Yours to Savor

by Scarlett Edwards

  Brandon trailed his finger along the curve of her neck, through the hollow by her shoulder, and down her arm. His smile was as pleased as it was lazy. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  She gave him a look that told him how little she believed that.

  Her rumbling stomach jerked her out of the moment and made her blush.

  Brandon’s amused smile widened, and his hand skimmed along her bare breasts to come to rest on her belly. “I take it you’re hungry after all that?”

  “Should we get some food?”

  “You’re enough to last me for days.”

  Sandra laughed, and Brandon’s eyes lit up at the sound. He looked as happy as she’d ever seen him. “Well, we still have all that food from last night.”

  Brandon sat up, unconsciously flexing his pecs in the process. “You’re right. You made us dinner and I never got to try your cooking.”

  “It’s cold by now. I was thinking maybe we could go out.”

  “And I was thinking we could stay in bed for a week.” He took her hand, and brushed her knuckles over his lips.

  Sandra sighed, not quite believing that she was living this fantasy. But Brandon’s touch was real. The way he made her feel was real. Her devoured body told her as much.

  “Why don’t I cook us something, then? The kitchen in this suite must have everything we need. I asked for it to be fully stocked.”

  Sandra’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  This time, it was Brandon’s turn to laugh. “You don’t put a lot of stock in my kitchen prowess? It’s one of three skills I’m most proud of.”

  “And the other two?”

  His eyes shone with mischief. “You experienced one of them today.”

  Before she could ask about the last, he swept out of bed and tugged his pants on. And walked out of the bedroom shirtless.

  Sandra sighed again, content. She half-expected to wake up at any moment and find herself back in her tiny apartment. When that didn’t happen, she dug a robe out of the closet and followed Brandon to the kitchen.

  She found him struggling with the stove. He had three eggs in one hand, a knife in the other, and looked completely lost.

  “Problem?” she asked, bemused.

  “It’s different than what I’m used to,” he muttered.

  She came up behind him, wrapping one arm around his torso and pressing herself against his back. With her free hand, she turned the dial that switched the range on.

  “Thank you.” He turned around, pressed his nose against her hair, took a deep breath. “Did I tell you how good you smell?”

  “After sex, or during?”

  “Always.”

  That was when she heard the crack, and saw that he had inadvertently squeezed one of the eggs too tight. She raised an eyebrow. “Kitchen prowess, you said?”

  Brandon shrugged and gave her a cheeky grin. “I may have exaggerated a bit.”

  Sandra laughed with delight, and he kissed her again.

  Later, when Sandra was seated at the table, chewing Brandon’s not-quite-edible eggs, she finally got to ask him the question that had been burning in her mind. “So, what do you do?”

  Brandon frowned up at her. “I told you before.”

  “No, like really. Where did you go last night?”

  “I had to take care of a worried client.”

  “For what, though? You know where I work, but I have no idea about you.”

  “Now, now,” Brandon smiled, amused. “I know where you work, but I also know you’re not just a receptionist. You didn’t need to go to college for that. So, as long as you keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine.”

  “Secrets? I don’t have any secrets,” she said. Except one, anyway.

  “Well, there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye. Why work where you do if you have a college degree? I know that’s not your true calling.”

  “How can you be so confident of that?” she asked, evading giving him an answer to his question.

  “I’ve spent time with you, Sandra. You’re sharp. Intelligent. And yet, for some reason, you hide all that from the world.”

  “I don’t… hide,” she protested.

  “I saw how you took to wearing that dress the other night. You glowed in it. Your body was meant to be seen, Sandra, and your mind meant to be engaged. You won’t find any of that in a doctor’s office. Especially not in a place like Ocean Shores.”

  “Fine,” Sandra said, “I’ll tell you. But I want the truth from you, after. I went to school and studied to be a doctor. I was supposed to continue med school after Henry and I got married. But then we broke up, and I kind of drifted from town to town until I found myself in Ocean Shores.”

