I winced at the jab on my midsection but I had gotten so used to it the pain seemed almost normal to me now and I just kept going.
With enough practice, pain and suffering could be your daily life. Your father got used to it after your mother walked out. You could too when you walk away after the year and it’s much, much too late because you’ve already given your heart to Brandon.
“And how exactly do you plan to get out of it when it required an entire assembly of people to get you in the first time?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Only because we didn’t want to wrinkle or snag it,” I snapped, reaching around the bodice to see if I could reach where the pearl buttons were at.
I gritted my teeth through the strain against my midsection but I stubbornly kept angling my arm around with no avail. “Not that I want to wrinkle or snag it now. I want to keep this and give it to my daughter someday.”
I realized what I said and I paused, looking up at Brandon who was standing back and watching me struggle.
“That is if I get to keep this dress,” I said slowly, my cheeks warming up.
Brandon’s eyes glinted with a fleeting, unidentifiable emotion before he sat down on the bed and turned me around slowly so he could access the fastenings on the back of the gown. “Of course, you’ll keep the dress. And I’m sure your daughter will be very pretty in it. She’ll have dark brown hair, flashing blue-green eyes, and the same spunky tilt to her chin as you do.”
I stood still as Brandon’s fingers started to loop through the button flaps, undoing each fastening slowly and carefully.
“Dark brown hair?” I repeated, looking up to the ceiling. “What makes you think she won’t be blonde like me?”
“Just because,” he said noncommittally.
This was a very dangerous conversation. It was dangerous because I knew exactly the shade of brown hair I was imagining my daughter to have.
It was already bad enough that Brandon was undressing me on our wedding night (even though he’d done the same very easily in the last couple of days) but something about tonight just seemed all symbolic. The last thing I wanted us to talk about were our blue-green-eyed and hazel-eyed children with their assortment of dark brown and honey-blonde mops for hair.
“Sometime before three in the morning, I’d like to get out of this dress,” I muttered, changing the topic. “For someone with claims to expertise in efficiently getting women out of their clothes, you're remarkably slow.”
Brandon snorted. “Well, I’ve never tried to ravish a woman in her wedding dress before. I usually try not to usurp the groom’s place on his wedding night.”
I rolled my eyes because even though I had my back turned to him, I knew he could tell. “Oh my. How gallant of you, Brandon, to at least until the woman’s honeymoon is over.”
“I don’t sleep with married women, Charlotte,” he said, a smirk in his voice. “Why would I take unnecessary risks with women who have husbands who might want to shoot my head off when there are plenty of young, single women out there who would do just fine?”
My cheeks flamed and I was angry all of a sudden. I started out poking fun at him and now he had the upper-hand, that sly beast!
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You like them young,” I scoffed. “Young like Bessy Mitchell who’s only about a year older than I am. Heard you two got hot and heavy on a ski trip last year.”
Before he could answer, I rambled on, too annoyed now to back off. “Did you find the mythical treasure down her esophagus, my intrepid explorer? Men have tried and failed, you know? Others have died during the expedition—mostly from asphyxia and the lost Altoids she still can’t find to this day. She had been repeatedly told not to roll them around her mouth during the blow jobs she was rumored to be giving away like gift bags in the back of the school gym but apparently, she likes them minty.”
Wow. Those claws are razor sharp, Charlotte. Congratulations! You have now stooped to Bessy Mitchell’s level. Real adult of you.
I tried to tell myself that regardless of my motivation, Bessy deserved it. She really didn’t because she wasn’t here making a muck of my wedding night—I was doing that myself without any help, thank you very much.
I couldn’t stop myself because I was, without a doubt, undeniably jealous. And I was being incredibly childish because of it.
“I could spend the next ten minutes convincing you that nothing happened with her beyond a kiss she’d initiated,” Brandon said with a sigh. “That I have no interest in Bessy or any of my sisters’ friends. In the end, the answer is whatever you choose to believe in.”
Suddenly, the bodice of my dress loosened and started to fall away from my body. Brandon rose to his feet and I saw his hands slip around my waist to grasp the top of the skirt and slowly and carefully ease it down to the floor until I could step out of it.
His head was bent down but I could hear the hiss of his breath.
I shivered at the sudden coolness that kissed my exposed skin. Much of it was revealed by the white lace bustier I was wearing paired with matching lace panties with a narrow silk patch that hid my intimate parts. I had opted out of the white sheer stockings that would’ve rolled up to the top of my thighs and clipped to the garter straps. It was the height of summer and I hadn’t wanted to further stew under the layers of fabric under my dress.
Brandon slowly unfolded his form from his crouching position as I stepped out of the dress, his eyes glowing with fierce wanting.
He took a step toward me, his gaze touching me all over like a caress, his breath coming out choppy with what I could tell was clearly an effort at restraint, based on how the crotch of his dress pants quickly filled out.
“You’re like a battering ram.”
My head whipped up sharply. “Excuse me?”
He smiled softly. “You’re devastation I could see coming from a mile away—nothing subtle or too complicated—and one that I can barely avoid if I stand too close. One that will relentlessly beat down the doors until they break down. One that will knock the air out of me the first time it catches me off guard. One that will do me in for good if I don’t get out the hell out of the way.”
