by Jan Moran
Wine trickled between her breasts and down her flat stomach. Brandon’s tongue traced a path on her skin, warm where the wine was cool. The burst of conflicting sensations sizzled through her and she closed her eyes, her fingers digging into the carpet over her head. He shifted lower; she trembled in anticipation but jolted when his hands, instead of his tongue, clamped over her moist heat. She pushed against his hands, wanting more, needing more of his demanding touch as he touched her in her most private, intimate places.
She inhaled sharply when he slid his fingers into her, stroking and caressing, and when his breath caressed her cheek, she parted her lips for his kiss. The simultaneous invasion of her body pushed her senses over the edge, and she tensed as an orgasm swept over her. Her mind was still reeling when she felt him pull away.
Shannon cracked an eyelid open to see Brandon strip off his clothes. His skin—golden bronze in the firelight—stretched over taut muscles and a lean torso. “You’re not too bad looking yourself,” she murmured as he stretched out beside her.
He laughed. “Ah, compliments. You’re overflowing with them. More wine?”
“More you.” She parted her legs in invitation as he slid a condom over his hard length. Shannon freed her hands from the loose binds and glided her fingers over his muscular back, enjoying the feeling of them shifting behind her hands as he moved against her.
Languid from her orgasm, she relaxed against the carpet, content to let him find his release in her body. She was not prepared for the slow build-up of relentless pleasure as he filled her again and again. Her breaths quickened as she allowed her head to fall back, surrendering to the waves of sensation washing over her. She raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and gasped as he penetrated deeper into her. Coherent thought fled before the relentless tide of pleasure, and when the big wave surged over her, pulling her under, it tore a scream from her lips.
She was only dimly aware that Brandon had stiffened against her, his low gasp scarcely audible beneath her cries. The minutes drifted by, each second counted by the pounding of their hearts against each other. She murmured a protest as he pulled away from her. “Don’t go.”
“I don’t want to squish you.”
“You won’t. Not if you’re on the bottom.”
He laughed, the sound low and sexy, as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she sprawled over his chest. The appraising gleam in Brandon’s dark eyes was a dash of icy water against the warm flush of her afterglow. “I thought we had a deal. What inspired you to break it?”
“I suppose if we never intended to meet again after tomorrow, then it wouldn’t hurt anyone to take things a little further on our last night together.”
A frown deepened the furrow between his eyes. “And I thought I was the callous one.”
“I never thought you were, not for a moment.”
“And you decided to seduce me because it would be a one-night stand?”
“The holiday ends tomorrow. We go our separate ways to our very different lives.”
“Not so different, or so far. Westchester is only an hour from New York.”
Shannon tilted her head and stared at him. She swallowed hard and waited until she was certain her voice would be steady. “What are you saying? That you want more?”
“I…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I want.”
She smiled down at him. “I want one night. Can you give me that?”
“You’ve already taken that.”
“Semantics.” She grinned.
“Technicalities are the soul of the law.” He flashed her a matching grin. “And technically, the night has just begun.”
~*~
The sun was a sliver on the horizon when Shannon handed her backpack to the taxi driver and slid into the backseat of the car. Her gaze flashed up to the bedroom window of Maggie’s villa. She had spent the night in Brandon’s arms, and her body, relaxed yet aching, reminded her of the hours of pleasure he had given her. He was a versatile lover, prepared to shift from sweet and tender to demanding and dominant—a creature of many faces, not unlike the many roles he probably played as a lawyer dealing with different clients and different cases.
Her heart ached as the car turned down the driveway. She kept her gaze on the window until it was out of sight. Perhaps some tiny part of her had hoped that Brandon would appear at the window, that he would call her back.
That he would tear up the virtual contract they had made.
But why would he? He had kept to the contract. She was the one who had broken it. Was the heaviness in her chest guilt or regret? Probably a blend of both. Brandon had given her an outstanding Italian vacation. He deserved better than a farewell note on his dresser, but she could not bring herself to drag out the goodbyes. They had agreed, hadn’t they, that they were looking for different things. They were at different stages of their lives. They were wrong for each other.
Yet, she had enjoyed his company beyond anyone else’s.
She expelled her breath. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong guy.
She knew it in her head as well as her heart. It was all wrong, so why did it hurt so much to let it go?
~*~
Brandon awoke to the glare of the mid-morning sun pouring in through the window. The house was so still he could see the dust motes floating in the pool of light. The vast expanse of the bed beside him was empty—not even an indentation to mark where she had lay.
Shannon was gone. He knew it even before his gaze fell on the envelope on the dresser.
Teeth gritted, he flung aside the covers and stepped out of the bed. Why did she leave? Her flight from Florence wasn’t until the late afternoon. They had agreed that he would drive her to the airport at noon, in plenty of time to catch her flight back to the United States.
Apparently, she had changed her mind. Was she so eager to be rid of him that she would pay for unnecessary cab fare and wait for hours at the airport just to avoid saying goodbye in person?
