Almost a Lady

by Heidi Betts

  One dark brow winged upward as he observed her irritated pose. “Not unless you want me to.” He waited a moment and then asked, “Do you want me to?"

  For some reason that question upset her more than his earlier failure to ask something sordid and altogether wrong of her.

  "Of course not,” she replied briskly, turning her attention away from him as she crossed to the wardrobe. “You're welcome to share the bed. I wouldn't dream of asking you to sleep on the sofa.” The floor maybe, she added to herself, but nothing so well-cushioned as the settee.

  Finding the nightgown she'd had in mind, she loosened the belt of her robe and let the silky material fall to the floor. Let Brandt catch a glimpse of her naked backside, she thought—just to remind him what he was missing. Then she quickly shrugged into the sturdy sackcloth frock. The dress fell to all but an inch from the floor and covered both her arms to the wrist and all the way up her neck. Not a spare inch of flesh was showing anywhere.

  She'd planned to sleep nude, as she often did. Especially since she'd expected Brandt to ask something entirely different of her in exchange for his winning their wager. But if he merely wanted to sleep beside her in the big bed, then it would be next to the cocoon of her body wrapped in this voluminous gown. If he so much as threw an arm out in her direction, he would be greeted by nothing but stiff, scratchy material. Itching all through the night herself would be well worth it just to sense his discomfort.

  Without sparing a glance in his direction, she marched back across the room and to the side of the bed opposite where he was standing.

  "You know, I'm not sure I was the clear winner of our little bargain,” he offered, still rooted to his spot only a few feet from the other side of the bed. “I was the first to find something, of course, but we can't be sure those initials actually stand for Virgil Chatham. Whereas the reference to Gideon that you found is certainly right. Perhaps we're both winners and equally due a boon from the other."

  She arched a brow at what sounded like a load of rubbish to her.

  "Is there anything you'd like?” he pressed on. “Perhaps something that, in my ignorance, I was too shortsighted to ask for?"

  She couldn't decide whether to laugh or throw something at his head. So, instead, she fluffed her pillow, shifted to her side facing away from him, and gave her answer—utter, stony silence.

  "Suit yourself,” he said behind her, and she thought she heard the distinct rustle of clothing as he began to undress. The clunk of what must be a boot hitting the floor. A second later, another clunk. And then she imagined him peeling down his trousers until he stood in the middle of the room completely naked.

  She waited, listening for the sound of a drawer sliding open, almost praying that his habit was to wear full-length nightshirts to bed.

  "You'd better not be naked,” she warned.

  His only response was a chuckle, and when the mattress dipped behind her, she knew her hopes to be futile. Brandt Donovan was not a man to dress for bed, but would crawl under the covers as bare as a newborn babe. And that was one image she did not want floating around in her head only moments before she drifted off to sleep.

  Thankfully, she was well cocooned in both her most matronly nightdress and the pile of blankets tucked up to her chin, despite the comfortable temperature of the room. Her body was wrapped in a veritable fortress, regardless of what Brandt might be wearing—or not wearing—on his side of the bed.

  Willow squeezed her eyes tight, willing herself to sleep. The room around them was too quiet. Try as she might, she could barely hear either of them breathing. Minutes ticked by, and with each, her lungs seemed to struggle for air as she pictured Brandt beside her.

  Was he asleep already? Or wide awake, listening to her the way she was struggling to listen to him? And was he truly naked on top of the same sheets and beneath the same blankets as she? She was pretty sure of the answer to that, which only caused her heart to beat faster and slumber to further elude her.

  Suddenly, the mattress lurched, causing her to list backwards before she caught her balance and curled forward again.

  "Willow,” she heard Brandt whisper.

  She ignored him.

  "Willow, are you awake?"

  She wished she weren't. Perhaps if she continued to ignore him, he would think she'd already nodded off and leave her alone.

  "I know you are,” he said next, bursting that particular bubble.

