by Henke, Shirl
“Miranda?” His husky whisper broke through the soft sounds of their breathing. Brand held his breath, waiting for her response.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she murmured against his strong brown neck. Her mouth felt the slight rasp of golden whiskers as she caressed his jaw and worked her way back to his lips.
He growled something unintelligible and swept her into his arms, turning to carry her to the door.
The locked door.
“The key,” she murmured dreamily, her arms wrapped securely around his neck.
“Where is it?” he managed to ask in a raspy voice.
“On the steps. I dropped it,” she replied, almost giggling with delirious excitement.
Another muttered expletive. “Darlin’, you do try a man and that's a fact,” he said as he slid her to her feet, still holding her pressed tightly against his body while he stepped back to the stone stairs where the heavy brass latchkey glittered dimly in the patchy moonlight.
When he released his hold on her and bent down to retrieve the key, Miranda nearly toppled over his back. She was dizzy and breathless, and she'd had not one drop of alcohol all evening! Quickly he was once more embracing her, raining kisses all over her face and throat as he led her back up the steps and then turned to unlock the heavy oak door.
It was as dark as the ninth level of hell in the alcove surrounding the doorway. Brand fumbled with the key, trying to insert it in the lock. Threading a needle in a tornado would be easier, he thought testily as he jammed the instrument of his frustration at its intended target over and over. Bloody lovely! Was this some sort of omen? He had to get her inside before her most proper English sensibilities forced her to reconsider what was by all standards a rash act of singular immorality.
Finally he felt the key slide into the well-oiled lock and turn. The door swung open, and he once again whisked her off her none-too-steady feet and carried her over the threshold. After kicking the heavy oak closed behind him, he jammed the key in the lock and turned it, assuring that no one would be able to enter and catch them unawares. The house was like a damned combination fortress and tomb—and twice as dark.
He tripped over something darting in front of his feet.
From the size of the moving object—and the fact that he was not already minus a leg—Brand concluded he'd stumbled on Callie, not Marm, thank heaven for small favors! The mother cat scurried away silently as Brand stumbled against the carpeted steps leading from the side entry to the first floor.
He cushioned Miranda's fall by holding her above him. Although slender and fine-boned, she was tall for a woman and weighed enough to elicit a “Whoof,” as the air rushed from his lungs.
“Have I broken your ribs, Major?? she whispered, concern edging her voice.
She tried to rise up off of him, but he caught her and pulled her back into his embrace. “I wouldn't know, and believe me, at this point I don't care,” he said as he resumed kissing her throat and breasts. Then he felt the tickle of whiskers at the back of his raised neck. One of Callie's kittens was nibbling on him while he nibbled on Miranda!
Could Marm be far behind?
He dismissed that disquieting thought and shook the pesky little beast away as he began unfastening the ties of her cloak, a thin silk summer garment designed more for fashion than protection from the cold. But when he tried to toss it behind him, he felt little needle claws snagging it. Cursing silently, he rolled the silk cape in a ball with one hand, effectively cocooning the interloper, while he continued exploring Miranda's breasts. If she were going to cry off as she had the day of the picnic, she had better do it now or he could not guarantee how much of a gentleman he would be.
Rather than being upset by his intimacy, Miranda gloried in the feel of his fingertips and mouth skimming over the sensitive swells of her heated flesh. But the tingling, burning ache would not abate. It was pain and it was pleasure, all mixed together in a wash of longing for sensations she had never experienced before. Instinct made her arch forward, allowing him greater access.
Practice made him begin sliding open the tiny button loops down the back of her gown, eager to bare her treasures for his plundering mouth and hands. Almost at once, the gown's low neckline gaped and he was able to nuzzle his face in the deep vale between her breasts, now covered only by the delicate lace of her chemise and pushed up for his attention by the undergirding of corset stays.
