Authors: Erica Spindler
Veronique wound her fingers in his thick, black hair as he pressed kisses over her stomach, as his tongue dipped into her navel, then moved lower to taste, tease, kindle. She arched as his fingers, then his lips, found her, and she cried out when the sensations became unbearable in their sweetness.
Brandon moved back up her body until his mouth caught her strangled sounds of pleasure. Veronique smoothed her hands over his damp back, lightly scratching, absorbing his heat through her palms.
"Make love to me," she whispered. "I need you." As the words shuddered past her lips, she wrapped her legs around him.
Groaning, Brandon took what she offered, slipping slowly inside her. Their eyes locked, and for a long moment Brandon just looked at her. Her cheeks were wild with color, her eyes stormy with arousal. She was the most perfect woman he had ever known; she was the only woman who had ever really touched him. An ache that had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with need ballooned inside him.
He caught her mouth; their fingers laced. They rocked together, slowly at first, building speed until pulses hammered and skin was slick. Veronique cried his name at the same moment hers touched his lips. Gasping for breath, they hurtled together into the stratosphere.
The trip back to Earth was slower. Veronique explored his body with feather-light caresses of fingers and lips; it was taut and smooth, an enticing combination of rounded planes and gentle angles. He was beautiful, she thought, nestling against him. And for now, he was hers.
Brandon whispered soft words in Veronique's hair as he stroked the tangled, shiny mass. He smiled to himself as she murmured her contentment and curled into his side. He'd thought all along this was his seduction. He'd been wrong. She'd seduced him from the first—with her laughter, her honesty, her joie de vivre.
And somewhere along the line, because of her, he'd forgotten he was dissatisfied with life. No, Brandon corrected, looking down at her soft expression. He hadn't forgotten—he wasn't any more. Since meeting Veronique his life had become full and rich, filled with light and laughter.
Veronique trailed her tongue along his collarbone. His skin was warm and salty. Enjoying the combination, she tasted again, then moved on to another equally inviting spot.
"Good?" Brandon asked, amused.
"Mmm-hmm." She propped herself on an elbow so she could see his face. He looked sleepy and satisfied. She walked her fingers up his chest. "Yummy."
He ran the flat of his hand over the smooth curve of her hip. Tempting. He smiled as he realized they would make love again tonight—at least once—and that he was already wanting. "Hungry?"
"Uh-huh..." Veronique wiggled her toes against his. "What do you have?"
"Whatever you want."
When he leered at her, she pinched him in a place that had probably never seen the sun—at least not in New Orleans—then grinned as he cursed under his breath and rubbed the spot. "Witch."
Laughing at his expression, Veronique sat up and pushed the tangle of hair out of her eyes. "I've been called worse. Rowdy, hoyden, illegitimate brat. Once, Grandfather called me..." Noting his stillness, her words trailed off. It was as if she'd lost him. He was staring at a point somewhere behind her, his expression faraway and too serious. As she watched, his forehead creased, and his mouth, which moments before had been soft with pleasure, hardened. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. He looked sad, Veronique thought at the same moment she realized it wasn't the first time she'd seen the look.
Needing to comfort him, she reached across and lightly touched his arm. "Brandon?"
With a small shake of his head, his gaze shifted to hers. He looked almost surprised at her serious expression. "What's up?"
Veronique shook her head, her silky hair rippling with the movement. "If you need to talk..." She looked away, then back. "You haven't mentioned your father in a long time... and I just wondered, well, if you were doing okay."
Brandon blanched. He'd been thinking about his father all right—about his father and her father. And his own dishonesty.
Tell her now,
he thought. Tell her now, while she's warm and lazy from spent passion. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a long silent sigh. Not tonight. There would be time tomorrow or the day after for a scene; tonight was too perfect to ruin with past hurts and present lies. "I'm fine," he said finally, and forced a smile.
