Valley of Fire

by Janelle Taylor

  “Perfect,” he responded. The bottle being empty, he took their glasses and placed them on the nearby table. “Need to get back to work?”

  Brandy eased down to lie on the floor, her head spinning. “Nope! My characters don’t agree with Devon’s orders.”

  He reclined on his left side and looked down into her flushed face. He tenderly pushed a curl from her face and asked, “What does that mean?”

  “You just being polite, or do you really want to know?” she asked, her eyes sparkling brightly.

  “I really want to know. I’m learning a great deal about writers, and you. You sound as if your characters are alive.”

  “To me they are while I’m writing their book. I should say, they write their own story. If you try to make them do something they don’t like, they balk and refuse. They won’t allow anything which isn’t logical and natural for them. I’ve read the manuscript several times, and they won’t let me make the changes Devon wants.”

  “What does Devon want that they don’t like?” he asked, but didn’t laugh.

  Brandy rubbed her tingling nose, then stated, “Devon wants a passionate love scene in a place where it doesn’t fit. They can’t just fall into bed after quarreling so fiercely. Her ship leaves in one hour when he shows up. They’ve been at each other’s throats for days. He wants her to drop everything and pretend he’s the only important thing around.” Brandy halted when she realized how that scene was matching theirs.

  “Go on,” he encouraged, grinning knowingly. “I might be able to make some helpful suggestion so you can get this work out of our way.”

  “The hero is furious because the heroine won’t rush into his arms and forget all else but him. She has something terribly critical pending. She’s tried to reason with him time and time again, but he’s stubborn and selfish.” Their eyes met and locked. “It just doesn’t seem logical for her to rush into his arms and make love when they’ve been verbally slicing each other to ribbons, when she’s leaving within the hour, and when her mission is vital to her and others.”

  “We’ve been having our little verbal battles, but we still find each other irresistible. Anger’s a funny thing, Brandy. It can vanish as quickly as it comes. Let’s just improvise a moment.”

  Brandy watched and listened closely as Steven continued. “Say the hero is me. Say the situation is ours, past and present. Naturally you’re the heroine. If my plane was leaving in one hour, would that halt you from making love to me?”

  Brandy shook her head.

  “We’ve been quarreling in a way. Does that prevent you from desiring me, even when I infuriate you?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “You have this writing mission which is critical to you, but does it halt you from wanting me? Even when I’m an ass, do you hate me and reject me? No matter what happens between a man and a woman, it all boils down to needs and desires. Whatever we say or do, there’s always a powerful attraction there pulling us together. If your hero’s losing his woman, even briefly, he’d be desperate to love her one last time before parting. Even if she feels she must desert him, for any reason, she’d rush into his arms to show him how much she needed and wanted him. There is no greater sharing of oneself than by the joining of their bodies and spirits. To let them part in anger would breed destructive pride in both. Each would wait for the other to make the next overture, like we did after our first night. Emotions, Brandy—they’re powerful and complex.”

  “But if she rushes into his arms the moment he enters the room, he’ll think he’s won their battle,” she countered. “If he uses a cunning seduction or brute strength to hold her there, she’ll feel duped and used.”

  “Why not let him walk into the room, close the door, then lean against it? Let him hungrily feast on her beauty and coming loss. Let her turn and meet his gaze, feel their need, then reveal her own in her eyes. When you want me, Brandy, I can sense it. I can see it. Let them walk slowly toward each other, to meet halfway, a compromise, a revelation of shared need. Once their eyes and bodies make contact, the rest is elemental. Passions take over, and the action flows naturally. He’ll feel the depth and power of her love for him, as she’ll absorb his. If she must still leave him, they’ll part with something special between them. If you need a further misunderstanding to part them afterward, let them both suspect it was merely overpowering physical need which attacked them.”