I blinked up at him, unable to believe my ears even though his words had me unsettled with their candid admission. “You’re comparing me to a battering ram?”
His eyes lit up with mischief. “Only your effect to me. Why, it’s not romantic enough?”
My fists clenched at my sides. “Have you been living under a rock? Where did you ever hear of a battering ram being romantic?”
He laughed. “I see your point. Let me try again.”
I waited, glaring at him.
“You’re like an asteroid crash.”
Well, this just keeps getting better and better. You’re not too far down the list from the plague—the kind that kills firstborns and wipes out civilizations.
“You hurtle through space, heading straight for earth, completely unexpected and completely unavoidable. Before the earth is hit and the lives of everyone in it change, people hold their breaths and watch your spectacular descent with a mixture of awe and trepidation because they have never seen something like you before and they’re not sure whether or not they’ll survive your impact.”
My jaw must’ve dropped a while back but no sound had come out of my mouth.
Brandon grinned and brushed my lower lip with his thumb, prompting me to purse my lips close.
Before I could say anything though, he leaned in and kissed me softly, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me closer against him.
I surrendered to the kiss.
I surrendered because I knew no other way.
Even the prospect that like the asteroid I could crash and burn, couldn’t tear me away from Brandon because it felt so goddamned good when I wasn’t fighting it.
My hands tugged at the lapels of his suit and he released me briefly to shrug it off, grabbing me by the arms right away as if he feared I would bolt.
<
br /> No way. Bring out the big guns and the brigade but I’m staying right here.
“Charlotte,” Brandon breathed softly, his hands spanning my waist as his lips grazed the line of my jaw, stopping at the base of my ear where he flicked his tongue against the sensitive spot there.
I shuddered in his embrace, a delicious ache being injected into my body which writhed and demanded for some kind of relief.
Grabbing his shirt, I yanked at the buttons as best as I could without ripping the whole thing off, and Brandon’s own hands joined mine to speed up the process of stripping him bare.
It might have only taken seconds but by the time my back pressed against the soft, luxurious sheets, it seemed like it had taken a lifetime to get there.
His large, warm hands molded around the swell of my breasts, gently squeezing as his mouth returned to mine, taking as much as he was giving me.
My hands glided slowly along his bare shoulder blades, my bent legs parting to let him in between them, my toes digging into the soft bed as his hips pressed against mine, his erection more insistent against the the silky fabric of his pants.
It reminded me of exactly the kind of path we were leading down on but I was too far gone to care.
I may have been a bit tipsy earlier but I had been sober enough to know where this was going. Now, I felt like I was completely drunk—and it was lust in my bloodstream this time.
I arched my back when he nipped my jaw all of a sudden and his hands didn’t miss a beat in sliding down and searching for the fastenings of my bustier. As the lingerie loosened bit by bit, Brandon’s mouth followed the trail of newly exposed skin until the heavy globes of my breasts were freed up from the constraints of the thinly lined lace cups.
I felt decidedly wicked under the scorching gaze of his heavy-lidded hazel eyes but what I had been feeling was merely a flare compared to the wild fire that erupted on my skin the moment his mouth lowered and captured my hardened nipple, sucking and circling the tight bud with his tongue.
My fingers raked through his hair, gripping tight at the onslaught of sensations that were coursing through me from every nerve ending on my body.
I barely noticed any discomfort from the desperate twisting of my body as Brandon loosened the last clasp on the bustier and pulled the thing off completely.
“Damn, Charlotte,” came his ragged whisper as he lifted off the bed to gaze down at my body which was now only covered by a thin scrap of white silk and lace between my legs.
My eyes flew down to my bared body and noticed the band of bruises around my rib area. I cringed and instinctively curled my body inward but Brandon caught my knee and gently unfurled me back.
“I look horrible there,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around my belly to hide the mottled variations of blue and purple on my skin. “Battered blue isn’t really my color.”
“I know,” Brandon bit out as he reached forward to move my arms away gently, revealing my injuries.
The scabs on my hand and knees didn’t bother me as much but the bruises reminded me too much of memories I’d rather completely forget.
“Neither of us wants to remember what happened but you don’t need to hide them from me just because you think I’ll find them unattractive, Charlotte,” he murmured, running his fingertips along my discolored skin ever so lightly. “They simply remind me of how brave and strong you are.”
At his words, I lifted my gaze and met his.
His eyes were nearly molten with lust—fiery amber shards in the dim light of the room.
If he was feeling half of what my body was screaming for, I could sympathize with his sweet torture.
Brandon Maxfield was magnificent.
Beautiful was too soft a word and there was nothing soft in the rigid planes of his upper torso where each muscle was carved out perfectly.
I watched as he tore off his pants, my eyes following the sculpted waist rippling with muscle that tapered into narrow hips and long, powerful legs with a dusting of soft, dark hair.
Dear God.
When my eyes finally focused on what stood proudly between his legs, my throat went dry and the sudden pounding of my heart filled my ears.
Brandon Maxfield was incredibly well-hung. Either that or I had magnifying glasses for eyes.