"Oh." He didn't want to share his thoughts with her, she realized and couldn't quite hide her disappointment. She plucked at the satin coverlet. "Great. I'm glad."
Feeling like a jerk, Brandon leaned over and kissed her. It wasn't great—he'd hurt her. And would again, he thought. "I was thinking about the Dallas store, that's all. You know, it takes a little time to adjust to being Mr. Big." When she smiled, he kissed her again. "Want me to bring the cart over?"
Relieved, Veronique smiled. "Mmm, and the champagne, too. No sense letting all the goodies go to waste."
"Don't worry," Brandon said, his eyes roaming slowly over her. "I haven't been." She wasn't the type to blush, so when she did it was that much more charming. He laughed and patted her heated cheek. "That particular shade of red is very becoming. You should wear it often."
"Think you can make me?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Hold that thought," he murmured, then slipped naked out of bed.
Sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bedding, Veronique watched as he rolled the cart over, then went back for the champagne. He was gorgeous. Especially his rear, she thought with a wicked grin.
"What are you smiling about?" Brandon asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "You look like the proverbial cat with a canary."
Veronique laughed and scooted a little to the right to make room for him on the bed. "I was admiring a certain part of your anatomy." She made a sound that was a cross between a purr and a growl.
He handed her a flute of champagne, then sat next to her. "Make that sound again and you won't have time to drink that."
"Promises, promises," Veronique said as she perused the selections on the cart. "Are these chocolate-covered cherries?" She held up a dome-shaped candy.
"Mmm-hmm..." Brandon sat a little behind her, balancing the glass of wine on a knee and running his fingers lightly down her spine. "Speaking of parts of the anatomy..." he murmured, pressing his lips between her shoulder blades "...you've got a great back."
"Thanks." She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression deliberately naughty. "You can kiss it again if you like."
"Oh, I can?"
"Yes, please." Laughter lurked in her eyes. "Do you like cherries?"
"Uh-huh." He placed a row of leisurely, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulders.
"Good." She bit the corner off one of the fruit-filled candies, then carefully sucked out its liquid center. The cherry was last, and she caught it on the end of her tongue. Turning, she pressed her mouth to his and passed him the cherry.
With a murmur of pleasure, he took it from her. He bit into the round fruit. It tasted as much of her as of the sugar, and Brandon eagerly accepted another. And another. As the last candy slipped down his throat, he dipped two fingers into the caviar and held them out to her. "Fish eggs?"
"Mmm-hmm—" Veronique laughed, then drew his fingers into her mouth, sucking the salty delicacy, teasing him by refusing to let go when they were clean.
Next, Brandon plucked the fattest strawberry from the bowl and held it to her lips. She slowly sank her teeth into the succulent fruit, letting the juices pool on her lips until they were wet and red. She moaned with pleasure and took another bite, nipping at his fingers as she did. The fruit's heady fragrance surrounded her as she fed and was fed.
When they'd devoured all, Brandon touched his finger to her mouth. It was red from the fruit and swollen from their passion. "Your lips are sticky," he murmured, his voice almost harsh with need.
Veronique caught the finger between her teeth and bit lightly. "So are my hands." She splayed them across his furred chest. "What are you going to do about it?"
His answering laugh was husky. "This..." He brought first one hand to his lips, then the other, placing lingering kisses in each palm. "And this..." He pulled one finger slowly into his mouth, his tongue moving over it, sucking it clean. Then he drew in another and another.
The sensation was incredibly erotic. Veronique curled her fingers around his face as his tongue drew designs on the sensitive flesh of her palm. She wanted him so badly she ached.
When she whimpered and tried to arch against him, Brandon pushed her back until she was sprawled on the bed. She was unbelievably sexy with her tousled hair and passion-flushed features, Brandon thought, his control beginning to snap. "More champagne?" he asked, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears.
"Mmm..." She looked at him through half-lowered eyelids and smiled. "Do you think it'll revive me?"
