Guarding Miranda

by Amanda M. Holt

  “Such foul language from such a sweet mouth... a shame really.”

  She turned on her heel and stepped through the French doors, only to turn to her right and stomp up the stairs to her bedroom, the door of which she slammed in protest.

  Brian smiled as he had gotten the chance to watch yet another of her retreats.

  She had a very nice behind.

  “And God, what a mouth!” He whispered to the cabin.

  * * *

  It was decided, much later, that Brian would join her for supper at the Clarions.

  The phone was working by noon, so Miranda looked their number up in the Waterhen Telephone Directory that had been folded neatly beneath the telephone and asked if they would mind another for dinner.

  Mabel said they looked forward to seeing who she was bringing along.

  When she asked who the new guest was, Miranda had simply said, “Brian”.

  “I suppose you intend to drive,” she told him, now resplendent in her olive pedal pushers and matching tank top.

  She was wearing her long dark hair loose, falling in a curtain about her shoulders and Brian knew that as annoyed with him as she was, she looked more beautiful tonight than she had ever been to his eyes before.

  He swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in his throat and said: “You know that I do.”

  “So who do I tell people you are?” She asked, green eyes flashing with annoyance. “I can’t very well tell them that you’re my bodyguard!”

  “Say I’m your boyfriend.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind!” She replied, made aghast by the suggestion.

  “Then say I’m your brother. We’re both dark haired. Good bone structure. I’ll pass.”

  “Brother it is, then,” she sighed her defeat.

  At her grim expression, he couldn’t resist saying, “How ‘bout a kiss on the cheek for your dear ol’ ever-loving brother?”

  “Mr. Logan,” she began, tense with anger. “I think it’s only fair to warn you that I hold my first degree black belt in tae kwon do. I’ll additionally warn you now: any move you make from here on in to kiss or fondle me will be taken as an assault upon my person to which I will retaliate in kind!”

  To her surprise and annoyance, a broad smile became his lips. “I’ll be taking the test for my third degree black belt in tae kwon do this fall. Care to spar?”

  If she was any less a lady, she would have slapped the smirk off of his face.

  To think there was a time when she had found him attractive!

  “I loathe you.”

  “You adore me.”

  “That I most certainly do not.” She retorted sharply, fixing him with an angry glare. Her stomach growled yet again. “When we get back from supper, I’m going to tell my uncle Russ exactly where he can send you!”

  “To Hell?” Brian guessed.

  “Directly to Hell.”

  His husky laughter followed her into the waiting car.

  Mabel’s roast venison and cheesy potato filled perogies all but melted in Miranda’s mouth and the young shoots of asparagus she ate were young and tender, tasting something like fresh peas.

  It was over the promised dessert of lemon meringue pie that the Clarions began to voice their curiosities.

  “So if he’s your brother,” began Ben, to Miranda, “Why does he have an accent and you don’t?”

  Brian looked perplexed and sought to answer the friendly mayor. “I-”

  “He’s adopted.” Miranda interrupted him quickly, with an exhale of air.

  “Adopted.” Agreed Brian, lifting another forkful of the tangy dessert to his mouth.

  “It’s funny,” Ben continued, “But Russ never mentioned having a nephew. He spoke at length about Miranda and his daughter Lynn but not once did he mention having a nephew...”

  “Brian’s the ...uh, dark, dirty little secret of the family.”

  “Oh, come now, Sis,” said Brian with a wry grin. “You know you’ve been the black sheep since that little burlesque show you did.”

  Ben’s eyebrows shot sky high and Mabel nearly choked on her wine.

  Miranda’s face turned two angry shades of red, as she gasped: “Brian!”

  “That’s right – Miss Steaming Apples – that’s what they call her.”

  Miranda turned to Ben, desperation in her eyes. “My brother is lying, of course, as often he does.”

  Mabel smiled and sipped her wine. “Sibling rivalry between you two is really something, ain’t it?”

  “Has been ever since she became a stripper.”

  Miranda kicked her bodyguard under the table, as hard as she could, her sandaled foot connecting with his shin. “Brother, dear, you really must quit joking about that.”

  “Joking about what?” Brian asked innocently.

  Ben laughed, rose from his seat and emptied his wine glass.

