Brandy turned away from him onto her side, and pulled the covers up closer to her chin.
She could hear all the sounds of his final undressing, the intimacy of being in such a position filling her with a breathlessness she could not control. She tensed as she felt him come up behind her. Would he haul her into his arms in spite of all his talk of her coming to him? Would he find her irresistible, even wearing this terry Winnie-the-Pooh-style outfit? Would he reach out and caress her as he had done the previous evening?
He turned out the bedside light, filling the room with shadows that seemed to make him closer to her than ever before. When? she asked herself. When would he take her in his arms and tell her he loved her?
"Move over." He nudged her back with his knee. "You're sleeping on my side of the bed."
Brandy scrambled to the extreme side of the bed. The nerve of the man! Treating her as if she were a cold fish! For two wooden nickels she'd show him she had a lot more to offer than whatever woman it was he spent most of his nights with. But maybe that was what he was counting on—making her angry enough to get her into his arms.
"Excuse me," she sniffed, "for trespassing."
"There's room enough for both of us. And you can even have this side if you like it so much. But you have to share it with me. I've had enough of that lumpy couch." She could hear his stretching. "This thing feels so good it can almost distract me from the thought of who's here with me."
"I certainly wouldn't be sharing your bed with you, Shaw Janus, if I had any choice in the matter."
"Oh?" He yawned. "Don't you have a choice in the matter? You should be able to tell now that this thing is big enough for two people to sleep in without having to come into contact with each other at all. If that's what you want," he added as an afterthought. "I think you'll also admit it's a lot more comfortable than that overstuffed sofa out there. One thing it's taught me is never to buy anything on looks anymore—from sofas to wives."
Brandy gritted her teeth. "If you must sleep in this bed, you don't have to insult me. Believe me, if there was anything I could do about it, we wouldn't both be in this bed right now."
"If that's how you feel about it," his voice was lazy over a long yawn, "then find somewhere else to sleep. I don't care."
"And where for heaven's sake?"
"Try the couch." He turned over, his back to her as if to put an end to their discussion.
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? It'd give you an excuse to accuse me of being unfaithful—sleeping with your brother. Well, no thanks."
He yawned before he answered.
"Marcus isn't here."
"He isn't?" Brandy sat up in bed, dragging the covers with her. "Where is he? I thought I heard him in the bathroom."
"Must have been Eric," he mumbled.
"You mean, he's not spending the night here?"
"No. He thought he'd go to a hotel and give us a little newlywed privacy. He likes to write it off on his expense account, and a hotel gives him some privacy, too."
"But—but—"
"Yes?"
"Then why did you have me make up the couch for a bed?"
"Because," he turned back over and she could imagine him lying with his hand behind his head, watching her, even though he couldn't see her, in the dark, "I thought you probably wouldn't like the idea of sharing my bed, and I'm tired of sleeping out there."
She wanted to smother him with a pillow, but any move she made toward him would just have him laughing at her. She was tempted to stay in his bed to prove him wrong, but she knew that while he wouldn't touch her at that moment since he was taking such pleasure in making fun of her, she couldn't trust his aloofness to last through to morning. If she uttered another word, she might end up doing something she would regret.
"It's probably not half as lumpy as you think it is." She scrambled out of bed, dragging the coverlet with her.
"Oh, no." He grabbed at the covers. "My bedding stays with my bed, which, I'll say again, you're welcome to share."
"No, thank you," she said primly.
"I thought as much." He turned over again, his body cocooning itself into the coverlet so that she couldn't jerk it out from underneath him. "Then enjoy the lumps and that scratchy blanket that goes with it."
Brandy jerked the bedroom door open, prepared to slam it behind her.
"I wouldn't." He read her thoughts. "You might wake Eric. Oh, and Brandy?"
"What?" she pouted at him from the doorway.
"I'd like poached eggs for breakfast if you know how to cook them."