  “A doctor?” Brandon smiled and leaned back. “Yes, I can see that. You have a sweet heart—when it’s not locked behind iron bars.”

  “Brandon!” Sandra made a face at him. “Well, I told you about me. It’s your turn. What do you do?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not glamorous. Like I told you before, I’m a businessman. I deal in real estate. Developing land, buying and selling properties, things like that.”

  “You must do it well, then, to be so successful.”

  Brandon grunted. “Work is work. It’s the last thing I want to talk about.”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of it is dull. Paper work, legal documents, dealing with banks.”

  “Why do you do it, then? Is it just the money?”

  “No,” Brandon admitted. “There are some things about it I love. Striking deals. Meeting new people. Negotiating terms. It gives me a rush.”

  Sandra could imagine Brandon in a corporate boardroom. She could see him doing very well meeting with clients. He had charisma and a natural charm. It would be very easy for people to like him, and, coupled with his natural dominance, easy for him to succeed.

  Then, she remembered something else she’d been meaning to ask for a while. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re from Chicago?”

  Brandon started. “Excuse me?”

  “On your boat—”

  “My yacht.”

  “Your yacht, sorry. But you guessed that I was from there. Why didn’t you tell me you were, too?”

  His eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, his expression very grave. “How do you know that?”

  Sandra bit her tongue. She remembered the promise she’d made Clarisse. But with Brandon’s unforgiving stare aimed right at her, she didn’t know quite how to answer. “Um, Charles mentioned it?” she said tentatively.

  “Charles? My driver, Charles?” Brandon shook his head. “No. He doesn’t know that about me. It was Clarisse, wasn’t it?”

  Sandra squirmed under his scrutinizing glare. “Well… yes,” she managed after a second. “But please don’t get mad at her. Clarisse let it slip accidentally, and made me promise not to tell you.”

  A dark cloud suddenly came over Brandon’s face. “Sandra,” he said very slowly, “I want to make two things clear. One, you should never be afraid to tell me anything. And two, never lie to me. I’ll know if you do. I want our relationship to work. Trust is important to me. I want us to trust each other without reservation.” He looked her right in the eye. “I know that will take time, but the only way to get there is to start now. I’ll swear never to lie to you, too, if you agree.”

  Sandra considered what he said… and nodded. “Trust is important to me, too.”

  “So you agree?” he asked

  “I do.”

  “Good.” Brandon shoulders relaxed slightly. “Now, do you want to know why I didn’t mention Chicago?”

  Something in Brandon’s tone warned her that this was a dangerous path to explore, but if she was going to be in a relationship with him, she needed to know about his past. “Yes.”

  He exhaled, and his eyes stayed dark. “I left Chicago a very long time ago. I was… very different back then. I didn’t tell you about it because I do not like to think about it myself. There was m
isery and turmoil in my past. That’s why I left the city. And that is why I never talk about it.”

  Sandra knew she would get no more from him than that. She could see the pain that just mentioning Chicago brought. She couldn’t imagine something so extreme it would be difficult for someone as strong as Brandon to face. It had to be bad. Suddenly, she felt guilty for pushing the subject. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I… shouldn’t have pried.” After all, I have my own personal demons I don’t talk about.

  Brandon grunted. “Don’t be sorry. You couldn’t have known. I want you to trust me. But some things are better left unsaid.”

  “Of course.” I understand that better than you know. She smiled, which was hard given how heavy the conversation had become. “I do trust you, Brandon.”

  He smiled back at her, then. “Good.” His voice regained some of its former levity. “Now, let’s finish our breakfast and go pick out your outfit for the evening.”

  Brandon sat back and watched Sandra try on the myriad of clothes she’d bought with Clarisse. It was obvious to him how much she enjoyed them. It amused him every time she tried to suggest returning them out of some misplaced sense of morals or guilt. She didn’t like handouts, she told him, to which he replied that the clothes were a gift. After all, she’d accepted the flowers he’d sent her, hadn’t she? And what was the difference between that and this, aside from some thousands of dollars? It was pocket change to him, anyway.