  “If you two are finished squabbling, I’ll show you the way to Balkan’s Hole.”

  Balkan’s Hole.

  According to Ben, it boasted some of the best fishing in the Waterhen River and was not too far from the Clarion’s farm. He paused near the sliding glass door of the living room.

  Ben smiled at them. “Don’t mind your shoes none, you can just follow me out here unto the deck.”

  Ben gestured for them to come closer and then pointed down the river.

  “You see that wall of bull rushes, looks like an island?” They nodded. “See the red boat sitting there, just to the right of the rushes? That’s Owen Hargrave’s boat and he’s fishing right over Balkan’s Hole.”

  Miranda was glad to see that the fishing hole was nearby. “You’re right, that’s not too far away.”

  “Now mind you,” Ben continued, “Coming from your part of the river, you’re going to want to be careful of the big rocks in the main channel of the river, river’s kind of low this year. Doug Young has marked most of the big rocks with empty Javex jugs, so if you keep an eye out for those jugs, you should be all right. Go real slow until you get the hang of the river and you’ll be just fine.”

  “Tell them about the reef, Ben,” said Mabel, in a knowing tone.

  “Oh, yeah. The reef.” He pointed back out toward the red boat on the water. “Mind you don’t go too far to the right of Balkan’s hole, though – there’s a reef full o’ big rocks there. Your uncle Russ blew the propeller on his motor on one a few years ago – be sure’n you don’t do the same.”

  “Is that a house boat, you have there, in the marina?” Asked Brian.

  “Yes,” said Ben, “That’s Dolly, my houseboat.”

  Mabel cleared her throat. “You mean, our houseboat.”

  “Yeah,” Ben smiled sheepishly. “Our houseboat. Built it myself, with the wife’s help of course.” He paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Mabel and I were thinking about going for a run up to the power lines, Sunday evening. There’s some great fishing to be had up there. You two should join us.”

  “I don’t know…” Miranda began. “I’d hate to impose.”

  “You’re more than welcome to come,” said Mabel. “I’ll pack us a picnic lunch and some drinks and we can make an evening of it.”

  “Come on, Miranda.” Ben urged, with a friendly nudge. “It won’t do for me to send you back to Russ without showing you a good time, Waterhen style. He’ll never let me live it down if you don’t walk out of here with a selfie of a Master Angler.”

  “Come on, Sis.” Brian winked at her. “Lighten up.”

  Miranda really was looking forward to getting in some fishing.

  “Sunday, you say?” The Clarions nodded. “What can we bring to help out?”

  “Your fishing rods and yourselves,” said Ben, looking forward to more of their company. “We’ll take care of supper.”

  As soon as Miranda and Brian left, the Clarions were summing up the evening in their own terms.

  Ben looked at his wife with a wide, toothy grin and said, “If those two are brother and sister, I’m th
e bloody Pope.”

  “Which makes me the Queen of England,” said Mabel, with a like smile. “Who do you suppose this Brian character is? Her boyfriend?”

  Ben helped her clear away the rest of the table. “You’d think so, by the looks he was giving her all night. Looks like he was undressing her with his mind...”

  “Yes, he was rather obvious about it. Miranda, now she doesn’t seem too impressed by the likes of him, though.” Mabel sighed. “So I doubt he’s her boyfriend.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ben laughed. “With that dreamy look she was giving him when he wasn’t looking? She’s clearly smitten, whether she realizes it or not.”

  “You don’t think he’s a con man or something, do you?” Mabel supposed aloud. She lowered her voice to a whisper, even though they were alone in the house. “I mean, she is very wealthy.”

  “Well, I aim to call Russ Gundy right away and find out who he is. Best to make sure there’s no trouble afoot.”

  “You’re just nosey,” said Mabel, pulling him aside to plant a kiss on his lips.

  “I’m the Mayor of Waterhen!” He declared in mock boastfulness. “It’s my God given right to be nosey.”

  Chapter Nine:

  Meanwhile, down the gravel road in the confines of the burgundy rental car Miranda was teeming with barely checked anger.

  “You are so quiet tonight, love,” Brian commented, as he turned unto the driveway that would take them to the cabin. “Mad, are we?”