  Taking a weary breath, she rolled to her other side to face him, careful to shift back to the very edge of the bed, as far from him as possible.

  "What do you want?” she asked brusquely, hoping to deter him from further conversation.

  "I can't sleep. I thought maybe we could talk."

  Another expectation shot down in its prime. “About what?"

  One shoulder rolled in answer. He'd turned down the lamp, but she could still see the outline of his body in the thin shafts of moonlight shining through the lace draperies.

  "Go to sleep, Brandt,” she said softly. “We have a lot to do tomorrow."

  He reached out to touch the high collar of her night-dress, buttoned straight up to her chin. “This is just about the ugliest thing I've ever seen,” he told her as his fingers drifted down to touch the fabric covering her arm. “Especially on a woman. Especially on you."

  She met his gaze in the darkness but forced herself not to respond. She didn't want his words to appeal to her. And she certainly didn't want to think about his callused hand caressing the material of her gown as though he wished it were her flesh.

  "This feels like horsehair,” he continued, his fingers trailing farther down her arm. “Doesn't it itch?"

  God, yes, it itched. Over every inch of her body. And his reminder didn't help matters. But it was a far cry better than lying naked in the same vicinity as this man, who could probably charm the wimple off a nun.

  "Not at all,” she lied, only afterwards remembering that he could tell when she did. Had she licked her lip? She couldn't remember. And she couldn't see his eyes well enough to know if there'd been a change in his expression.

  "A shirt like this would drive me daft,” Brandt said, moving his hand so that the material slid up and down on Willow's skin, increasing what he knew must be an already maddening discomfort. “So stiff and scratchy, like little needles rubbing every inch of my body. I don't know how you can stand it."

  She wiggled under the covers, trying to dislodge his touch or the feel of the rough fabric, he wasn't clear which.

  "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable out of that thing?"

  She shook her head, her auburn hair falling over one eye. With the same hand he'd used to stroke her arm, he lifted the strands away from her face and tucked them behind her ear. And then he let his fingers drift down her neck, to the small pearl buttons of her starched lace collar, hiding all that lovely ivory flesh and the pulse points he knew must be throbbing with desire by now. His certainly were.

  He hadn't intended to seduce her tonight. Tease her a little, maybe, taunt her enough to remind her of what they'd shared before and what she was missing now by refusing him at every turn. But he truly hadn't planned to climb into this bed and make love to her.

  Now, though, he didn't think he had a choice. He wanted her. And he knew damn well she wanted him.

  Earlier, he'd purposely picked something nonthreatening to ask as payment for the wager he'd won. He knew she'd expected him to ask for more, for her complete and total acquiescence in whatever depraved act he suggested. Which is why he hadn't. And it had delighted him to see her annoyance when he'd requested only to be allowed to sleep on the far side of the bed instead of the inadequate chaise.

  That was when he'd known all of her denials were for naught She desired him as well. She had not only prepared for him to demand sexual favors as payment but had counted on just that.

  "You must have something less . . . abrasive to wear,” he added, keeping his voice low as he slipped the top button through its
hole.

  "What are you wearing?” she asked, and he chuckled at her boldness. Particularly since he knew she'd already assumed he was wearing nothing at all.

  "Cotton drawers,” he said, hoping the answer would surprise her. “They weren't shipped all the way from France and have probably seen better days, but they do the job well enough."

  That brought a smile to her lips. A reluctant one, but still a smile, and he took the opportunity to loose another button.

  "I don't usually wear anything to bed,” he informed her. “Too confining. But I kept my drawers on tonight out of respect for you. And I'm willing to stay . . . confined for you, but there's no sense in both of us being uncomfortable.” A third button popped free, and the pale flesh of her throat shone in the moonlight

  "I'm getting a rash just from being in the same room with this dress,” he said. “I can't imagine what it's doing to your poor, tender skin."