Brandon's lips curved wickedly, and he trailed a finger over her breasts. Their peaks hardened in response. "I could ensure it."
"Oh, yeah?" Knowing it would drive him crazy, she stretched sinuously. When his eyes darkened, she laughed softly at her power. "That sounds like a dare."
"I've heard you never turn down a dare." He leaned over and placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh.
"True." Veronique sighed as he trailed his tongue up to the top of her thigh; her eyes fluttered shut as he tasted her most secret place.
Her flavor was more exquisite than any they'd just sampled, and he lingered over it, enjoying her throaty sounds of pleasure and the way her skin quivered under his tongue as he did. "Prepare yourself, Veronique."
His softly spoken words were her only warning. She gasped and arched as icy drops hit her belly and breast. Her eyes few open. The champagne pooled in her navel and slid over her sides. Just as a fine layer of chill bumps raced over her, he bent his head and lapped the sparkling liquid from her body. Soon, chill was replaced by heat, and she moaned.
"Sufficiently revived?" Brandon asked, his control slipping.
Head and senses swimming, Veronique looked at him. He was poised above her, his face and body rigid. She felt a moment of panic for tomorrow, then pushed it away. She loved him. She wanted him to fill her now, to be with her forever. Veronique opened her arms, and with a groan, he sank into her.
This time the joining of their bodies was less urgent. Gone was the frenzy that had made them rush, that had made them miss treasures found only through a thorough search. It was replaced by something softer, something solid. Veronique reached for him, but instead of clutching, she squeezed, stroked, pleasured.
She offered him her mouth; Brandon took it. How could it be that every time he kissed her she tasted sweeter? he wondered. And was it his imagination that with each kiss his need for another grew? He knew it was not and deepened the kiss.
Veronique wrapped her fingers in his hair, tightening her hold on him, bringing him even closer. In an imitation of their lovemaking, their tongues twined and retreated in an ancient dance. The dance started slowly, rhythmically, but built to a fever pitch, a point where reason was lost and reality was ecstasy.
As they reached that point and crested it, Veronique cried out and arched against him. And Brandon was there, holding her, calling her name, promising to stay. Then it was over, and as they'd shared the summit, they shared the descent, drifting slowly, inevitably back to Earth.
When their flesh had cooled and their breathing evened, Brandon started to pull away.
"No," Veronique murmured, her voice sleepy, lethargic. "Don't move. I want to fall asleep with you inside me."
"I'll crush you," he whispered, tenderly kissing the tip of her nose.
"I don't care."
"I do." Cradling her in his arms, he rolled onto his side so they faced each other, still joined. "Better?"
"It couldn't get any better," she said, yawning. "I'm so tired, but I don't want to let go of tonight."
"Don't worry," he said, smiling as her eyes fluttered shut, "there'll be plenty of time for us when you wake up."
Hours later, Brandon watched Veronique as she slept. She looked young and vulnerable, not at all like the daring adventuress she was. And not at all like the temptress who'd brought him beyond reason, again and again.
He reached down and captured several strands of her silky hair between his fingers. He'd felt like a rat when she'd asked about his grief and his feelings for his father. What could he have said? That the pain of his father's death had been replaced by something even more cutting—the pain of betrayal? Hardly.
A dozen times before tonight he'd tried to tell her what he'd learned, but every time something had stopped him. Guilt? Worry over her reaction? Cowardice? Probably all three, Brandon admitted, with a sigh.
So what now? He trailed his fingers over the curve of her shoulder; it was warm, smooth and tempting. He leaned down and placed a kiss where his fingers had just been, and she whimpered and snuggled more closely into his side. He had the unsettling feeling that he'd made a mistake, that he should have told her long ago.
Brandon shook his head and slid farther under the covers. Wrapping his arms around her, he nestled her back into the curve of his body. How could it backfire on him? No one knew the truth but him and Sebastian. Everyone else was either dead or only knew part of the story.