  It didn’t take that much convincing to get her to consent. To most of it, anyway. Sandra was stubborn, and insisted on picking out only one thing for tonight, and then keeping that garment, together with the blue dress from last night and the silver one from their Space Needle date. She wanted to return the rest. Brandon had no intention of letting her have it that way, but he let her think she had a chance.

  But as he watched her, so carefree and happy in the middle of the living room, dancing with each step, he could not share her mirth. Something else troubled him.

  He did not like how he’d handled the conversation about his job. Not that he’d lied to her; real estate was something he’d dabbled in on the side for a few years, and his plan was to dive straight into that world once he stepped away from the drug trade.

  But even if he hadn’t lied to Sandra outright, neglecting to mention what had made him his fortune was a glaring omission. Yet he could not risk telling her so soon… not until he could get a feel for how she would react. He’d have to fight against all the imprinted, negative stereotypes in her mind about drug dealers—no matter how different the truth of his business was from that fiction.

  Brandon had no idea how he would break it to her, or when, but he knew he’d have to. Eventually. He did not intend to keep anything from Sandra, but that did not mean revealing everything at the start.

  Besides, she had her own walls built up about something from her past. Brandon was sure of it. Clarisse sharing his suspicion was enough to convince him. Sandra put up a strong front, but beneath that, she remained shockingly fragile. When she had submitted to him that morning, she was there completely and fully; exposed and unguarded. Brandon wanted to know why she put up her façade, and what it was that she was hiding from the world.

  Every once in a while, he’d catch a glimpse of her face from the side and have the distinct impression he’d seen her somewhere before. He had to find out why.

  Well, all that would take time. And time he had. But Brandon knew it was a risky game he was playing—especially if Sandra’s trust was as fragile as he suspected.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sandra felt every eye on her as she walked through the bustling hotel lobby. Brandon had encouraged her to wear a yellow dress bright enough to match his car, and between his persuasive kisses, she’d been unable to resist. Coupled with the three-inch stilettos that made her hips sway and threatened to punish her with a fall if she took one wrong step, well, of course she would stand out.

  But she wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world, all because of the man whose arm she hung on to.

  Brandon had adopted that powerful, confident gait as he walked, head up and shoulders back. In his formal black slacks, ostrich leather shoes, thin black blazer, and a shirt of the palest green that complemented his eyes, he easily drew the eye of every woman in the room. The natural swing of his wide shoulders made people bustle to get out of his way, and Sandra found an unexpected thrill at that reaction. Cutting through the crowd in front of the doors was as easy as slicing a hot knife through butter, and Sandra did her best to match the projection of confidence that Brandon exuded.

  “Is this how people always react to you?” Sandra asked as they waited for the valet to bring Brandon’s car around.

  “Not always,” Brandon noted. “Only when I have someone as beautiful as you beside me.”

  Sandra blushed at the compliment. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel this way.”

  Brandon smiled. “What way?”

  “Like I’m someone special.”

  Brandon tossed his head back and laughed, then brought his arm around her shoulder to tug her close. “Of course you’re special, Sandra. Especially to me.” Without warning, he spun her in front of him, and moved in for what felt like the most glorious kiss of her life.

  “Brandon,” Sandra gasped when he let her go. “We’re in public!”

  “So?”

  “So, I thought you were… you know… shy.”

  For the second time, Brandon threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, booming sound that made Sandra feel more alive. “Shy? Well, that’s a first. I’ve been called many things, but shy has never been one of them.”

  “Then why—” Sandra started, but Brandon’s Ferrari appeared in front of them at that moment. Brandon reached into his pocket and gave the valet a tip, before walking around to open Sandra’s door for her.

  “Shall we go?”

  The drive to the Pacific Northwest Ballet took longer than Sandra expected. The building was on the outskirts of town, and they had to fight through rush hour traffic to get to the show on time. Brandon parked in the lot when they arrived, and surprised Sandra by leading her away from the main entrance.

  “Where are we going?” Sandra asked.