  “You should be a writer, Steven. You’re right, it’s perfect. I wasn’t looking at it from that angle. It just sounded unrealistic for them to make passionate love under those warring conditions. But the way you explain it, it would be the most natural thing in the world. Thanks. Would you like a job as my research assistant?” she offered playfully.

  “Sounds most tempting and exciting. Do I need to apply or audition?”

  She laughed. “Perhaps that isn’t a bad idea.” Brandy sat up and began to unbutton his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” he mirthfully questioned.

  “I’m auditioning your chest. You have a most provocative body, Winngate. I love to snuggle up to you,” she murmured, nestling her face against his hard and furry chest. “You smell divine,” she stated, inhaling his masculine scent and stirring Old Spice.

  “This wasn’t the kind of application I had in mind,” he informed her, chuckling. He eased his shirt off and embraced her cool and bare flesh against his warm and bare flesh.

  Brandy’s fingers wandered over his chest and arms, admiring the smooth surface which exuded such strength. “How can you be so firm and so soft at the same time?”

  He chuckled again, trailing his fingers up and down her silky arms. “I’m glad you approve, Miss Alexander.” Brandy’s gown was deftly swept over her head to join her robe. He pressed her to the lush covering on the floor. His lips captured hers and enticed an immediate response.

  Brandy’s arms encircled his neck, her fingers entering his ebony hair. Steven kissed her lips, her eyes, her forehead, her chin, and the tip of her nose. When his lips nipped at her ear, he murmured, “I much prefer an audition.”

  “Then prove yourself, Winngate,” she challenged seriously.

  Steven slowly and seductively described his actions as he carried them out. Brandy was mesmerized by his tone and movements. She watched him as a cobra hypnotized by a snake charmer, as his hands fondled her taut breasts and his lips gently ravaged on.

  His hand drifted downward. Brandy moaned with rising desire, his sensual movements erotic and stirring.

  Steven’s mouth devoured one breast as if trying to withdraw life-sustaining nectar from it. His hands deftly worked to tantalize her to instant surrender. Fires raged within Brandy and vowed to consume her. Her hand reached for the fiery torch which could torment her and also extinguish her blazing wildfire.

  When her hand reached out for him she whispered softly, “Love me, Steven, love me now. I can’t stand this torment.”

  Steven’s lips seared over hers as he entered her. He set a wild rhythm as she clung to him and matched his pace. His lips were entreating and demanding. They covered hers to prevent her cry of release from shattering the silence of her quiet house. The struggle was easily won, the prize matchless.

  Afterwards, they lay in the warm and inviting arms of contentment. “Well?” he hinted roguishly. “Do I get the job?”

  Brandy’s head moved to one side to meet his peaceful gaze. “You’re hired, Winngate. No references needed. Would you care to read our scene tomorrow when it’s finished? You did provide some stimulating insight. There is no power greater than passion,” she teased.

  Steven watched her closely, then smiled. A nagging dread entered his mind. Not even in the heat of passion had she said, “I love you.” Why not? Was it just physical attraction for her? Was it merely a romantic interlude? If only she would reveal her feelings . . .

 
“You’d best get to bed, Miss Alexander. I want that work completed before dinner. Understand?”

  “Yes, master,” she purred merrily. “I suppose now that you’ve conquered me, I’m to be at your beck and call?”

  “Naturally. All conquerors are heroes, Miss Alexander.” As they parted, she grinned and whispered, “Good night, Sir Lancelot.”

  The next day passed in that similar frame of mind and tranquil mood. The manuscript was revised and returned to Casey. Nigel and Steven played tennis and took a lengthy swim in the pool. All three enjoyed drinks and snacks at the poolside and relished a marvelous dinner in the formal dining room.

  The day before Nigel was to leave, Brandy gave a real Southern barbecue for her workers and two guests. Zack brought his fiddle, and several other workers brought their musical instruments. They laughed, danced, and sang until past midnight. Brandy was so happy she wished this satisfying life could go on forever. Unbeknownst to her, Steven was wishing that same thing.