Her moans of pleasure made her unaware of the tiny meows of protest emanating from the cape, but Brand could hear them. Persevering, he pulled away the sheer chemise to extract one rosy nipple, puckered and eager. He drew it into his mouth and suckled on it. This time when she gasped, he did not inquire if she was pleased. The very texture and hardness of the little nub told him all was good. But his backside pressed against the stairs was not good. Nor was the second kitten, who was now rubbing against the side of his face.
He had to get Miranda out of here and upstairs before she became aware of the voyeuristic little intruders and the spell would be broken. Slowly he levered himself up, continuing to kiss her as he helped her to her feet in the stygian blackness. “Is there a light in this place? It's right dangerous without any.” With any luck, he could keep her occupied enough so she wouldn't notice a kitten or two along the way.
“Oh,” Miranda murmured, bemused, realizing she had been sprawled on the stairs, lying on top of him without a thought for anything except what he was doing to her. “Yes, here,” she said, groping along the wall until she found the fixture and turned it on as Brand struck a match and lit it. A dim flicker of pale golden light illuminated two pairs of stairs leading up and down. And one pair of kittens playing chase, heading in a mad dash to the lower floor. Miranda, still breathless and dreamy from his kisses, did not see them as they vanished into the darkness below.
Thank you, Lord! “Lucky we fell this way and not the other,” he said, looking at the steep steps leading to the lower level. Without giving her an opportunity to consider that dangerous possibility, he took her hand and tugged her up the steps. “Show me the way,” he commanded softly.
Cheeks burning, Miranda clutched his hand and guided him toward the main entry foyer. They fired low gaslights as they went. At every stop, he would gather her close and plunder her mouth with kisses, all the while continuing to work on the buttons of her gown. By the time they reached the grand staircase, the gown fell in a soft rustle of silk. Floating over another kitten!
Brand swept her quickly into his arms and nudged aside the mound of silk, which was now wriggling alarmingly. He ascended the steps, watching for more miniature “bushwhackers” waiting to attack. When they reached the top, he murmured hoarsely, “Which is your bedroom?” Bolt the door and pray Marm is in the sitting room downstairs!
“The third...at the end of the hall,” she whispered, still unable to catch her breath. The feel of his arms carrying her as if she weighed no more than thistledown thrilled her. They were as hard as iron, yet living, flexing with strength and virility. Miranda felt herself shivering in spite of the flush suffusing her body. When he stepped into her bedroom, doubts assailed her. This was where Will had come to her in the darkness of night to perform his husbandly duties. Now she had invited a man not her husband to make love to her in that same dark bed.
But Brand would have nothing of darkness. Seeing the gaslight on the wall at the side of the door, he set her down and lit it as he shoved the door closed. Then he quickly picked her up again and carried her over to the large four-poster. Brand paused for a moment as his eyes darted around the room. No cats in sight. Did he dare hope?
Ever so slowly, he let her slide down the length of his tall body while they stood beside the bed. Still held fast, she surrendered to his kisses, only dimly aware that he was unlacing her corset strings. His warm fingers caressed the delicate bones at the curve of her spine. He shoved the silk and whalebone contraption over her hips, leaving her clad only in her chemise and stockings. Somehow in route her slippers had been lost.
>
She stood facing him, trying to cover herself, feeling suddenly shy. “I—I’m not a girl, Brandon...”
“You're a woman, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” he murmured as his hands cupped her face and he lowered his mouth to hers, commanding, “Kiss me, Miranda.”
She did, opening her mouth to his tongue and letting hers glide with it the way he was oh so skillfully teaching her to do. His hands slid back, long fingers digging into the heavy mass of her hair and massaging her scalp, loosening the pins holding her hair up until it spilled around her shoulders like a fiery cloud of deepest ruby red.
“I've always longed to do that...from the first time I realized how much of the beautiful stuff you had,” he whispered softly, combing his fingers through the waist-length waves.
“It's just red hair, coarse and dark and not at all pretty like fine-spun golden hair.” She'd always hated the unusual shade, the way it clashed with fashionable colors that blondes could wear. But Brand obviously was fascinated with its heaviness and the odd glints of fire in the highlights. He held it up to the light like a skein and let if fall through his fingers.