  He raised his head to find her eyes locked on his. She wore a strange expression that gave him pause. She stared at him for so long, he began to feel discomfited. “What are you doing?” he asked, running the tip of his index finger over her sculpted cheekbone.

  Her violet eyes sparkled in the darkness and she said, “Waiting for you to lick your lip."

  He brought his brows together in a confused frown. “Why?"

  "Because I've never heard such a bucket of balderdash in all my life.” One side of her mouth shot up as she gave him a smug grin. “You're not the only person who can spot a liar, you know."

  Brandt laughed and pulled her forward for a deep, impetuous kiss. Her mouth opened beneath his and she kissed him back, as warm and uninhibited as he remembered.

  His hands made quick work of the remaining buttons, all the way down to the hem of the hideous nightdress; then he separated the two halves of the gown, baring her beautiful body beneath the sheet and quilt that covered them both.

  Impatient and not content to be fettered, he tossed the blankets aside and stared down at her near-naked form. “I knew you would be beautiful under that foul piece of burlap,” he whispered fiercely. “Whyever would you cover such perfection with something so profane?"

  With her hands on his bare shoulders, unabashed by her nudity, her lips curved up sedately. “It was supposed to keep your carnal urges at bay."

  He threw back his head and snorted with laughter. When he lowered his head once again, she was chuckling with him. “Sweetheart, it would take all of the Seventh Cavalry to do that. And maybe even then they'd lose."

  Willow sat up and shrugged the open gown down her arms, pulling it out from under her and tossing it over her shoulder to the floor.

  Brandt watched her movements with unabashed fascination. She was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen, from her fall of burnished hair to her full, round breasts to the smooth flatness of her belly and her long, sleek legs. If he looked at her for a hundred years, it still wouldn't be long enough to absorb the full effect of her loveliness.

  "Are you going to spend all night hovering, or are you going to make love to me?"

  He sobered instantly. He shouldn't have been surprised by her acts of boldness after all this time, but this request hit him like a punch to the solar plexis. “Do you want me to make love to you?"

  A moment of silence followed his question while she seemed to consider every possible outcome of her answer. And then she quietly said, “Yes."

  He pulled his head back a fraction to study her heart-shaped countenance. “Is that the prize you wish for winning your part of our bargain?"

  Her lips lifted in a seductive half-grin. It didn't take her so long this time to decide. “Yes, I believe it is."

  Whatever he'd done to deserve such a blessing, he vowed to keep at it. “Then I have no choice but to comply,” he murmured as he swooped in for another heated kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  His hand on her breast felt like heaven. The cool air on her bare torso caused goosebumps to break out along her arms, even as the heat of his flesh burned her fingertips. She ran her palms over the smooth, even planes of his chest, the firm pectoral muscles with their dark bronze medallions in the center of each. She traced the sides of her thumbs over the tiny nipples until they hardened and he uttered a cry of pleasure.

  As if to sweeten the pot, he lowered his head to her breast and suckled her supple, puckering flesh. Groaning in ecstasy, she arched her back and drove her fingers through his soft, feathery hair. It felt like silk, and she pulled his face closer until the ends brushed the sides of her breasts.

  Her legs parted of their own volition and Brandt shifted his weight to settle between them. A natural act that felt so suitable, she wondered why she'd fought it for so long. This was right. This was where she wanted to be.

  Brandt's mouth drifted lower, his lips leaving a trail of moisture as he kissed his way under her breasts, over her rib cage, and along the line of her stomach. His tongue lapped at her navel, drawing a circle around the indentation and then delving into the deep center.

  And then his mouth moved lower, into the triangle of tight curls between her legs. His hands followed, kneading her hips and thighs. He parted her legs even more while his mouth wreaked havoc with her nerve endings. His tongue licked and stroked and nipped, causing lightning bolts of sensation to rip through her body. Her hips rose off the bed, seeking more of the pleasure he seemed so adept at providing.