  As Brandy and Steven sat in a swing slowly moving back and forth, she said softly, “I hope you haven’t been too bored here, Steven. I know it’s quite different from the life you lead in the big cities. Perhaps it’s been relaxing and unusual?”

  “Bored? Not for a single minute. If I were in your place, I would have to force myself to return to that rat race back there. This is real living, Brandy. You’re fortunate to have this place. I can see how you save your sanity and replenish your energy now that I’ve tasted your kind of life here. Perhaps I’ll buy myself a ranch somewhere. Then I might not have to cling to Lance Reynolds anymore. I envy you all of this.”

  Yet, his next innocent words dashed her new hopes, “Still, I’m a restless man who needs constant challenges to keep me alert and alive. That can only be found back there,” he stated, hoping she would deny this and change his mind.

  “You’re probably right,” she said, disappointing him. “Somehow I can’t picture you as a rancher and farmer. I doubt there would be enough challenges around to satisfy that masterful, domineering streak of yours. For you, this makes a super nice vacation, but I don’t think you would take to it permanently.” She breathlessly waited for him to disagree, but he did not.

  They sat in strained, solemn silence for a time. Knowing Nigel was leaving in the morning, she excused herself to talk with him. Steven remained where he was in brooding solitude. She joined Nigel near the pool. Steven envied her total relaxation and easy communication with him, the warmth and closeness which they shared.

  The following morning, they stood together on the long porch as they watched Nigel drive away in his rented car. Steven propped his elbow against a heavy post. “You two are very close, aren’t you?” he asked in a muffled tone, one hand resting across his mouth, the other one tucked into the back pocket of his brushed denim jeans.

  “Yes,” she absently replied, wondering what to do and say now that they were alone. She tugged at the pockets of her yellow sundress, trying not to stare at him.

  To their pleasure, they were soon enjoying their solitude and mutual company. For several days they amused themselves in a manner similar to the one which they had been doing before Nigel’s departure, relieved the necessity for secrecy was past. The strain they had both anticipated did not materialize. In fact, the aura which now surrounded them increased in enjoyment and tranquility. Everyone except Steven and Brandy knew they were deeply in love!

  Knowing Brandy would be uneasy during those first few days, Steven was careful to keep his amorous demands from panicking her. Yet, each hour which passed made him desire her all the more. In his rigid attempts to control his warring emotions and the enticing situation, he became restless and edgy. He resorted to long walks early in the morning and late at night. He knew if he remained too close he would besiege her at every turn. He cautioned himself to patience and to restraint.

  Yet, his mood and reserve caused Brandy to feel and think he was actually becoming bored with her and with this life, but was too polite to leave early. The questions and picture-taking sessions halted the day Nigel left. She observed Steven’s aimless roamings from her lofty bedroom window. Sadness flooded her body, for she knew he would soon be leaving. She feared their future contact would be slight or nonexistent. As much as she wanted him, she prayed she would not become so desperate to have him that she would resort to pursuing him from place to place.

  She determined to constantly remind him of her existence and availability. If she was forced to become the carefree butterfly for a while, then so be it. Steven was surely worth that much effort! She threw her energy and imagination into making their remaining days together unforgettable and blissful.

  One afternoon, they rode to the skeet range. They genially challenged each other to a contest. The loser would be the winner’s servant for that coming evening. She matched him shot for shot during the first few rounds. The final one appeared to be heading for a draw. Determined to have her at his beck and call for a few hours, he tricked her.

  Steven sighed heavily as he approached the line of fire. He then hesitated before giving her the signal to pull the release lever. He strolled over to where she was poised in her purple chinos and cotton blouse with its purple, yellow, and aqua flowers upon a creamy background. He grabbed her around the waist and muttered, “For good luck,” then kissed her deeply and thoroughly, his tongue seeking and finding hers. When he finally let her go, she would have fallen backwards if he hadn’t caught her and steadied her.