"Ice water down the back is more what you deserve," she fumed, as she heard him snickering behind her.
Brandy awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee. It smelled so strong and near, she imagined she could feel the heat of the liquid, and when she opened her eyes it was to see Shaw smiling at her, his face on a level with hers on the bed of the couch, a cup of coffee offered in his hands.
"Lumpy, isn't it?" he asked.
She moved to a sitting position, wondering how she had gotten any sleep at all trying to find a comfortable way to curl up on the sectional sofa. She kept falling into the cracks between the sections, and the humps of stuffing were all rounded out of shape with the way her body, and Shaw's, were built. "Oh, it's not so bad." She clutched her side suddenly as she became aware of a crick in her back.
"If you say so." His eyes laughed at her. He handed her the coffee cup. "Care to spend another night here?"
"I might move in with Eric." She sipped the hot coffee, trying to ignore him casually sitting down beside her, dressed in his thick terry robe, his hair still wet from the shower.
"You could move in with me." He slanted his eyes at her. "You'd be surprised how amicable I can be when I get a good night's sleep."
"I don't think I'd get much sleep with you in that bed."
"Oh?" His eyebrows shot up. "So you admit it makes you hot with desire just thinking about sharing that bed? I thought you'd come to see things my way."
"You're deliberately misunderstanding me," she accused, not yet awake enough to fight his word games.
His face relaxed. "Yes, I admit I am, but no longer. Last night was the only way I could think of for getting my bed back. And I'll tell you one thing for certain right now, young lady, I spent my last night on this couch two nights ago. I'm moving back into my bed, and you're welcome to share it with me if you like."
"You know I can't do that."
"Can't? Or won't?"
She pretended an absorption with her coffee cup to avoid answering.
"I won't bite you know. I meant what I said. I will not force myself on you. You have my word as a gentleman on that."
"But we both know you're not a gentleman."
"I could be." His brows shot up. "You're having a surprisingly mellow effect on me, whether you realize it or not. Look," he said, taking the cup out of her hands and setting it on the table. "I've agreed to help you gain custody of Eric. Yesterday should have proved to you how much I mean to help you."
She nodded, grudgingly.
"Well," he took her hand in his own, holding them in his lap, "shouldn't we present a united front to help Eric?"
"There are limits to what I'll do for appearances sake. Especially when it means sharing your bed when no one can see."
"All I'm saying is there's no reason we both have to be miserable. There's no reason why we shouldn't both share that comfortable bed in there—just for sleeping."
Brandy eyed him warily, wishing it were so simple.
He stared up at the ceiling, realizing he wasn't getting through to her. "What do I have to do to convince you?" He turned his eyes to her, piercing her with his sincerity. "Don't you know by now I could have come in there any night since we've been married? You can never lock any doors to me. And I'm stronger than you. It would be so easy to take you. But I've given you my word I won't until I know you're equally willing."
Brandy looked down. He was making her feel guilt
y.
He touched her chin and turned her face to him. "Let me tell you something, my innocent little wife. If I wanted to make love to you, I sure wouldn't hold my passion in check until I could find a bed."
Brandy blushed at the expression in his eyes. From the depths of her she knew the strength he had to arouse her. She was wanting him all over again, right now, right here. She closed her eyes and hoped it wasn't too late, before he had read that desire.
He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. "Why don't we try being friends for a change and see where that gets us?"
"I'd like that," said Brandy, wanting to trust him with her body and soul, because she realized he had become her life. He was being so gentle this morning, so compassionate. This time it was directed at her.
"Good." He held out his hand. "Let's shake on it."
Brandy took his hand and thanked him with her eyes. The last few weeks had been such a strain worrying what he would do when they were alone. "Poached eggs, wasn't it?"
His eyes crinkled in amusement. "I was only teasing. A bowl of cereal will suffice."
"Oh. no." She smiled. "Your wish is my command. At least as far as breakfast is concerned," she added, seeing the delight that flared in his eyes.
