Someday Soon

by Janelle Taylor

  No answer once again. Any normal person would have given up right then and there, assuming that Tyler was simply not at home. But having come this far, Cammie wasn’t willing to admit defeat, and when she twisted the knob, she learned it was, as the gate had been, open to the world.

  “Ty?” she called, her voice a bit quiet as she was intimidated by the silence. “Ty?”

  Soft music filtered from somewhere upstairs. Cammie crossed the gleaming white tile floor of the kitchen to a hallway through a butler’s pantry. She’d never been to Ty’s house before, and if she’d stopped to think about it, she would have said it was beautiful, but rather impersonal and cold. There was little of Tyler Stovall in it.

  But that night her nerves were jangled, her senses attuned only to her mission. She followed the sound of the music, her hand sliding along the highly glossed cherry rail as she climbed the curving, gray-carpeted stairs to an upper gallery. “Ty?”

  Toward the back of the house, emanating from behind a set of double doors, one of which was slightly ajar, the music swelled outward in loud crescendo, a classical instrumental she assumed was emanating from a bedroom stereo system. Was Ty actually listening to that cacophony? Or taking a shower? Or with someone?

  She hesitated, nervous as a fawn. “Ty?” she ventured one more time, grimacing against the expected fury she would invoke should he find her sneaking through his house.

  The groan wafting suddenly from his room sounded like a cry of pain. Instantly, Cammie shed her inhibitions and scurried into his room, skidding to a stop at the end of his bed at the sight she encountered.

  Tyler Stovall, flat on his back, spread-eagled and completely nude.

  She clapped a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle, glancing away automatically, embarrassed for both of them. The music raged on, and Cammie, spying the stereo and desperate for something to do, quickly dialed down the volume by at least a score of decibels.

  There was instantly an almost deafening silence, and with her ears suddenly free of bombardment, other senses took over, specifically her ability to smell. And the most redolent aroma in the room was the scent of bourbon, or possibly scotch.

  Ty was dead drunk.

  A second later, he whispered thickly, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

  “Ty?” she answered uneasily, afraid to glance in his direction again. His male splendor was firmly, indelibly, etched across her mind, and she was finding it hard to think.

  A rustling behind her. “Cammie?”

  His second groan made her turn inadvertently—to find he’d flipped onto his stomach, a strong line above tight buttocks outlining the difference between what was tan and what wasn’t.

  She couldn’t help staring. It wasn’t that she hadn’t caught glimpses of him naked when they were living in the same house, but that had been years earlier when she’d been an impressionable teenager who felt she ought to scream and gag when confronted with the bare essentials of the opposite sex. Ty had merely put up with her sophomoric behavior in those days, maybe even been a little amused by it. Then, when she was old enough to stop acting like an eleven-year-old, she made certain, as did Ty, that those glimpses were a thing of the past.

  But now, confronted with Ty the full-grown male, who was clearly under the influence of serious alcohol imbibition, Cammie couldn’t tear her gaze away. His back was broad and lean; she could make out the muscles near his shoulder blades, and when he moved, they in turn shifted like well-oiled machines. His legs were highly muscled as well, dusted with dark hair, his thighs and calves strong and infinitely interesting to feminine eyes. Tight muscles also defined his buttocks, but her eyes skittered away from too longing a look. Her face flushed in embarrassment, and she turned her back to him once again, her arms crossed around her abdomen.

  Cammie, how could you!

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I heard you groan and I thought you needed help.” More rustling from the bed. This time she bit her lip and remained focused on the stereo and the bank of windows to the east where the glimmering tiny lake lay. It was truly more pond-size, but she could well imagine the fury and indignation of the paparazzi who’d been nudged into its depths after he’d been caught trespassing.

  Good for Ty, she thought, smiling to herself.

  A bit of swearing followed, then stumbling footsteps. “Whad’re you doing here?” he demanded.

  Cammie shot a glance at him. He stood teetering at the end of the bed, running one unsteady hand through his dark, slightly wet mane. If he recognized his nudity, he did nothing to rectify the situation.

