to get to know each other better.”
“Nothing will have changed.” He sound
ed so gentle, so caring. Almost tender. “Come tomorrow, we’ll still be married. We’ll still be relative strangers. And your apprehension will have another day to take root and grow.”
“So we’re better off getting it over with?”
“Better off discovering that you have nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” she instantly protested.
And she wasn’t. She wanted to make love to Brandt. She just wanted him to know who he was loving, though she didn’t dare reveal her identity. But perhaps…perhaps there was a way she could turn this around. If she could reach him on some level, if he recognized her—even subconsciously—maybe it would be enough. He’d still be responding to the uniqueness of her touch. To her personal scent and taste. To a kiss only she could give. In the end, he’d be making love to her, not to Alyssa, and she’d have to hope that some small part of him realized it.
Slowly, she lowered her arms, allowing her gown to slip downward. He accepted her silent surrender without comment. His touch remained gentle, careful. He eased the gown to her waist, then hooked his thumbs in both skirt and petticoats, and guided them down her hips. His palms swept the upper slopes of her buttocks, lingered, then moved on. Dropping to one knee, he helped her step free of the voluminous layers of silk.
Before she had time to feel self-conscious, he stood and turned her in his arms, taking her mouth with his. She remembered this kiss, had longed for it ever since that day by the waterfall. And she found herself returning it, tentatively at first, and then with mounting passion. His lips hardened, grew more forceful. But rather than protest, she met his demand with one of her own.
She barely felt the give of her bra, wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t feathered his fingertips from the sensitive sides of her breasts inward to the burgeoning tips. He stroked her with excruciating precision, as though he knew just where to touch in order to elicit the most intoxicating pleasure.
