Steven groaned at her touch and his mounting need to possess her and to cool that same torch. Unable to wait any longer, he moved between her legs and entered her very gently. The moisture there allowed him to enter her without pain but not without notice. Brandy arched upwards to meet him.
“God, Brandy, be still a minute,” he instructed apprehensively.
Brandy was past hearing Steven’s tender warnings. Her body was a sheet of fire, flames which demanded dousing. He inhaled several times and sought to master the urge to ride her as recklessly and swiftly as she rode her stallion. He knew the danger of relaxing; he was too close to ending this ecstatic madness. When he gained some small measure of control, he began to move slowly, purposefully.
The tension built with each stroke. Soon Brandy was riding the crest of a powerful wave, one which stunningly threatened to sweep her away. Steven’s mouth closed over hers to prevent her cries of potent release from being overheard by Nigel. Their mouths and bodies blended together as they rode the wave over surging rapids into a tranquil bay. Steven covered her face with kisses as the contentment of accomplishment settled in on her. He was breathing hard as he propped up on one elbow to gaze down at her. “I take it you’re sufficiently fed now, love,” he playfully whispered, grinning at her, his teeth white in the dim light.
“For now,” she happily replied, hugging him tightly.
“Greedy little witch, aren’t you? Hell, I’m not a kid anymore, woman. Take it easy on me, will you?” he teased quietly, trailing his fingers over her chest.
“You have only yourself to blame, Mr. Winngate. After all, you’re the one who introduced me to this delectable treat. It’s only right that you should be the one to feed me when I’m hungry.”
“Is that a fact, my greedy hostess,” he sighed contentedly.
“That’s a fact, Winngate. I didn’t forget to tell you you’d have to pay for your visit, did I? Nothing’s free these days,” she parried, twirling wisps of hair on his moist chest around her fingers.
“I certainly like your manner of billing and collecting,” he murmured into her ear, then nibbled on it.
As his hands began to taunt her again, she chided, “I’m greedy? What do you call yourself?”
“Insatiable, where you’re concerned, Miss Alexander. I might add, I’m a demanding guest.”
“I hope so. Two weeks can pass awfully fast,” she murmured wistfully.
“Then we’d best not waste a minute of them. Should I get my pad and take notes?”
“Just your mental one,” she quipped, tugging on his sable hair.
“You know something, woman? I think I’m going to enjoy this job. Yes, sirree, I’m gonna have myself the best working vacation ever.”
“You’re a devil, Steven Winngate,” she softly scolded.
“Incognito?” he came back at her immediately.
“There’s nothing disguised about you tonight, love,” she jested lightly, gazing tenderly into his bedeviling features.
His lips covered hers, and his hands worked avidly to prove her right . . .
Between brandy and Steven, two days passed cheerfully in feigned businesslike discussions and photography sessions. Those same nights passed swiftly and passionately in unbridled joinings of bodies. With each passing moment shared, they both relaxed little by little. Nigel spent time swimming or writing his music. Mary worked, while furtively watching the ever-closing distance between the handsome stranger and her enchanted employer.
On the third afternoon of Steven’s visit, he and Brandy went for a walk in the pasture. The moment they were out of sight, he reached for her hand. They strolled along in serene silence, their locked hands swaying with their movements.
“Watch out for snakes, Steven,” she mischievously warned as he released her hand and raced towards the nearby cluster of trees, calling, “Beat you around the bushes” over his shoulder.
Steven braked so fast that Brandy filled the air with mirthful laughter. He whirled and looked back at her, scowling at her joke. “Woman!” he thundered in mock fury, then stalked towards her.
Brandy squealed and raced off in the other direction, towards the safety of the barn. She rounded the corner and rushed inside the enclosure. She agilely mounted the ladder to the loft and ambled over loose hay and hid behind stacked bales. She covered her mouth to suppress her giggles. Never had she enjoyed herself so much.
Steven was hastily in pursuit of the impish creature. After entering the barn, he glanced around with narrowed eyes. Sighting the wooden ladder, he surmised where his vixen was hiding. “Prepare yourself for a good spanking, my fetching damsel,” he warned, grinning in amusement, feeling like a carefree boy again.
He steadily made his way up the sturdy rungs, then halted on the last one. There was only one hiding place. He moved towards it. When he headed around the bales in one direction, she raced around the other end, giggles following her departure. Within two steps, Steven had her captured and pinned to the loft floor on her back. “Got you now, my wily Kat.” He began to tickle her.
“That’s dirty pool, Steven Winngate,” she shrieked, thrashing about on the golden straw.
“What about you, Miss Alexander? Snakes indeed.”
“We do have snakes here,” she hurriedly announced. “Look behind the barn. Clyde has the skins tacked up there, rattlers and all,” she vowed truthfully. “If you don’t believe me, just—”
“Telephone, Brandy!” Nigel called from the porch.
“Drat!” she panted.
“Are we expecting another protector?” he teased devilishly.
“I hope not,” she quickly replied, then flushed. “Not unless it’s Casey, but I haven’t invited her, I swear,” she promised humorously.
“Brandy! Where are you? Telephone!” Nigel persisted for a moment.