  He was making her crazy. Bringing to life feelings and responses she hadn't known existed within her, and she was taking the time to fully experience each and every one.

  "Brandt” She breathed his name and he answered by lifting his head and gifting her with a brilliant, satisfied smile.

  "I hope you know how desirable you are.” His voice was husky as he moved back up her body. “And the last time . . . I hope you know that I didn't leave because I was through with you.” He ran a finger over her budded nipple. “Who could ever be done with something like this?"

  "Then why did you?” she asked, though her throat throbbed with the urge to moan rather than speak.

  "Would you believe that I was confused?” be asked with an air of smugness.

  "You? Indeed not.” She tried to smile but wasn't sure the response reached her lips.

  He continued to trace meaningless shapes on her skin, driving her wild and causing her to wriggle beneath him. “I expected you to be a virgin.” When her eyes shot wide, he hurried on. “It was a biased conclusion, I know. And none of my concern to begin with. But when you weren't . . . it disconcerted me, that's all. I needed time to think."

  His touch had less affect on her now, as she concentrated on his words and prepared to roll away from him. “And did you?” she asked, a note of anger seeping into her voice.

  He nodded. “It doesn't matter. It didn't then, and it doesn't now. I just wasn't prepared for it, that's all."

  She studied him for a moment, wondering how to reply. She appreciated his honesty and felt she owed him a bit in return.

  "It was only one time,” she said. “One man. In case you were wondering.” Surprise filled his sea-green eyes, but he wisely remained silent. She didn't bother to mention Robert's name because—as Brandt had said—it was none of his concern. But she did tell him a bit more, just to ease his mind. “At the time, I believed I was in love with him, though I've since learned that it was most likely a small infatuation coupled with deep affection."

  She threaded her hands into the hair on each side of his head, much the way he'd done to her. “Does that make you feel any better?"

  He inclined his head, though not a full nod of agreement, which led her to suspect that he truly didn't care about her past, had simply wanted to explain the misconceptions that had tainted their first time together.

  "You should count yourself fortunate,” she told him, hoping to once again lighten the mood. “You're the first man I've permitted in my bed for quite some time."

  Her attempt to amuse him worked. “Only in bed?” he asked
, quirking a brow. “What a shame, considering there are so many other fascinating places to make love. We do have our work cut out for us, don't we? Luckily, I am in the prime of health and fully prepared to show you each and every one."

  His mouth lowered to stifle her chuckle and she met his kiss with enthusiasm, more than willing to let him show her all the enticing places he promised existed. But she wasn't ready to let him have complete control. Not when he'd already turned her insides to oatmeal porridge. So she began her own assault on his senses by kissing his stubbled jaw and running her hands down his tightly drawn sides, beneath the waist of his cotton drawers.

  She made quick work of the thin string holding the material fast and ran her hands under the soft fabric, pushing the garment past his hips. As his manhood sprang free, he rolled from side to side, shimmying the drawers down and off his legs, leaving them somewhere at the foot of the bed beneath the covers.

  Her hands drew circles on his taut buttocks before coming around to grasp his throbbing flesh. Brandt moaned as her fingers closed about him, alternately applying gentle pressure and barely touching the velvet flesh.

  Lifting a thumb to her lips, she licked it and then teased the rip of his shaft with the wet digit. His entire body stiffened and he swore. “Christ, what are you trying to do to me?"

  Willow chuckled and took a slow lap at his unshaven jawline. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Would you like some more?"

  "No.” He grabbed her hands and forced them both flat to the mattress above her head. “I'd like something else.” And he plunged into her, drawing a gasp from them both.

  "Ah, God, you feel so good,” he whispered in her ear, releasing his hold.

  "So do you."

  "Let's stay like this forever. Never move, never get out of bed."

  Willow's fingers danced over his spine, drawing little circles on his sweat-slicked back. “It's all right with me, but are you sure you can last that long?” To emphasize her point, she thrust her pelvis upward, driving him even deeper inside her.