  “I got us a box,” Brandon explained, smiling. “There’s a special back entrance that takes us there.”

  Sandra knew better than to be impressed by this point, but Brandon’s privileged world was not something she thought she’d ever find herself in. Even now, walking through the crisp evening air felt a little like being in a fairytale.

  Clarisse was waiting for them inside.

  Brandon’s assistant looked spectacular, as always, in a trim black dress and fur coat. Sandra wondered how wealthy Clarisse had to be to afford the beautiful pearl necklace that hung around her neck. Maybe it was a family heirloom.

  Clarisse was ecstatic to see Sandra, but Sandra couldn’t say she returned the sentiment. It wasn’t that she disliked the woman; rather, she’d been looking forward to having Brandon to herself that night. And he’d never even mentioned that Clarisse would be here!

  Sandra was surprised by the irrational bolt of jealousy that shot through her when Brandon ducked in to give his assistant a very congenial kiss on the cheek. Before she could say anything, however, the three of them were shown to their box as a voice on the intercom announced the start of the show.

  The private box fit seven, but Brandon had bought all the seats to ensure they’d be alone. There were three seats in the front row, and two in each of the back ones. Brandon offered Clarisse the seat closest to the stage, and took the one beside her in the middle. Sandra sat on Brandon’s other side.

  Though their box boasted an outstanding view of the stage, it wasn’t much higher than the crowd below. Only seconds after Sandra sat down, the houselights dimmed, and the stage lights flared on. The crowd’s hushed murmur ceased.

  A spotlight sh
one on a solitary figure, dressed in a black bodysuit with everything covered but his eyes. He stood there, still as a frozen lake, as a lonesome melody began to play in the background. Wisps of fog drifted from the sides, one lit up a bloody red, the other a stormy blue.

  “Aterballeto is Italy’s leading contemporary ballet company,” Brandon whispered in her ear. “I’ve seen them perform there, but never in North America. This performance is called Moonshadows of a River Dance. Pay close attention to the lead soloists. The choreographer does a masterful job of displaying their talents. There will be many dancers on stage at the same time, so it will be easy to lose track.”

  Sandra smiled, nodded, and focused her attention on the show. A woman stepped out of the darkness to stand beside the man. Without warning, he struck out a hand and grabbed her. Music began to blare. Sandra jumped in surprise, but then quickly found herself lost in the excitement of the show. Brandon was right. Before long, dozens of other dancers had streamed onstage. They formed lines and extravagant shapes, leaping and catapulting over one another as they ran from side to side, contorting their bodies in the air, landing with grace and skill. The performance was magnificent as a whole, and Sandra loved watching the beautiful bodies and figures, all so strong, yet so very graceful. The choreography was immaculate and inspired. Each move by every dancer was distinct yet somehow perfectly in line with the music.

  Sandra was so absorbed in all of it that she was shocked when the dancers streamed offstage and the lights came on.

  “Is that it?” she asked Brandon, anxious.

  He looked at her and chuckled. “No. This is just the intermission.”

  “Oh. So there’s going to be more?”

  “Of course. This is just a chance for everybody to stretch their legs. Come.” He got up and offered Sandra a hand. She took it, and together they left the box with Clarisse in tow.

  Outside, Sandra wouldn’t have minded Clarisse’s presence so much were it not for the way she monopolized Brandon’s attention. Clarisse was a great fan of the ballet and, unlike Sandra, could actually comment on it knowledgeably. As soon as they reached the concession, all of Brandon’s focus turned to his assistant. What made it worse was just how familiar Clarisse acted around him. She touched his arm, whispered in his ear, laughed at a private joke. Sandra stood with them as other people milled around, and felt a little ridiculous in the bright yellow dress amongst the sea of dark silks and subdued pastels. When she had been on Brandon’s arm, she didn’t mind standing out. Now, she felt like she was on the outside looking in, and decidedly unwelcome. Clarisse and Brandon had known each other five years, Clarisse told her once. Right now, Sandra felt like an intruder to their world.