"Such is my luck," he muttered good humoredly.
"It could change," she tossed over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen to see what sort of feast she could prepare.
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Shaw steered clear of Brandy. He even stopped taunting her with his speech. She realized she owed half of her luck to the fact that he was seldom in the apartment. His excuse was the last minute details of the opening for his new restaurant, but Brandy thought more than likely he was attending to the details of another woman. Although he was discreet, it didn't stop her jealousy.
Still, the lack of interest in her at night showed her a new side to Shaw's personality. How he could sleep with her so close to him was beyond her; she would lie awake for hours listening to the sound of his breathing, content just in knowing he was beside her. She longed to feel his arms around her, holding her through the night. It must be one of the special joys of marriage, she thought, a tear slipping from her eye, whenever she remembered she didn't really have a marriage at all-She was a married single. A piece of paper said they were legally married, but it didn't guarantee they would have a marriage, nor did the fact that Eric was asleep in the next room. The fact that Brandy had married Shaw for the sake of a child did not mean that child could hold them together.
Legalities, children, and desire did not make a marriage: only love would guarantee a marriage survival, and Brandy had little hope that Shaw would ever feel that for her.
Eric seemed to have a softening effect on Shaw. Though Shaw spent little time at the apartment, the time he was there he spent primarily engaged in entertaining the boy. Brandy watched them together as she prepared dinner. She thought that Shaw would make a wonderful father some day, if only he would give some woman the chance to give him children.
He had just that amount of dominance to let Eric know he couldn't get away with things, and he had just that amount of frivolity to make him fun to be with. As each day slipped into the next, Brandy found that she was not only jealous of Shaw spending his nights at the restaurant, but also envious of the amount of time he spent with Eric. She wished he would show her half the attention he showed the boy, but to be fair, Brandy knew Eric needed it much more than she did. The kind of attention Shaw would show her, if she gave him half a chance, was not the kind she needed if she were eventually to get an annulment.
Still, it pleased her immensely when Shaw telephoned her one afternoon to tell her they would be attending a party that evening. He had already arranged for a babysitter for Eric, and wanted to be certain she had something appropriate to wear.
"What kind of a party is it?" she asked.
"You might call it a get acquainted party. My friends want to get to know you." He didn't sound too happy, and she wondered if he were ashamed to have others in his circle meet her. "Believe me, if there was any way I could get out of it, I would."
"Oh," said Brandy, trying to ignore his displeasure, and think of what she could wear to impress his friends. She had worn glamorous clothes modeling, but had never saved enough money to own such finery. Shaw gave her carte blanche to run out and buy something, but pride would not let her spend his money so extravagantly.
Instead, she remembered a local designer whose clothes she had modeled shortly after coming to Atlanta. The woman had liked the way Brandy looked in the dresses so much that she had offered to loan her some of her special creations whenever Brandy needed, on the premise that it was good advertising. Whenever anyone asked her where she had bought the clothes, she would tell them about the designer.
Brandy called Candace James immediately. After explaining about the party, she asked Candace if she could come down and look at a dress.
"By all means," said Candace, remembering Brandy's petite, shapely frame and already deciding on the kind of dress she wanted her to wear. "I could use a little word-of-mouth advertising right now, and who could be better than Shaw Janus's wife? Whenever did you get married?"
Brandy laughed and told her, making it all sound as though she were still the blushing bride. In fact, it embarrassed her to tell people, because she could just imagine what they would be saying in a few months when she and Shaw got an annulment.
Candace, her mouth full of pins, met Brandy at the door of her studio an hour later. "Come in, come in," she mumbled. "I'm just sticking together some different materials to see what effect I might get—I'm working with contrasts for the next season. Come, I picked out two or three things for you to choose from."
"I was hoping you wouldn't mind," said Brandy, "and also praying that you wouldn't have forgotten who I was."