“Do you know a good physiotherapist?” I blurted out, looking up at him. “The nonjudgemental, discreet kind we can afford.”
His brows furrowed as he took a step closer. “Uh, what for?”
I swallowed hard. “In case I won’t be able to walk again after tonight.”
A husky laugh rumbled from Brandon’s chest as he climbed back up on the bed, hovering above me, his lips pressing gently against my forehead.
“You’re so incredibly precious, Charlotte,” he murmured, kissing the space between my brows, each of my cheeks, the tip of my nose and the point on my chin. “I want you. I want your smiles. I want your laughter. I want the light in you. I want your generous heart. I want your brave soul. I want your fierce loyalty. I want your tenderness. I want your candid spirit. I want anything and everything about you.”
In that moment, time became irrelevant. Whether Brandon wanted me for a year or a lifetime didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter in the grand scale of things where my life was constantly a cycle of fleeting chances. I had to seize what I wanted because it may never come my way again.
“I want you too, Brand,” I whispered as my legs wrapped around his hips loosely despite the pinch on my midsection and my hands went up to link around his neck. “I want you despite your arrogance sometimes. I want you when you forget yourself and laugh out loud. I want your unexpected sweetness. I want your boyish smiles and your playfulness. I want your sense of protectiveness even when I occasionally grumble about it. I want your bold kisses. I want you because you’re intelligent and serious and it fascinates me. I want you now even when I said I shouldn’t. I want you because there’s no one else I’d rather do this the first time with.”
It was a probably a good thing that Brandon devoured the rest of my ramblings with a devastating kiss, his hips thrusting forward and sliding his erection across the thin silk that separated us. If he hadn’t, I might have kept going to further justify my reckless decision in making love to him.
His fingers hooked on the garter of my panties and started to slowly ease them down my hips.
That was when the phone rang.
***
“Do you have more quarters?” I asked Jake as I patted the pockets of my jeans for any more change.
Jake searched the breast pocket of his button-up shirt and handed me a few of them. “You’d think most places now just take credit cards.”
I slipped the coins into the slot and made the coffee selection. It was lukewarm at best but it would do for now. I fought a yawn as we stood and watched coffee drip into the styro cup, downing a big gulp of my own cappuccino when my eyes started to feel heavy again.
“You alright?” Jake asked as he ripped open a packet of sugar to stir into his coffee. “It’s five in the morning the day after your wedding. I don’t imagine you’ve slept a wink.”
My cheeks flushed at the reminder of just how close Brandon and I came to consummating our marriage earlier, seconds before the phone started to ring off the hook.
It had been Tessa calling with the news that Martin had a heart attack after getting home from the wedding.
Brandon and I had scrambled to get dressed and drive to the hospital. We'd arrived in the waiting room where the Maxfield sisters, Mattie (who’d refused to be left behind), Francis and Jake were all restlessly sitting around. Most of them had already changed from their wedding outfits but they all wore matching weary looks.
Not wanting to intrude, I sat with the rest while Brandon went and talked to one of Martin’s several attending physicians. I tried not to fear for Martin but it was hard to ignore everyone’s worried expression—that of my husband's especially as he paced with a grim look on his face and panic in h
is eyes.
From the bits and pieces I heard from doctor’s discussion with Brandon and from what the others have told me, I learned that Martin had been diagnosed with unstable angina almost two years ago. It meant that one or more of his coronary arteries had become blocked or narrowed which limited the flow of blood to his heart. It increased his risk of a heart attack and since it was the unstable type, it could trigger an attack with or without strenuous activity which was why Martin had eased off from working and had been trying to live and eat better. While one could live with it through medication and a healthier lifestyle, all it would take was one attack that could result to death.
Damn that Martin. I didn’t think he was serious about dying.
Sure, he didn’t really have a timeline for how long he had left to live but he acted like he did whenever we talked even though he never told me his actual condition.
If you could go anytime, you’re probably going to assume that life’s deadline was just around the corner. It’s almost worse than knowing when. Uncertainty is hope’s worst enemy.
He had undergone coronary angioplasty almost two years ago as a non-invasive procedure of providing him with some relief from the chest pains. He had told his children that it was a mild heart condition and that the treatment would've fixed it and since he had been doing well except for a couple of non-serious attacks recently, none of them had really thought him that vulnerable. Tonight's attack had been a serious one and doctors warned that they might have to perform an emergency bypass surgery on him.
My own heart had squeezed painfully at the news. It was risky but with or without it, Martin could die.
Unable to stand the wait for another minute without going out of my mind, I decided to go down to the cafeteria and fetch everyone something to drink and snack on. I thought about calling Felicity and Gilles to bring us something more substantial to eat but both had stayed behind the party much later than any of us at the hospital did to supervise the clean up so I decided against imposing on them any further.
There was a cafe across the street but I didn't want to go too far in case there was an update on Martin so I settled with the hospital cafeteria. Besides, everything would taste the same to me right now. Jake had volunteered to come with me and Brandon was too distracted to worry about it which had been good because the last thing I needed to cap off this memorable night was a jealous rampage.
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 31
