by Robin Gideon
Pamela stepped in, sighing with pleasure because the water was the perfect temperature. She started to sit down, but Garrett stopped her.
“One second,” Garrett said, moving behind Pamela. “I’m afraid I’ve—how can I delicately say this?—left the evidence of my desire for you all over your utterly delectable bottom.”
A moment later, two strong, wet, soapy hands were cleaning the backs of her thighs and the cheeks of her bottom. Though Garrett was saying something completely innocent, the warm, wet fingers on her skin were making her cream. When told she could now sit in the tub, Pamela sighed gratefully because her legs had grown weak with desire.
With his shirtsleeves rolled up, Garrett began washing Pamela’s right hand, working a soapy washcloth around each finger with slow deliberation.
“This is heavenly,” Pamela said. “I don’t suppose we could make this a ritual, could we?”
“I don’t see why not. Close your eyes and relax. Let me take care of you.”
He bathed her slowly and sensually, the washcloth going over her arms and chest, her breasts and shoulders. He washed her feet then made his way slowly up her legs. But what had started out as arousing and sexual soon became so relaxing that Pamela felt herself drifting to the edge of sleep.
“There,” Garrett said in a whisper. “If you stand up, I’ll dry you off.”
With a towel wrapped around her, Pamela held Garrett’s hand and led him to her small bedroom and her even smaller bed. For the two of them to sleep together on it, they’d have to remain in each other’s arms the entire night, which was exactly what Pamela had intended, even if her bed had been an acre across.
Garrett removed his necktie and shirt and tossed them on the foot of the bed. Pamela picked them up quickly and placed them on a wooden hanger then hung it on a peg in the wall. She had been poor too long to be cavalier about expensive clothes.
“Your clothes are much too beautiful to be treated like that,” she said.
She turned and watched him. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and then he unbuckled his belt.
“Is it all right not to make love again?” she asked in a tremulous little voice. “For the rest of the night, I just want you to hold me.”
Garrett nodded, and in his eyes was the understanding that Pamela had so needed.
She took his clothes from him, neatly hanging them up. When he was completely naked, she came to him, raised up on her tiptoes, and kissed his mouth lightly.
“Sit down now, and I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said, her hands on Garrett’s chest.
Pamela felt there must surely be something terribly wrong with her. She loved looking at Garrett. The sight of his naked body touched her deeply, making her feel warm, inciting the very first stages of passion. But a man’s body wasn’t supposed to be beautiful, was it? She knew that men enjoyed looking at women, but the reverse was something she’d never heard of.
“Come to bed,” Garrett said, his broad back leaning against the wall where a headboard would have been. He was beneath the light blanket, raising it for her.
Pamela thought of putting on her pretty nightgown, the one Jedediah had bought her, but she didn’t want anything separating her from Garrett—physically or emotionally.
She got into bed, snuggling up to him as his arms went around her, pressing her nose up close to his neck, inhaling to catch the special, comforting scent of him. To feel his body, for once completely naked, pressed against her own completely bare flesh while sharing a comfortable bed was an experience she’d never had with him before.
“Good night, Pamela,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Sleep well.”
“Good night, Garrett,” she responded sleepily. “I love you.”
* * * *
Angie Darwell sat on the edge of her bed, smoking a cigarette. Never in her life had she felt so slighted, so overlooked in favor of another woman.
She should have taken Pamela as a serious threat to her plans to begin with. Apparently this was not just one more poor girl from a nothing family who thought she could sleep her way into becoming a member of the cream of Whitetail Creek society. She was someone capable of ruining Angie’s plans.
So what am I going to do about her?
Angie rose to her feet and reached for her robe then decided against it. She had long ago learned that, if she wanted to get a favor from her brothers, it helped to show a little skin, and her nightgown certainly did that. They were always much more amenable to giving her the time she needed to plead for their help when she was scantily clad.
What time was it? 2:00 a.m.? Three? Angie didn’t know, and she didn’t care. The problems she faced were too critical to her happiness for her to wait until a reasonable hour.
She went down the hall to her brother Michael’s room. He was the more intelligent of her brothers, his mind quick and devious, much like hers. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened carefully, and when she heard no sound from inside, she opened the door without knocking.
“Michael, are you awake?” she asked, walking into the room, barely able to see where she was going.
She sat on the edge of his bed, placing her hand upon the blankets. Then she heard the startled exclamation of a woman, and when the blankets were shifted, Angie saw the frightened face of the attractive young woman who’d been with her brother at the dance.
“Don’t worry, I’m Michael’s sister,” she said to her, quickly pulling the blanket back over her nakedness.
The woman started to get out of bed, but Angie stopped her by placing a hand on her bare shoulder.
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “This won’t take long.”
She pushed gently but insistently until the woman was lying down in the bed again, her head on the pillow beside Michael’s. The woman pulled the blankets up to her chin as Angie walked around the bed to the other side.
“Michael, wake up,” Angie said, shaking her brother’s shoulder.
Michael was only slightly surprised to see his sister in the room with him. He had learned that she was capable of anything, her behavior often so outrageous that it would seem impossible for her to top her own shenanigans.
