Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
“About me becoming
Mrs. Ted Peterson.”
Dismayed by her
directness, he searched for a somewhat persuasive answer,
“If two people really love each other why
not.”
Sam's glowing face
turned on him, her words slurred, “I see.
So, does that mean you believe in marriage?”
Holding Brad transfixed, the pupils
of her eyes delved deep inside him as if examining his inner core.
What he saw was like an earthquake shaking
and cracking the ice-burg he tried desperately to become.
Moments passed before his thoughts thawed
sufficiently to reach his mouth, “For some people.”
Like a mad scientist
searching for the right formula, Sam continued, “What about you, Brad?
What do you want?”
Knowing it was not
the wine making her appear more beautiful, but her vulnerability, he fought to
keep from uttering . . .
YOU!
Eye lids slowly skirting blue basins
staring up at him gradually revealed an undulating, blue sea heaving with
intimidating waves cleansing the word from his mind allowing others permission
to trip over it.
“I want what's best for
you and Ted.”
Lowering her head Sam
stared at the glass in her hand, her expression serious.
“Do you think I'll make a good wife?”
Without hesitation,
he answered, “Absolutely.”
The alcohol empowered Sam to
verbalize the fears lurking within.
Embarrassment coming over her made it impossible to tolerate whatever was
erupting in Brad's eyes.
Swiveling to
face the sink, she began nervously toying with her empty glass as a confession
wretched from her.
“I'm afraid.”
Unable to stop Brad
moved closer, “There's no reason to be afraid.
Ted loves you.
He'll take good
care of you.”
Sincerity etched
Sam's emotional response.
“But . . .
but, will I be able to take good care of him?
I mean . . .
he has known so many
other women.
I've never . . . we've
never.”
Overwhelmed by her innocence, Brad
pressed closer, the warm wisps of air from expelling words separating tiny
hairs curled at the nape of her neck. Feeling desire smoldering, he held it
back for her sake.
“You'll know what to
do.
When you love someone, it comes
natural.
All the emotions inside will
float out and take you on an amazing journey.”
Weak from his proximity, Sam
trembled.
The fragile glass in hand
clinked against the sink.
Both
flinched.
Without thinking, she reached
for the sharp fragments.
Bright red
splattered the sink.
Sweeping his arms under Sam's
elbows, Brad used one hand to twist the faucet knob another to hold her hand
beneath the cold water.
The combination
of his hard penis pressing against the soft line of her buttocks, not grinding
or pushing, simply resting there, the strength of his muscles entwining her and
the heat from his powerful hand exploded Sam's heart.
Skin touched skin as Brad peered over her
shoulder at the wound.
Surging blood
blocked the pathways to all rational thought.
The pit of her stomach began to burn, a slow fire, hot, searing, coiling
swiftly upward threatening to consume her in its intensity.
She was convinced his cheek pressing against
hers made her expose the soft skin beneath to his warm moist lips.
Unable to force words past the
sudden knot in his throat tightened Brad's hold. He was too aware the pressure
of his body against her alerted Sam to his primitive needs,
the softness of her cheek, the smell of the
crook of her neck as he brushed it with his lips boiling his mind brought on an
insatiable thirst.
Gently moving back to
provide much needed space the hand refusing to release Sam's injured finger
turned her to face him.
The feebleness
induced by her enchantment made him grip the edge of the counter to offer
stability while the other hand raised her wound to his lips.
Sam's face went pink, her eyes
darkened and glazed, whether from fear or desire Brad was uncertain.
Whatever it was prevented her from
withdrawing her hand.
Both solidified as
blood trickled onto Brad's skin.
Innocently at first, his tongue slipping between his lips licked the
wound.
When his senses tasted of Sam's
sweetness, he deliberately drew her finger inch by inch into his mouth where he
suckled it lingeringly, tantalizingly.
His domineering body swayed against Sam's sandwiching her between him
and the cabinets.
The unexpected encounter left Sam
defenseless.
Lowering all barricades
allowed free access to the rush of joy swamping her.
Gazing into Brad's bronze face, although an
amateur, she read the passion and need twisting his features.
Lowering her lashes, she stared at his throat
not wanting him to see the chaos in her eyes.
She did not want him to touch her, honest to God, she didn't.
Closing her eyes, head tilted back, she bit
her lips to suppress the moans tumbling in an upward draft.
The tiniest one mutinied.
The strength of Brad's tongue
curling around her finger, the feverish, moist mouth mingling with the drawing
sensation drilled to the v between her thighs stimulating the slumberous
fluidity of her body and mind.
The same
phenomenon that paralyzed her making her feel so alive, so complete, so vivid,
dutifully forced her to stand in silence allowing him to nurse her injury.
Looming over her, the hard bulge
between Brad's legs nestling into the softness of her stomach told her of its
presence, its purpose.