Steven rolled aside to let her up. She hurried to the loft window and yelled down, “Coming!”
Steven stood up, catching a rafter and swaying his body. He suddenly yelped like an injured puppy, slapping at his hand. He danced around, tossing straw this way and that, slinging his left hand. He forcefully smacked the offending wasp, killing it. As the black body dropped to the straw, Brandy observed his problem.
“Did it sting you?” she worriedly asked, coming back to his side.
The hand boasted of a rising welt, a fiery red area and a stark white center. “He got you all right. Come inside. I’ll fix it,” she coaxed.
“I got him back,” Steven vowed triumphantly. “Dead as a dry well. That’ll teach him to challenge and attack me.”
Brandy looked at him strangely. The vengeful tone in his voice and the curious victory in his eyes stunned her. He looked and sounded as if he had just slain some powerful enemy and sadistically enjoyed it. Men, she scoffed mentally. Everything’s a war with you!
Brandy and Steven headed for the house, with the annoyed man clutching his painful hand. “Are you allergic to insect stings?” she inquired, witnessing his vexation.
“Not that I know of. Never been stung before. The little devils haven’t dared! Did you sic him on me?” he teased sullenly, meaning it as a joke, but it didn’t sound that way to Brandy.
“Don’t be silly,” she scolded him, offended by his harsh words.
“It’s Casey,” Nigel informed her as she opened the door and entered.
“Tell her I’ll call back in a few minutes. Steven tangled with a feisty wasp. I need to remove the stinger and put something on it.”
Nigel went to deliver her message. Brandy guided Steven to the den and told him to sit down while she went for some tweezers and medication. He flopped onto the couch, muttering curses.
Brandy returned and skillfully extracted the tiny shaft of misery. She sprayed some Bactine on the same area, then smiled up into his stormy gaze. “All done.
Feel better?”
“Not yet,” he growled, wondering what Casey wanted, fretting over that call. “Snakes, bees, perils at every turn. Country life can be hazardous to one’s health.”
Brandy bit back her stinging retort. She smiled frozenly and apologized for his misfortune and misery. “I’d better phone Casey. Why don’t you have a drink and relax? I’ll be back soon.” She left the room before he could respond.
“What’s up, Casey?” she cheerfully asked when her friend answered.
“How’s it going down there?” was Casey’s first question. “Having fun?”
“You recall the story about the bear robbing the honeycomb and getting stung?” she teased.
Casey remarked in bewilderment, “What?”
“Steven just played the bear, and his hand is smarting something fierce. I’ve doctored it, but he still thinks he’s a grumpy bear.”
“I see. Country life’s not agreeing with our city boy?” she jested.
“Only today,” Brandy commented. “Anything going on up there?”
“Just called to warn you,” Casey began her explanation. Brandy stiffened until she added, “Twilight’s on the way to you. Devon wants one scene lengthened.”
“Which one?” Brandy inquired.
Casey enlightened her. “I see,” Brandy quipped, then laughed. “No problem. When do they need it finished?”
“Yesterday,” came the reply she dreaded, but expected.
“I should have known. Always in a rush. When’s it arriving?”
“Tomorrow by email,” Casey said.
“Yuck! Well, at least Nigel’s here to entertain Steven while I fix it,” she murmured miserably. “Anything else?”
Casey hesitated, then replied, “Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet? Another problem?” she ventured.
“I hope not. Let’s don’t look for trouble, Brandy. I’m working on something. I’ll call you when I have my facts straight.”
With intruding work on its way, Brandy didn’t want to hear any more. They spoke a few minutes, then hung up. Brandy sat on the edge of her bed in pensive thought. Something had Casey on edge, but what? Oh, well, she promptly decided, Casey’ll let me know when the time’s right. She returned to the den.
Steven was nursing a Scotch on the rocks. He glanced up when she strolled in, a frown on her lovely face. “Any problems?” he asked warily.
Brandy’s gaze met his. “Just some revisions for Devon. They’ll be arriving tomorrow. Seems Twilight isn’t spicy enough for them,” she sneered oddly. “Damn!” she blurted out angrily, then fixed herself a Scotch and water.
“If you disagree, why change it?” he asked curiously.
“I don’t exactly disagree, Steven. The publishers know what sells. It’s just the timing,” she confessed sadly. “You and Nigel will have to entertain yourselves for a day or so while I doctor the manuscript.”
“They want lots of changes?” he asked.
“No, only one scene lengthened,” she absently replied.
“Why would that take so long?” he pressed in puzzlement.
“A writer can’t just throw a scene in without rereading the manuscript. The whole story has to be fresh in her mind, or it won’t mesh smoothly.”
“But you know the whole story,” he argued in rising confusion.
“I did when I wrote it. But with the revisions, it’s hard to keep track of what’s been changed. I can’t refer to something which has been deleted or ignore something that’s been added. It’s sort of complicated,” she added at his quizzical look.
“Evidently,” he concurred.
“How’s the hand?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I’ll survive,” he concluded, then chuckled. “Is that all Casey wanted?”
Brandy didn’t catch the worried inflection in his tone. “She’s not bringing the manuscript; she’s emailing it,” she remarked saucily, winking at him, assuming that was the point to his query.
