The Yellow Scarf
Page 4
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Bree scowled and took a large swallow of wine. “What time is it getting to be? I think it’s time for me to go upstairs and check out the bedrooms.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Barnard. “I think I’ll join you.”
“I mean to sleep.”
“So do I.” Barnard grinned sheepishly and leaned in for a kiss. Bree turned her head away, and then relented and offered him the tip of her tongue. She loved kissing Barnard, loved the feel of his thick lips surrounding hers. It made her feel both vulnerable and safe at the same time and never failed to send electric sparks through her, especially when she was tripping – definitely when she was tripping. She surrendered to his mouth so completely that she forgot she was in the presence of her friends. Her breasts were warm, her nipples hard, and any second now she would need to feel Barnard’s hands and mouth on them.
“Ahem,” said Tristan, momentarily breaking the lovers’ spell.
Bree wasn’t one to be self conscious, but she hated it when Tristan tried to make her feel guilty about her relationship with Barnard. She loved the boy dearly, like a brother, but he didn’t seem to understand that she needed a man like Barnard in her life, and that Barnard would always come first. Sometimes Tristan would pout, but she had learned to ignore him. If he had a boyfriend and wanted to bring him round and make out with him in front of the rest of them, she wouldn’t have a problem with that, and neither would Barnard. It was bad enough that people frowned on interracial relationships, in spite of the new permissiveness. Most people these days wouldn’t dare to comment, but those who disapproved couldn’t hide their true feelings. She wouldn’t begrudge Tristan the equal opportunity to express his emotions in public, and she doubted the others around the table would either. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault that Tristan was alone. It was just as easy for him to find men these days as it was for any girl. If he chose to pursue one night stands with men he met in pubs without any thought of something more intimate, that was his choice, and she didn’t feel compelled to feel sorry for him.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Barnard said softly in her ear, using his sexy voice. The way she felt now she could simply melt inside that voice.
“It’s not even ten o’clock,” said Tristan.
“Good night, Tristan my love,” Bree said and kissed Tristan on the forehead. Then, taking Barnard’s hand, she followed him out of the kitchen.