A finger of his
free hand outlining one of her brows glided on to pluck away straying strands
of hair, stroking her head so delicately tears stung her eyes.
His hand took leave of her silky tresses its'
fingers tracing her tiny ear lobe before slithering down her neck to rest at
the base where his thumb massaged the indentation below her Adams apple.
Bending over he dropped a light kiss on her
nose, each of his movements, even the slightest, in its' own way a ravishment.
Sam could not open her eyes to look
at the demon invoking wanton desires until his hand traveled smoothly with a
sort of delicate triumph over a firm rounded breast.
As if to prove, he had conquered it, his
fingers stretched to cloak it perfectly pressing and kneading until she felt
her nipple projecting as if to recompense him for his conquest.
The blue pools lurking behind closed lids
springing alive stared with a helpless expression searching black for a clue as
to the nature of this terrifyingly virile, gentle, sensitive demon.
Desire introduced itself to Sam for
the first time.
Overwhelming physical
needs of their closeness banished common sense.
If not for the guests in the other room, she would have begged him to
claim her virginity.
Tonight he was the
master transforming her into his willing slave.
They were one now, Brad reflected,
Sam's blood merging with his made her a part of him.
The torment of separation and abstinence only
nurtured his love for her, the mere touch of her like a dizzying downward
flight increasing in speed taking his breath away, and along with it the
lifetime of carefully building a world around his heart for protection.
Sam was indeed the greatest woman he had ever
known.
Suddenly the pain, the hurt, the
shock of what took place so long ago moved through Brad like a tremor.
He could not do to Ted what he had done to
him.
Somehow, he had to find the strength
to leave Sam's innocence intact.
If not
he knew he’d move heaven and earth before ever letting her go.
As if an omen saying
Brad made the right decision, Peter and Bernie burst through the kitchen
door.
Panic raised Bernie's voice.
“What was that?
Jesus, what's going on?”
Sam jerked her finger
from Brad's mouth bashfully replying, “It's nothing . . . honest . . . Bernie,
just . . . a little cut.”
Flinging Brad a scorching glance,
Bernie shoved him aside.
As if she were
Florence Nightingale, she examined Sam's injury.
Hustling her toward the kitchen door, she
muttered on the way, “Nothing that a little bandage won't fix.
Hurry, Sammy, before blood gets all over your
beautiful dress.”
A crook of an eyebrow
combined with a stinging look warned Brad to stay put.
Basking in the warmth of the fire,
the men returned to their wine and conversation, waiting the women’s
return.
Peter, the first to speak, “I
came tonight to apologize to Bernie for my behavior at your place, I owe you
one too, my friend.”
“On the contrary, I'm
the one who should apologize.
I didn't
realize what your relationship was with Bernie, or how she felt about you.”
Having always thought a lot of Brad,
Peter was grateful for his understanding. “Bernie explained that you were ill
and she was taking care of you.
I feel
like a damn fool for assuming otherwise.”
Holding a swallow of
wine in his mouth, Brad gulped and choked.
Bernie obviously did not tell the whole story.
Slapping Brad on the back until he
regained his composure, Peter proceeded.
“Knowing my past, this probably sounds repetitive to you, but I'm crazy
about that woman.
It's been hell being
away from her.
I can't eat, sleep or
think.
Stupid huh!
Can you believe at my age I think I’m in love
for the first time?”
Leaning over, arms resting on his
knees, hands holding a glass of wine, Brad's thumbs moved up and down the
sides.
“I don't believe age has anything
to do with it.
No one really knows when
it will hit.
It's an invisible,
intangible parasite nipping at you bringing you to your knees.
I do believe, however, real love only comes
once.
It hits you like a steam roller,
leaving no room for anything else.”
Quite surprised by Brad's insight,
Peter queried, “This isn't Brad the confirmed bachelor talking is it?
If I didn't know better I'd say you're either
in love or have been. I'd sure like to meet the woman that brought you to your
knees.”
Brad's brows knitted
together.
In one swig, he finished his
wine.
“Let's just say I know exactly how
you feel.
Go for it, man.
Don't let it slip through your fingers.”
Tugging on the bandage to secured it
around Sam's finger Bernie prodded.
“I
know it's none of my business, Sammy, but did Brad just make a pass?
Surprised at Bernie's
perception, Sam replied, “Bernie!
Now
what made you think that?”
“Well . . . he was
standing awfully close, he was holding your hand and well . . . “
Indignantly Sam
prompted, “Well what?”
“Well, I saw your
finger in his mouth.”
“Brad was just trying
to stop the bleeding, that's all.
Where
do you get such an over active imagination, Bernie?
You seem to have forgotten I'm engaged to
Ted, remember!”
Smugly Bernie
replied, “Then, why do you look like a cat that has just swallowed the cream?”