"I never forget a pretty face." She winked. "Especially since you have the exact kind of figure I have in mind when I'm designing. Many women these days are not tall and thin. Shorter women, I find, since I am one myself, have a hard time finding a selection of clothes."
Brandy nodded. There were usually two or three size sixes and fewer size threes whenever she shopped for clothes. That was another reason she had trouble with modeling: most designer dresses came in sevens and eights, so there were not that many standard sizes she could wear and show off to advantage at the same time.
"That's why I like my clothes to really stand out," Candace continued, "but subtly, not with a lot of gaudy spangles and fringe. Subtlety, like a woman's size, can very often be very provocative. Here." She showed Brandy the selection she had laid out.
Brandy's hands went immediately to a dress of crepe material in a pattern of large pastel watercolor flowers on a white background. A violet sash, the dress's only accent, tied it into a shirtwaist; the long sleeves ended in narrow cuffs at her wrists; the below-the-knee length skirt could show off her tanned legs by leaving a few buttons undone.
"Try it on," Candace urged. "I thought that one would be perfect for you, but I laid out the two others to give you somewhat of a choice."
She stood back and admired how her work shown to advantage against Brandy's dark, curly hair. "Perfect. It even looks expensive by the way you carry your body. Good… good." She watched Brandy walk. "Pretend a string is pulling you up from the back of the head. If your spine is correct, everything else will fall right into place. And whatever you do, don't lean on one hip—it looks tacky and outdated these days."
Brandy laughed at her charm school lesson. Fondling the dress as if it were a present, a precious one that Shaw might have given her, she said, "I shouldn't have called you, Candace. You're taking an awful responsibility letting me borrow this. What if I spill something on it?"
"Don't," Candace warned, then laughed, "because I'm saving it for myself, but it looks a lot better on you than I ever even imagined it would on me. Wear it in good health, and be sure everybody knows where it came from."
Brandy laughed. "Will do."
"But—" Candace was looking rather critically at the dress, and then she stepped forward and unbuttoned all the fastenings to the bodice. "Get rid of the bra and wear it open to the waist. The buttons are just decoration. I shouldn't have even put buttonholes in it."
She loosened the waist sash and pulled the open front of the shirtwaist together. "Let me pin this here." She made an alteration, then retied the sash in place. "There… that's better. A little more decent, yet sensual because the buttons are still obviously afly."
Brandy blushed. "Couldn't I just—one button?"
"No," said Candace. "Ruins the whole effect. It's not that bad. Go look in the mirror."
Brandy did as she was told and had to admit she didn't look that undressed. But what would Shaw say when he saw it?
Fortunately, Brandy didn't see Shaw until the last minute. He was running so late with last minute work at his business that he arranged for Marcus to drive to the apartment and pick up Brandy while he changed at his office.
Marcus didn't comment when he saw Brandy, nor did he talk much on the drive to the suburban mansion where the festivities were taking place. Both wondered what Shaw's reaction would be when he saw Brandy.
The house, at the end of a long, wooded, sweeping drive, was a great English Tudor mansion. When Brandy asked, Marcus was closemouthed about the house's owners, merely stating that it was the home of a friend of Shaw's. From the way he said "friend," Brandy assumed it was a girlfriend.
"Well, everybody seems to be here already," Marcus commented, parking the car far down the drive and getting out to help Brandy.
Brandy's palms sweated. It was almost as if she, Shaw's wife, had been invited as an afterthought, yet it was the party's purpose to introduce her. It also didn't help that she noticed the party was in full progress, and had been long before she was told to arrive. She didn't say a word to Marcus as he took her hand and steadied her out of the car. She was glad now she hadn't run out and bought something to try to compete with the other women who would be here this evening. If she had, she would have felt too self-conscious spending the kind of money she'd need for a dress in their league. Wearing a Candace James original would be prestigious enough, and it would show in the way she carried herself.
For Eric's Sake Page 11