  She simply stared at him, obviously shaken by his heated kiss. He was tempted to repeat his action, but did not. “Are you ready now?” she asked in a trembly voice.

  He passed his tongue over his upper lip with a provocative slowness. “Um-hm . . . If I can hold my hands steady. You sure do taste good,” he teased. He resumed his position, then glanced at her over his right shoulder. “Can the winner give any order he—or she—wishes?”

  She was greatly tempted to say yes but from cowardice did not. Besides, she already knew who the winner would be, and she dreaded to learn what that order would be. With her whole body vibrating with excitement and desire, she could never hit her next three clay pigeons! “Only within reason, Mr. Lecherous Winngate,” she retorted with a grin and a dramatic tossing of her tawny mane.

  He shrugged his disappointment, then declared, “Chicken.”

  “Pull!” he shouted three consecutive times, skillfully striking the target with each shot.

  She watched closely as the first target exploded into many pieces, then the second one, and then the third one. Steven turned and engulfed her with a smug, triumphant gleam in his blue eyes.

  Brandy slowly came forward and took the gun from his hand. She absently thanked him for reloading it for her. “Ready?” he called out almost instantly, having savored his coming victory long enough, planning to begin his enlightening move on her.

  She glared at him, then grinned. “Be a gracious winner, Steven love,” she taunted playfully. “No fair distracting me any more than you already have. If I weren’t a lady, I might insist upon a good luck kiss myself!”

  “I would be only too willing to oblige, my fair lady.”

  “I just bet you would,” she scoffed pertly. She inhaled and readied herself as much as possible. She lifted the gun and called, “Pull!” To her surprise, she actually hit the target.

  She shrieked her joy. She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a mocking grin. “There’re two more,” he nonchalantly called out to unnerve her, planting his booted feet wide apart in an arrogant stance. Her gaze flickered over him.

  “Pull!” she called out again. This time, she squealed and danced around as the clay target shattered and dropped to the dirt in many pieces. As she readied herself once more, he murmured close to her ear, “Sure you don’t need a good luck kiss?”

  The warmth of his breath caused goose bumps to cover he
r body. Her breath caught at the suggestive invitation in his husky tone. “No—thank you,” she stammered, wanting nothing more than to toss down the gun and to throw herself into his waiting arms. But it was rash to reveal his powerful hold over her.

  “Suit yourself, Brandy love. But my first order will be for a proper kiss of congratulations,” he calmly warned her.

  “Pull!” she called out weakly. Unnerved, she hesitated just long enough for the clay pigeon to pass her gun sight before she fired at it. The undamaged target fell to the earth and broke into two separate halves. She stared at the spot where it had fallen. She anxiously waited for him to claim his victory kiss, fearing what that devastating kiss would tell him.

  The gun was gently taken from her hands and carefully laid upon the grass. He tenderly seized her shoulders and turned her around to face him. His hand grasped her lowered chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his softened gaze. “Congratulations are in order, Miss Alexander,” he slyly reminded her of his past suggestion. Yet, he made no attempt to take his reward.

  She eased up on her tiptoes and placed her arms around his neck. As she pulled his head down to hers, their gazes fused and locked. Just before her lips touched his, she playfully accused, “You cheated, Lance. You disturbed my concentration . . .”

  The world began to swirl madly as did her senses. He pulled her tightly and possessively against his hard, lean body. All she could hear was the roaring of her molten blood as it surged through her fiery body and ears. She clung to him and ardently returned each kiss and mentally pleaded for the next one. Not once did she consider pulling away from him. Not once did any other thought enter her dreamy mind other than about him and this blissful moment.

  Pent-up, restrained emotions and feverish desires broke through her resistance and innocence. Intense hungers surfaced to shatter any will to refuse him anything. Her heart and body overruled any logic her mind presented. She had wanted him from the very first moment she had looked into those powerful blue eyes. Yet he was just as helpless to resist her or to control himself.