Crazy woman. Who knew what made them tick? She had blown his mind with her responsiveness and eagerness, but apparently, sex hadn’t been as good as he imagined it was.
If he hadn’t overslept, he could have stopped her from leaving.
But then again, who was he to stop her from leaving? Their deal was for a week of companionship while touring Italy. Their contract hadn’t even included sex, but she had thrown it into the mix at the last minute.
It should not have altered their deal, but it did.
The unanticipated intimacy, the unexpected rightness of it changed everything.
Though, apparently, not for her. Brandon tugged the handwritten note out of the envelope.
Thank you for an amazing week. Shannon.
He scowled. What the hell. Was that the best she could do by way of a thank you note? She had run so fast, it was a wonder she hadn’t left skid marks.
Crumpling the note, he flung it into the waste paper basket. The holiday with Shannon—the brief and diverting interlude—was over. His scowl twisted into an ironic half-smile. Welcome back to reality.
Chapter 6
New York City welcomed Brandon with its distinctive cacophony of controlled chaos and plunged him into the endless cycle of work and social events. His client meetings and cases kept him in the office until late in the evening, and his meals consisted of take-out Chinese food, reheated in the microwave, or cold pizza.
Shannon, however, refused to quietly fade into memory. He saw glimpses of her in other women’s dazzling smiles, heard her in other women’s quick wit and self-deprecating good humor. Each time he coached a client through the legal aspects of a new business venture, he thought of her. Each time he worked through a client’s frustration with the convoluted medical insurance system, he remembered her.
It made no sense, he told himself as he returned to his Upper East Side townhouse late one night after a half-hearted date with a leggy blond legal secretary from another law firm. He should
have scored with that woman, except that he had not cared enough to pursue it. In fact, he had not been able to work up more than a passing interest in another woman since Shannon.
Scowling, he poured himself a glass of merlot and took it out to the balcony. The cool breeze of an early October evening snapped at him as he leaned against the balcony and sipped his wine. Why Shannon?
Because she’s technically available. Because Westchester and New York City are near enough for a sustainable relationship. Because we got along insanely well together. And we had great sex.
It made sense, didn’t it? Surely she would have seen it too.
So why had she walked away?
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Brandon set down his glass, and looked out over the park, dotted with lights. The city continued to buzz and hum with unceasing activity. Just like my life, he reflected wryly.
Only in Tuscany had he truly been able to unwind from the stress that kept his mind more tightly coiled than a spring. In fact, it had taken days before his biting sarcasm gave way to a more laid-back sense of humor. It was a wonder he hadn’t scared Shannon off in those early days. But then again, perhaps the first fifteen seconds of their acquaintance had damaged her impression of him beyond redemption.
No. Nothing was irredeemable. If he wanted a second chance at a first impression with Shannon, he would have to make it happen on his own terms.
~*~
A month and a day into her new career as the owner of the Westchester Urgent Care clinic, Shannon returned home without the unnerving crawl of panic under her skin. For the past four weeks, she had been plagued by the certainty that she had bitten off more than she could handle and that it was merely a matter of hours, if not minutes, before her business completely fell apart on her. Each hour of each workday had unleashed a frenetic burst of activity that kept her and the nurses bustling, but on that particular day, she had finally relaxed into a rhythm that, although quick, seemed steady, even sustainable.
She could do it. She wasn’t going to screw it up.
And she wouldn’t have to blame Brandon for her distracted state of mind.
Heavens knew she had spent far more time thinking about him when she should have been focused on her business instead. He had the most annoying way of popping into her thoughts at random moments, like when she heard a man’s deep and sexy laughter, or worse when she saw reflections of his masculine good looks in his sister’s stunning beauty—and Maggie, damn it, was apparently on the cover of every fashion magazine.
Shannon let herself into her townhouse and locked the door behind her. She shrugged off her coat and tossed her tote onto the couch before sinking into an armchair and closing her eyes. As it was her habit, she drew three deep breaths. The first dispelled the stress of that day. The second pushed away the worries of the next day. The third—
The third breath failed to do what it was supposed to do—dismiss thoughts of Brandon Smith. Against her better judgment, she reached for her smartphone. Despite Shannon’s best intentions to capture only the local aspects of Tuscany, Brandon had shown up in more than one of her vacation photographs—forever immortalized in her smartphone and her cloud drive. Technically, she could have deleted those photographs. Emotionally, she wasn’t ready to do so.
Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man. But Brandon had, nevertheless, given her something amazing beyond mere memories. He had given her hope that perhaps there might someday be a right time, a right place, and the right man.
Shannon swallowed hard against the ache in her chest as she scrolled through the photographs, pausing at one Brandon had not even known she had taken. He had looked out upon a Tuscan vineyard, his face set in profile. He had not been smiling, and would have looked sad if not for the relaxed set of his eyes. It was the image of a man in repose, a man at peace.
That man was the man she wanted.