He laughed. “You know me too well, woman.”
She met his beguiling expression. Did she? Or did she know him at all?
“You look worried, Brandy. Any bad news?” he asked, his concern showing in a different way. He stood up and walked over to where she was leaning against the bar.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?” he asked, stiffening imperceptibly.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but Casey acted weird. Some thing’s bothering her, but she wouldn’t explain. She said she’d call me later, if she needed to.”
“Then you have nothing to trouble that pretty head over. If something was wrong, she’d tell you. How about a swim?” he entreated to distract her. If she fretted, she might call Casey and demand an explanation. No doubt that cunning agent had gotten wind of his actions. He wished he could disconnect her phone for a few days, but he couldn’t.
Nigel’s innocent interference made it impossible for Steven to visit Brandy’s room that night. The inspired songwriter was working feverishly in the recreation area into which both of their rooms opened, working far into the wee hours of the morning. Steven thrashed about on his lonely bed as he impatiently waited for Nigel to halt his work and go to bed. Steven knew he couldn’t reveal his relationship with Brandy by marching upstairs to her room, so he suffered in his guest room. Exhaustion finally overtook him, and he drifted off into restless slumber. Soon Nigel’s song was completed, and he also turned in for the night, at three in the morning.
When Steven hadn’t shown up by one o’clock, Brandy daringly eased down the steps and peeked into the open area of the downstairs den. Sighting Nigel as he worked diligently, she knew her evening with her beloved would not take place. Nigel was too much like her; when inspired, the clock didn’t exist. Knowing how she disliked interruptions while concentrating so fiercely, she smiled and returned to her room. Long before Steven was asleep, Brandy was dreaming about him.
Early the following morning, Brandy knocked on the two men’s doors. She was laughing gaily and playfully calling for them to arise, “Up, you lazy slugs! We’re going fishing before it gets too hot. Anyone not up and dressed for breakfast in thirty minutes will miss a marvelous picnic,” she threatened amidst giggles of delight.
She was dressed in olive green shorts which were made from army fatigue material. Her khaki shirt boasted of deep hunter green trees. She pulled the longer sections of her hair back and secured them with a bright yellow ribbon, letting the rest of her windswept curls fall into careful, casual disarray.
She was already seated at the table when both men joined her only twenty minutes later. Steven eyed her sleepily as he exclaimed, “Have you no mercy, woman? It’s still night!”
“Night!” she shrieked. “It’s nearly seven thirty. The fish won’t bite after it gets hot. If you want to sample the excellent catfish in my pond, you have to supply them to Mary by two o’clock sharp. Otherwise, you might go hungry while you watch me and Nigel devour ours,” she vowed as if totally serious. Only her glittering eyes and radiant smile gave her away.
She certainly looked chipper this morning. He growled sullenly, “Midnight fishing another of those hazards of country life?”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” she teased merrily. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“Somebody kept the light on all night, working,” he stated.
“I know. I checked on you two about midnight to see if anyone wanted a late snack. Nigel had his nose to the grindstone, and you were in bed,” she remarked lightly, secretly winking at Steven, telling him she knew why he hadn’t appeared and was so out of sorts.
Nigel grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, old buddy, it’s that damnable creative flow. It just won’t be controlled or halted. People like me and Brandy get caught up i
n it and have to go with it. Right, Brandy?”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” she perkily concurred.
Their mood contagious, Steven relaxed and grinned. He joined in that carefree spirit. “What if I’m the only one who catches any fish? Does that mean you’ll go hungry? Begging?”
“Steven Winngate! Would you deny a starving lady in distress? From past experience, I think not,” she teased boldly.
“I couldn’t deny you anything. Neither could I ever refuse the role of Sir Lancelot,” he vowed with his hand over his heart.
“You’ll share your little fishes with us, won’t you, Nigel?”
“Only if I catch more than five,” he replied easily.
“You two are impossible. Eat up or be left behind.”
Shortly they headed out to the lake. It did not require a genius or a long time to discover Steven was skilled at fishing. Brandy found herself wondering if there was anything he could not do or get. Was he perhaps too perfect, too demanding?
As time passed, it was a constant battle to keep her eyes and attention off Steven. His laughter would send shivers over her body. His warm, piercing gaze would inflame her blood and send all other thoughts fleeing from her mind. The last thing she thought about was delicious catfish for dinner!
Steven looked so sexy and relaxed in his western-cut Levi’s and his emerald green knit shirt. When they took a break for lunch, the handsome rogue spread out the blanket upon the grass for her. She unpacked the fried chicken, potato salad, pickles, potato chips, sandwiches, and Toll House cookies. She smiled as she lifted the chilled bottle of white wine from the cooler. She placed red checkered napkins, eating utensils, and chilled wineglasses at three spots on the blanket, and then called the two men to lunch.
Steven’s eyes widened in pleasure. As he took the plate which she was holding out to him, he grinned with genuine satisfaction and happiness. “This is my kind of picnic,” he stated as an obvious compliment.
“See what you would have missed if you hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night,” she jested joyously.
Valley of Fire Page 19