“It's magic, as changeable as you, dark and fiery, with deeply hidden secrets,” he said as his mouth claimed hers again, while he held her against him with his fists buried in the tangles of her hair. Then he let it cloak her upper body as he began to pull on the drawstring of her chemise, working it down over her milky shoulders, totally baring her breasts.
“Lordy, you are a wonder,” he rasped as he cupped a breast in each hand. They stood up, full and erect as any girl's half her age.
Feeling the chemise slipping down below her navel with only the curve of her hips to cover her most private place, she whispered, “Please...the lights.”
“The light's just fine. You don't savor a vision of beauty in the dark,” he replied as his hands encircled her slender waist. He cupped her buttocks, raising her up so he could bend his head to feast on her breasts once again.
The suckling heat of his mouth made all modesty flee as the burning ache turned into a keen, tingling pleasure. She arched against him, pressing her hands against his chest and pulling off his cravat, then tugging at the studs in his shirtfront until they began to pop free. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, then resumed kneading her bottom and feasting on her breasts.
Now Miranda was eager, desperate to feel his bare flesh, answering some primal instinct—was it one of those deeply hidden secrets he spoke of? She only knew that she had to touch him, feel the heat of him. She whimpered as his rapacious mouth moved between her breasts, taking one, then the other and circling the areola with his tongue, flicking the hard, nubby tip of a nipple before drawing it into his mouth.
She was lost in passion. He realized this was all completely new to her. He must go slow. Ah, but that would be hard...hard as the throbbing member between his legs clamoring to delve into her warm, sweet flesh and find surcease. He could not allow that until she was ready. And she was ready, at least to be placed on the bed so he could finish undressing.
Brand reached over and yanked the coverlet down, then let his hands slide over her hips until her chemise slid off. Shushing her small gasp of embarrassment, he knelt before her and began to peel down the garter from one long, elegant leg, kissing his way from her thigh to her ankle.
The room spun crazily, and Miranda could do nothing but collapse back onto the edge of the mattress behind her as Brand tossed away one stocking and set to work on the other. He even kissed her toes! Who could ever have imagined that having one's foot caressed and kissed could be so erotic? Before she realized what he was doing, he had positioned her up against a pillow and was sitting beside her on the bed.
She could feel his hot tiger's eyes raking up and down her body, following the path of his hands as they traced the curves and valleys of her flesh. She was a mature woman, had borne a child, was too tall and angular...all the doubts and insecurities of her life flooded suddenly back into her consciousness. “Brandon, I—”
Knowing what she was trying to say, he murmured, “Don't say anything. You're perfect.” His hand skimmed across her flat, silky belly.
“I have stretch marks.” The instant she said it, she blushed beet red. No lady ever mentioned such a thing!
He chuckled softly, bending to dip his tongue into her navel. “If you do, they're fine enough to be invisible.” Planting another kiss on her belly, he trailed his lips up to her breasts while his hand slowly glided down to her mound. He could feel her stiffen ever so slightly when he touched her most secret place. Deep red curls guarded it as his fingers carefully worked their way toward where her hot, slick honey waited to be tasted...later. That would shock her innocent sensibilities too much for the first time. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back from that invasion, forcing himself to allow her to set a slower pace of discovery.
Miranda ran her hands over his shoulders, shoving his shirt down so she could touch his skin. The sinuous ripple of lean muscles over his shoulders and arms fed her craving. She grew bolder when he leaned back to shrug off the shirt, then bent down to resume caressing her. The abrasion of his chest hair teased her already sensitive breasts. She reached between their bodies and buried her fingers in the golden fur, tracing the pattern of it as it narrowed down to a thin arrow vanishing below his belt buckle.