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” he groaned, blinking.
When Angie leaned down to whisper in his ear, her breasts, so thoroughly revealed in the sheer, low-cut nightgown, were very near his face. He didn’t for a second believe that she was unaware of what she was doing.
Whispering, Angie told him that she needed to make Garrett dependent upon her. But how could she do that? She had tried gaining power over him through sex, and that hadn’t worked. The notion that he might reach the territorial governor’s mansion without her at his side was too painful for her to think about for long.
“What you need to do is beat the hell out of him,” Michael whispered after a moment of deliberation.
“What good’s that going to do me? I want Garrett intact and in one piece,” Angie replied, confused, though the idea of having Pamela beaten instead was decidedly pleasant.
“Don’t have him killed, just beaten up. Then, when he’s recovering, you can be there for him. He’s strong and confident now. He won’t be that way if he’s got busted ribs and every breath he takes hurts like hell. That’s when he’s going to need someone to lean on, and if you’re there when he needs you, you’ll own him.”
Angie’s face broke into a beaming smile. “You’re a genius,” she said, much too loudly. She kissed her brother on the forehead, got up, and went around the bed. “You treat Michael right,” she said to the woman who stared at her over the satin trim of the blanket. “He’s a good man, and he deserves to be treated right.”
Next, Angie went to Richard’s bedroom. Unlike Michael, who liked to look but wouldn’t dream of touching, Richard reached out for Angie, who deftly avoided his outstretched hands.
“Listen to me now. There’s something I need you to arrange for me,” she said, positioning herself near the foot of her b
rother’s bed. She told him she wanted Garrett beaten, though she did not mention that the idea had originally come from Michael.
“I can hire men to do that,” Richard said, rubbing his face sleepily. “What’s in it for me?”
His sister smiled as she rose smoothly from his bed. “Big brother, you get me into Garrett Randolph’s bed, and you can let your imagination run wild,” she said as she left his bedroom, fully aware of what he wanted from her, though she had no intention of satisfying his wishes.
* * * *
Garrett awoke as Pamela was easing out of bed. He held onto her. “Don’t go,” he murmured sleepily.
“Go back to sleep,” Pamela whispered, kissing Garrett’s cheek and smoothing his sleep-mussed hair. “I’ll be back in just a little bit.”
“Hurry,” he mumbled. “The bed’s too big without you in it.” Then he buried his face in the pillow he’d shared all night with Pamela.
She looked down at him, letting her sleepy smile widen. In her little bed he was an even bigger man, thick in the chest, with muscles that displayed their strength even when he was completely at rest. Yes, he dominated her small cot, and Pamela was amazed that she’d managed to stay in it with him all night. Amazed until she recalled how they’d held each other all night, arms around each other even in sleep.
Pamela slipped the pretty nightgown over her head, easing the garment down over her curves, smoothing the fabric with her palms. Before Garrett, before the Midnight Phantom, this gift from Jedediah had only reminded her that she had no one to look attractive for. At last, with Garrett sleeping peacefully in her bed and her heart filled with tender emotions for him, she had a reason to wear the delicate nightgown.
She went to the stove and got a fire going then put water on for coffee. How do Garrett’s mornings usually start? she wondered.
The simple truth of it was that she had no idea at all how a wealthy lawyer began his day. All she’d learned so far was how he spent some of his nights.
Sitting down at the table, waiting for the water to boil, Pamela closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Yes, she could tell that Garrett was in her house. His presence hung in the air like the scent of new saddle leather, clean and magnificently masculine.
Was she just being silly? Pamela didn’t care. She’d spent far too much of her young life being serious about everything. Now nothing really mattered except her happiness, Garrett’s happiness, and their love for each other.
The thought brought her up short, and her eyes burst open. Love. Yes, she couldn’t deny it. She was in love with Garrett Randolph. She was certain of it. Whether he loved her or not was another question entirely. He had feelings for her, strong and tender feelings. Pamela was certain of that. Hadn’t he held her in his arms all night without trying to make love with her, which was exactly the kind of interlude she’d needed?
But did he love her?
Pamela couldn’t say. Not with any degree of certainty. Loving someone, and being willing to make love with someone, could mean two entirely different things, especially for a man.
Stop thinking about love, Pamela chided herself.
There was nothing she could do about it, one way or another. Garrett’s emotions and feelings were his own, and unless he chose to involve her in them, she would continue to be an outsider to him. Instinctively, she knew that if she tried to force her way into Garrett’s heart, made him put to words exactly what his feelings were, she would drive him away, not draw him closer to her.
The water was boiling, and her attention turned to making coffee. She was glad that something, no matter how mundane, occupied her thoughts for a few moments.
When she heard Garrett move on the bed, Pamela rushed to the closed bedroom door. “Don’t you dare get up yet!” she called through it.
The squeak of the bedsprings beneath his weight told Pamela that he was still in bed. “Wouldn’t dream of moving,” he murmured.
It wouldn’t be much of a breakfast in bed, but it was the best Pamela could do under the circumstances. She arranged four oatmeal cookies in a semicircle on a dinner plate around the stacked enameled tin cups.