Brandon, as he rarely was.
Too bad. It’s a damned shame.
The doorbell buzzed, and with some effort, she hauled herself from her comfortable seat and opened the door to see a deliveryman with a package. “Miss Larson?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Please sign here.”
She scribbled her signature on the tablet he held out and accepted the narrow but heavy box from him. “Thanks.” She closed the door on the man and removed from the package something snuggled in layers of bubble wrap. She unwound it carefully and stared in surprise at the bottle of wine.
Domaine Zind Humbrecht Riesling 2012.
A smile immediately spread across her face as she picked up the note that accompanied the wine. Continuing your education. Brandon.
Beneath his signature, he had left his phone number.
No, no, no. Bad idea. But it would be a shame to waste a bottle of wine. She poured a glass for herself and curled up in her favorite seat by the window. She picked out her favorite music station, filling her home with the soothing instrumentals of harp and violin.
It had been just like that in Tuscany—the quiet moments before dinner, hanging out in the living room, listening to music, writing in her journal, inundated with the aroma of fresh herbs and spices from the kitchen, and the comforting sound of Brandon moving around as he prepared an amazing meal to share.
The familiarity of her memories evoked the comfort of home, and left her townhouse feeling oddly empty and unfulfilling. Well, the leftover pasta in her fridge was certain unappetizing.
Her stomach rumbled even though she would have sworn that it was from general hunger as opposed to a specific craving for anything that she had in her refrigerator. She supposed Brandon was enjoying a home-cooked gourmet meal. Lucky him. With a sigh, she pushed up from her chair and went to the kitchen to reheat her meal. She stared at the countdown on her microwave, and finally giving in to her whim, she called him.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
His familiar voice stirred the butterflies in her stomach. “Brandon? It’s Shannon. Thank you for the wine.”
“You’re welcome. Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, I am. It’s delicious.”
“Germany has an excellent range of Reislings. The wine I chose for you will go well with a seafood or pasta meal.”
“Oh, it’s perfect, then. I have leftover Olive Garden pasta.”
Brandon was silent for a long moment.
Shannon giggled. “You winced, didn’t you?”
“I did a lot more than wince.”
“Not all of us can cook well enough to be food snobs.”
“Culinary artisans. Not food snobs. Are you really eating at Olive Garden?”
“I did last night, and brought my leftovers home.” She plucked the limp remnants of her pasta out of the microwave. “What about you? What are you having for dinner?”
“Cold pizza.”
She chortled. “Really?”
“Yup. It’s been crazy here at work. I haven’t had any time to cook. Besides, it feels like a waste of time cooking for one.”
“Hmm…” Shannon hiked herself up on the barstool in order to eat off the kitchen island. “It seems like you’re a culinary artisan only when you’re in Italy. It must be something about the atmosphere there.”
“Or the company.”
“Compliments, Brandon?”
“I haven’t said a single nice thing today. Of course, that just nailed my quota, so I’m done.”
Shannon laughed. “How is work treating you?”
“Much the same. I left a great deal of work on my desk when I went on vacation. I came back to a great deal of work.”
“Any closer to partner?”
“Theoretically, each passing day brings me closer to partner.” His short laugh, however, had a bitter sound to it. “How about you? How is your clinic?”
Shannon carried her meal to the living room couch and folded her legs beneath her. With a fork, she spread her pasta over the plate. “I feel like I’m just finally catching my breath and fi
guring things out.”
“After a month? That’s a lot faster than it takes most people to get their act together.”
“Really?” She straightened in her seat as her smile widened. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“I don’t do stuff like that; you know me.”
She did, actually, know that. His blunt honesty, once she grew accustomed to it, was the most refreshing thing about him.
“Tell me about your day,” he said.
“You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Smiling, she leaned her cheek against her phone and began talking. The familiarity eased into warmth and comfort that turned her house into a home. I could get used to this, she mused. Talking to Brandon, seeing him every day, knowing that he sees me and hears me for who I am.
She could have easily gotten used to it, even craved it.
And it terrified her.
~*~
“Can I come out to see you next weekend?”
Brandon’s simple question at the end of their call had left her tongue-tied. It was such a simple question. She had even anticipated it. In fact, she had planned her answer. In her head, the scene had played out to its inevitable conclusion. In a cool and steady voice, she had rebuffed him with, “I don’t think it’s the right time for us, Brandon. We’re not at the same place in our lives.”
She had managed to get the words out. Unfortunately, she had failed to anticipate his quiet response. “What exactly are you looking for at this time?”
“Nothing. I’ve got my new business to focus on, and I really can’t spare the time or energy for a relationship. If you’re looking for someone to accompany you to parties and social events, I’m not the one. I live too far away and…like I said, I have other things I need to do.”
“If all I wanted was a pretty date to take to parties, I’d hire a hooker, a la Pretty Woman.”
“Well, that certainly clears things up.”
“I don’t have a problem with you focusing on your job, either.”