His heart pounded as she pressed her palms flat against the muscles of his chest. Did hers beat out the same frantic cadence? Most certainly so, if her breathlessness was any indicator. She ached with wanting, writhing beneath his hands and mouth. Her hair tangled around her shoulders and spilled across the pillows. She could feel it against her bare back. The realization dawned: She was completely naked, lying spread across her bed in a lighted room.
“Brandon, the lights,” she managed to get out between little whimpers of pleasure as he kissed and petted her body, making it sing with a longing she could never have imagined.
He raised himself up over her now, looking down on her flushed face, the luscious pink spreading lower to heat her breasts and belly. “If I turned off the lights, I couldn't see how beautiful you are,” he whispered tenderly, then added as he stood up, “and you couldn't see my body.”
He knew positively that Auburn had never entered her chambers with the lights on. The old fool probably wore a nightshirt. “Aren't you just the least bit curious, Miranda, love?” he cajoled.
His hands were poised at his belt buckle, and the breath whooshed from her lungs. She should be shocked, appalled, outraged...but every fiber of her being cried out, Yes, yes, I am! Was she brave enough to admit it aloud? Cowardice bred into her by generations of repression made her answer only with her eyes.
Hungry eyes, glowing with silver fire in the dim light.
Ever so slowly, his hands, those beautiful, tanned and callused hands, began to unfasten the belt. Her eyes darted down to the bulge at his crotch. She knew what that meant, but she wanted to see even that! What a depraved creature passion and her major had made her. She could hear his soft chuckle as he noted her trespass, but all he said was, “Shoes first.”
Miranda watched as he sat on the small dressing stool in front of her vanity and slipped off his shoes and hose. How large and masculine and utterly out of place he appeared on that flimsy little chair. Yet at the same time, he moved with such elegance that it did not matter. When he stood and stepped back to the edge of the bed, she could not help moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue in nervous anticipation of what came next.
Brand could feel her eyes on him and smiled at her as he began to unfasten the buttons of his fly. He ached so much, he feared he'd spill his seed before he could rid himself of the damned tight britches! Her eyes were round with wonder and as hot as molten silver, adding to his misery...and his pleasure. Odd, how the two seemed to go together in making love.
When he completed his task, he took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself, then slowly eased down his p
ants and underwear, freeing his engorged staff. The cool air did nothing to dampen the burning pulse of it. He watched her watch him and was pleased. She did not shrink away, although he knew she had to be frightened by the newness of this.
Although she'd never seen her husband’s member, she knew it had not been this large—could not have been. Brand's staff jutted from the dark gold thicket at his groin as if possessing a life of its own. She should have been terrified, but instead she was mesmerized. Mesmerized by the sheer male beauty of him, long-legged and broad-shouldered with cunning patterns of light gold hair glistening on his forearms, and that heavier pelt on his chest. Now she could trace the course of it to its ultimate destination.
Without giving her time for modesty—or second thoughts—he placed one knee on the bed and took her hands in his, pulling her up to kneel with him in the center of the bed. Burying his fingers in her hair, he cradled her head and kissed her deeply, pressing the lengths of their bodies together without the barrier of clothing, allowing her time to get used to the sensations before he pressed her into the mattress and covered her.
Miranda could feel his heat encircle her, and her bones seemed to melt. His body was hard and sinuous while hers was soft and pliant. She loved the raspy scratch of his beard as he pressed kisses to the madly beating pulse at the base of her throat and moved lower to her breasts once more. Her fingers burrowed through the hair on his chest, glorying in the pounding of his heart. When he raised his head and kissed her again, she opened to him, allowing her tongue to glide out to meet his, boldly making forays into his mouth, twining with his as she ran her hands up and down his back, even daring to dig her nails into his steely hard buttocks.
Then she felt his hand move between their bodies and cup her mound, but she was too awash with excitement to stiffen or pull away. The moment his fingers found the wetness drenching her woman's place, a bolt of raw pleasure lanced through her and she arched against him, whimpering and wriggling her hips. He explored briefly and elicited more little cries of ecstasy from her, which she was unaware of making.