  Well, if he can be that bold, so can I, she decided with false bravery, twisting slowly on her heel to face him.

  “I came to see you.” Wetting her lips, she added lightly, “Although I didn’t expect to see all of you.”

  That seemed to finally penetrate. Ty glanced downward, took in his nudity, emitted a grunt that could have meant anything, then staggered around the bed to the bathroom. She realized he’d made his way to his walk-in closet. While she waited anxiously, wondering if she should check to see if he was still awake, she heard the ring of metal hangers, disturbed by Ty’s undoubtedly rough pawing through them. A moment later he came back into view, a black terry-cloth robe cinched around his waist.

  He’d taken a shower earlier and had collapsed on the bed without dressing, she realized, concentrating now on his wet hair, which continually flopped forward, slapping his eyes. Without the distraction of his naked body, she could bring her rollicking pulse under control and take stock of the situation. How much alcohol he’d consumed was anyone’s guess. Why, was another. Whatever the case, he was decidedly unsteady on his feet, and she had to resist the urge to help him back to the bed.

  Once again, he pushed his hair from his eyes, but it was a curiously sensual gesture that brought a strange feeling to the pit of Cammie’s stomach. What the hell was wrong with her? She wasn’t prone to flights of fancy about men. Certainly not sexual ones! And this was Ty, her stepbrother!

  Oh, sure, her truth-telling brain reminded her. He’s your brother like Samuel Stovall’s your father.

  Pushing back the offending strands of overly long hair, Ty pinned her with a glower from thickly lashed gray eyes. “You’re not invited,” he said succinctly.

  “I know. I let myself in. I wanted to—I had to see you.”

  “Yeah?” One hand reached blindly for the wall, which was several steps out of arm’s length.

  Cammie stepped forward automatically, but a darker frown shot in her direction stopped her in her tracks. He managed, although it took some effort, to stumble closer to the wall, then he leaned against it for support.

  “The gate wasn’t latched,” she explained.

  “The gate wasn’t latched?” he repeated, struggling to keep up with the conversation.

  “No, I pushed it open. It looked closed, though.”

  “Damn my father’s chauffeur! Never gets it right.”

  “I locked it behind me,” Cammie assured him. “I tested it before I walked to the house.”

  “Why’re you here?” He sounded more puzzled than angry.

  “Actually, it’s your father I wanted to talk about,” Cammie admitted, linking her hands in front of herself. She still could scarcely look at Ty, though he was decently clothed now. The beauty of his male body was still emblazoned across her mind, and no matter how she tried to clear her head, it just kept superimposing itself over any decent thoughts she possessed.

  “What?” Ty asked, rubbing a hand across his face.

  “Well, maybe it’s about my mother, really. She’s miserable. Heartsick. And though I think it’s a blessing in disguise that they divorced, it’s really tough on her, and I just wish things were better, y’know?” she asked, sounding pathetic even to her own ears.

  “Better?” He emitted a bark of laughter. “Are you serious?” he asked, as if she were incredibly slow on the uptake.

  Cammie flushed. She didn’t think she could bear his ridicule
. “Your father didn’t waste any time getting remarried,” she said bitterly. “I don’t care. But I’d like to ease my mother’s pain somehow. I know it’s crazy, but I thought Samuel might be willing to help. He loved her once, and I don’t believe he hates her now, or wishes her anything but the best.”

  “He doesn’t give a damn,” Ty grated unexpectedly, his mouth flattening in fury and pain. “He doesn’t give a damn!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you get it? He’s Samuel Stovall. A heartless, vicious bastard who deserves a place in hell.”

  She was stunned by his vituperative rage. It was so unlike the Ty she thought she knew. “What’s he done?” she asked.

  “He kills things.” The look that crossed his face was one of pure misery. Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he mumbled so softly she could scarcely understand him, “His egomania kills everything.”

  “Ty, you’re scaring me. What’re you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” He turned away, lost his balance and groped for the edge of the bed, half sitting on the end of it. Attempting to get up again, he merely slipped and slid some more, eventually giving up with a groan and flopping onto the cover.