She brought the plate into the bedroom. Garrett was sitting up in bed, a pillow between his back and the wall. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, leaving his beautiful chest bare to her appreciative eyes.
“Breakfast in bed,” Garrett noted with a smile that brought the dimple to his cheek. The four cookies on the dinner plate were more precious to him than any breakfast he’d ever had, and he’d been served breakfast in bed for most of his life, often in some fine hotel in the United States, Europe, or Mexico.
“It’s not really much,” Pamela apologized, suddenly painfully certain that her simple fare was paltry compared to what Garrett was accustomed to.
He touched her lips with the tips of his fingers to silence her words. For a moment their gazes locked.
“Don’t denigrate what you’ve done. I think it’s wonderful,” he said softly.
Garrett took the plate from her and set it on his lap then picked up a cookie.
“Wait, let me get the coffee first,” Pamela said, dancing quickly out of the bedroom on bare feet.
A surge of emotion went through Garrett as he watched her hurry off. Her body, so lush with feminine curves, moved fluidly beneath the sheer fabric of her white nightgown. And she was quick on her feet, agile and graceful, which impressed Garrett. When she returned, holding the coffeepot, he picked up his cup and held it out for her to fill. She bent low to pour, affording Garrett an unhindered view down the décolletage of her nightgown.
It was ridiculous to get such a thrill from a glimpse of pale, firm breasts, Garrett told himself. It was especially absurd considering he’d held Pamela all night, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest the entire time.
It didn’t matter. Logic and reason held little influence with Garrett where Pamela Bragg was concerned.
He waited until she had poured coffee for herself and set the pot on the floor.
“Delicious,” he murmured, munching happily on a cookie.
Pamela smiled, pleased that he seemed genuinely happy. For a second she pondered the fact that she was serving Garrett even though she’d previously promised herself never to be in a subservient position to a wealthy man. How could she feel demeaned when his appreciation of her kindness showed so plainly in the chocolaty depths of his beautiful eyes?
Pamela sat near the foot of the bed, crossed her legs, and smoothed her nightgown over them. She could feel Garrett’s gaze upon her, touching her, caressing her, making her feel warm inside.
“What’s today got in store for us?” she asked.
Leaning back against the wall, sipping his coffee—which he thought the finest he’d ever tasted, though he knew the circumstances and current companionship had everything to do with the perception—Garrett shrugged. Thinking about anything other than Pamela wasn’t easy to do, particularly when she was in a sheer white nightgown that both concealed and revealed, tempting the imagination.
Pamela looked away, trying to cope with Garrett’s beauty. When she did look back at him, she couldn’t keep her gaze where it should be, someplace innocent—like his face! Instead, her eyes kept going down to the blankets, as though imagining what lay just beneath. And what her eyes could not see her mind remembered with such clarity that a warmth seeped into her veins and moved through her limbs. Even her fingertips now itched to touch Garrett in all the ways and in all the places that she had earlier explored.
Garrett restrained his smile. He had seen the influence he had over a woman’s self-control before—many times, in fact—and he accepted it as a matter of fact, something in which he should not take too much pride. Just the same, he did nothing to hide his body, the sight of which he could tell was affecting Pamela more and more profoundly.
As they made small talk, exchanging banalities, Garrett watched a pink blush work its way slowly up Pamela’s chest and shoulders to her neck, cheeks, and ears. He
saw, too, the blunt rise of her nipples become visible through the fabric of her nightgown.
When he finished his coffee, Pamela poured him a second cup, and this time, the sight of her breasts moving tautly inside the décolletage hit him with staggering force. Garrett felt his cock becoming erect, and though he tried to ignore the burgeoning of desire, he could not, nor could he hide the impact Pamela had upon his senses. Holding her in his arms all night without making love to her had taxed his self-restraint terribly. His strength of will, his ability to control his desires, were rapidly deserting him.
“Pamela, I don’t know if you’re aware of what you’re doing to me,” he said.
He paused to moisten his lips. He could not tell whether she was the most skilled seductress the world had ever known or if her seeming innocence affected him.
She turned her face to him. Her eyes, jade green, were wet, shiny, holding in them more than a hint of mischief.
“Maybe I do know,” she said, her voice soft, sultry. “Maybe I don’t. You have so much more experience in this than I do.” She bent over at the waist to set her coffee cup on the wood-plank floor then took Garrett’s cup from him. It was empty, and she nonchalantly flipped it to the floor, where it clanged in tinny protest. “What I do know is that you’re not nearly as in control of yourself as you want me to think.” She touched the tented blanket with a fingertip. “As witnessed by this.”
“I stand guilty as charged.”
“I fully understand you must return home,” Pamela continued, looking straight into Garrett’s eyes as she spoke, feeling his cock pulsing through the blankets. “No doubt spending the night with me has caused quite a scandal among the Randolph clan.”
Garrett brought his right hand to Pamela’s face, running the pad of his thumb lightly over her lips. He slipped his hand beneath her heavy, silken hair at the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer, his heart hammering in his chest, his passion doubling in intensity with each second.