  Disturbed, Cammie couldn’t get his words out of her mind, especially when he flung his arm across his eyes, retreating into a foggy misery that even buckets of booze hadn’t been able to help.

  “Don’t try to tell me anything. I’m not wrong,” he said. “God, I wish it were yesterday…”

  “Did something happen?” Cammie couldn’t help asking. She felt useless, hovering nearby like a mother bear.

  She saw his jaw tighten. Throwing an arm over the edge of the bed, he recovered a fifth of scotch, its contents alarmingly low.

  “Ty, you don’t need that,” she whispered.

  “Don’t I?”

  She collected the bottle from nerveless fingers, his arm falling limply to the ground. Her efforts were useless. In her opinion, he’d consumed enough already to sink a battleship.

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning.”

  “Oh, sure.” His laugh was more a hiccup. “Better in the morning,” he repeated, rolling the words around on his tongue as if checking their flavor. “I’m sick. Sick of everything and everyone.”

  This last part was barely more than a mumble, and Cammie had to lean closer to catch it. “What?”

  Tyler gazed at her from beneath his lids. The arch of his throat caught Cammie’s attention, and though she didn’t want to, she felt those treacherous stirrings of emotion within her. She stared at him, swallowed, and hoped what she was feeling didn’t reflect on her face.

  He closed his eyes and sighed, his lips twisting. The tempo of his breath was fast and uneven—ragged, really, as if he, too, were fighting deep, strong feelings and losing the battle.

  “Go ‘way,” he said, waving an arm at her. This time his arm flopped over his chest, but not before his fingers grazed her breasts in the loose movement. He didn’t seem to notice, whereas her knees had begun a ridiculous trembling she couldn’t correct.

  “Can I help?” she asked, aware that her voice sounded unusually husky.

  His eyes were half closed. With devastating results, he reached forward and collected a curl of her auburn hair between his thumb and forefinger, twisting the silky strands together. “Yes,” he said succinctly.

  Swallowing, Cammie drew an unsteady breath. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she was unable to make herself leave. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Get me anything? Do I look like I need something?”

  “Maybe a cold shower and a cup of coffee,” she said on a half-laugh.

  Tyler didn’t immediately answer her, and she belatedly realized that he’d fallen asleep. His hips were on the end of the bed, his legs slackening so it looked as if he were in very real danger of slipping off the bed entirely. Cammie hesitated, chewing on her lower lip, wondering what to do. Eventually she settled for leaning close to his ear and whispering loudly, “Tyler? Ty? You’re going to fall off the bed. Wake up or you’ll be on the floor!”

  He murmured something and turned his head so that his face was within a hair’s breadth of hers. She stared at the shape of his aquiline nose and the long lashes that lay so dark and spiky against his skin. He was so familiar to her, and yet such a stranger. Of their own volition, her fingers reached out and caressed his strong jaw.

  His hand shot up and gripped her wrist. Cammie gasped in surprise, then her eyes widened in consternation as she realized he was dragging her to him, closer and closer.

  “Ty?” she whispered uncertainly.

  “C’mere,” he murmured. “Mmmm, you smell good.”

  “I don’t think—”

  But her words were lost beneath the touch of his mouth to hers. Hungry. Wanton. Seeking comfort and relief. She understood the phrase “I just melted” with new clarity, as it felt as if her bones dissolved right there and then.

  For the longest time, though it was mere seconds, she stood in frozen indecision. No, no, no! He was in the grip of some devastating emotion, brought on by God knew what, and it was clear he blamed his father at some level for his current pain. Or, maybe it was all jumbled together. Whatever the case, he certainly wasn’t thinking clearly and she would be a complete and utter fool to give in to her own desires.

  But her desires were raging out of control. The brush of his lips had set up some deep, pounding response within her that she couldn’t control. Her whole body seemed to be throbbing and quivering, and no amount of rationalization could change the fact that his very touch was robbing her of every bit of self-control.

  “Ty,” she murmured uncertainly. His head lay against the spread, his mouth tipped forward in silent, inexorable invitation.

  She leaned forward. Their breaths mingled: hers shallow and fast, his laced with the sweet and pungent scent of scotch. Tentatively, she touched her lips to his, dimly conscious that she was setting the course for disaster. But Ty wasn’t interested in delicacy, shyness, or drawing out the moment of discovery. He reached for her openly, with male fervor, and though she had the power to resist his advances, she didn’t. Instead, she breathed in the musky scent of alcohol and Ty’s own unique aroma, a subtly masculine scent with just a hint of muskiness and a touch of the spicy odor of his aftershave. Its intoxication was complete. She was lost to sensation, and when his tongue found hers, she simply relaxed against him, following him onto the bed. Rather than slide off the bed, Ty instantly wound himself around her until they were a tangle of arms and legs and heartbeats. He might have been impaired by liquor, but his instincts were right on, and when he suddenly lay atop her, his masculine angles fitting oh so perfectly against her feminine curves, Cammie had a moment of conscience.

  “Ty,” she protested faintly, her heart galloping wildly, her blood singing in her veins.

  “Don’t…say no,” he begged.

  “I only wanted to help.”

  But it was a lie, she realized distantly, succumbing to his persuasive lips and grinding hips. It was sweet, delicious desire with just a touch of sin, for she knew she was the one in the wrong. What he thought, what he felt, was under the influence of liquor, but she was completely sober. She should say no. She should stop this insanity right now, but when his hand caressed her breast through her sweater, she simply gave in, her arms and legs going limp, her body his to do with as he pleased.

  “Ty,” she murmured, her mouth searching his hair-roughened jawline for his lips.

  His body moved restlessly, pinning her down, holding her captive though she had no will to resist. He kissed her ear and hair and chin, drawing lower, his hands fumbling with her sweater, drawing it up over her breasts. Through her bra she could feel a tense, spasmodic kneading, and she heard his groan of desire.

  “I want you,” he muttered.

  “Yes…yes…”

  She struggled to help him pull off the sweater, and when his mouth went to her bra, su
ckling her nipple through the thin, lacy material, she arched in involuntary surrender, her fingers twining through his hair.

  “Ty!” she gulped. She’d never felt anything like it! She’d never been all that interested in sex, had thought she might be slightly frigid, so dismal was her seriousness in searching for love and physical desire. But now she knew that was wrong. One touch and she was suddenly ravenous.

  Unclasping her bra, he removed it with a minimum of fuss. Some distant part of herself clinically questioned his experience. Unlike herself, Ty was no wide-eyed innocent, and though the thought pricked at her conscience, she was too far gone to consider what that might really mean.

  His palm brushed her nipples, but his hungry mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the waistband of her slacks and leaving a wet line on her abdomen that set her shivering. She realized, belatedly, that he’d drawn down the zipper and unbuttoned the tab. Next, he maneuvered them over her hips until she lay on the bed in only a lacy wisp of panties and the cover of his warm body.

  One last moment of conscience assailed her. “Ty?” she whispered, her breath catching a bit.

  “Don’t,” he said, answering the feeling, not the word.

  And when he thrust off his robe with a muscular twist, then removed the last wisp of her clothing, her hands eagerly helped him. No longer just a willing slave, she became an active participant because she loved him, wanted him, couldn’t bear to wait one more moment for him!

  Later, of course, she would suffer terrible remorse and guilt, since she’d been the one who’d truly made the decision. She couldn’t really blame Ty; she could have escaped at any moment. Cammie had been forced to face the fact that she was entirely at fault, and though a part of her wished she had listened to her conscience instead of her rampant emotions, another part was glad, deep down, that she’d at least had one shining moment with the man she loved.

  But during those heated moments, she listened only to her anxious, flooded senses, and when they were lying together, naked and hungry, and she felt the tip of his manhood seeking her inner sweetness, all she wanted to do was hurry the moment, lest it be snatched away from her. Grasping his buttocks, she answered the unspoken question. A heartbeat later, he entered her more forcefully than she’d expected, for she was a stranger to sex, a stranger to romance in general, and she gasped in pain and surprise.