  “Yes, I’m mad.” She turned toward him in her seat. “Really, Brian, what did you hope to gain by telling my closest neighbors that I’m a stripper?”

  He grinned at her side profile. “You started it, by calling me the dark, dirty lil secret of the family.”

  “For a grown man, you can be incredibly immature.” She retorted, as the small car’s headlights flashed across the front of the cabin.

  “Sorry, love. I thought you could take a joke. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  He parked the car and she got out before him and went to the cabin door, key in hand. She slipped the key in and turned it to the right but nothing happened.

  The door was still locked.

  She tried the key again.

  Nothing.

  She felt Brian’s presence looming behind her, felt the warmth of his breath tingling her shoulder and was made uncomfortably excited by the effect that his breathing had on her.

  Her breath caught in her chest as his hand covered her own and as she felt the lock give way, she was turning around, about to tell him that his help wasn’t necessary, that she could do it herself.

  She ended up staring up into captivating eyes of slate grey, eyes that made her pause at the intense longing she found in their dark and stormy depths.

  As he lowered his head, she breathed in his breath and found it to be a very intimate and erotic thing.

  His lips gently covered hers and despite her protests early in the day, she did not retaliate in violence... but she did reply in kind, whimpering softly as she granted him access to her mouth, to her tongue, to her secrets, her pleasure.

  His kiss ignited the desire that she had tried to deny for far too long but in the heat of his mouth, that denial was burned into ashes of oblivion.

  Oblivion, sweet oblivion was what she found in his kiss.

  Her mind seemed cloudy, impaired of judgment as he stole the breath from her. What was she doing? She loathed this man – loathed him! – didn’t she?

  But even as part of her mind screamed at her to stop, her body refused to obey, responding to his gentle, insistent hands the way kindling responds to fire: by bursting into flame.

  Miranda was as aware of his tongue plundering the sweet recesses of her mouth as she was of his large, capable hands roaming over her shoulders, her back, her buttocks.

  As though entranced by him, hypnotized, she moved against him as he touched her, groaning as his hands cupped her denim clad cheeks and pulled her to them, so that they were again pelvis to pelvis, his arousal made blatantly obvious.

  Her hands went up to find his short, dark hair of their own accord, reaching up past his shoulders, past his neck, to bury her fingers deep in the feather-softness she found there.

  She groaned again as his own fingers threaded in the hair of her temples, his hands cupping her face, that he might kiss her with greater direction, greater freedom, greater ardor...

  She was dizzy from her lack of breath but did not care that she might fall. Sensing her weakness, Brian lowered one thick, powerful arm to her waist and held her steady against him. With the other hand, he dared to tenderly massage one of her full breasts and then the other, teasing the nipples beneath the olive colored tank top into hard peaks.

  His tongue flitted into her mouth again, drawing her attention away from his hands and back to his mouth. She touched his face gingerly and kissed him with unchecked, unashamed passion. He was making her weak with her want, weak with her desire.

  Her legs had given up on holding her steady long moments before.

  And what of the pool of heat that had begun to build in her abdomen and her most intimate recesses, now bursting into flame at the assault of his tender attentions?

  Never, in her whole life, could she remember having been this aroused, this scorched by her own need for sexual release. That Brian was as aroused as she, it fed her fire.

  She kissed him with fervor, matching his unspoken need, when suddenly, the heat of his mouth was replaced by cool air.

  There was something he wanted to say.

  “Miranda,” he crooned. “My sweet, succulent Miranda. What are we going to do about this intense attraction between us?”

  She stiffened in his arms and he could see that he should never have spoken.

  Speaking had broken the spell, dispelled the magic.

  There was cool upset in her eyes now, instead of warm ardor.

  Like mercury, her response to him had shifted, changed.

  “Nothing,” she said, pulling away from him. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  He was disoriented by the sudden change in her.

  Where there had been a warm, willing woman in his arms just heartbeats before, there was now just cold, indifferent air.

  Shouldn’t have spoken, you stupid, stupid numbskull, he scolded himself.

  She opened the unlocked door, removed the key from the lock and clambered up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Want company?” He jested, knowing that it would rile her.

  “In your dreams,” came her only reply.

  Smiling to himself, Brian locked the cabin door behind him.

  The Ice Queen had responded to and melted beneath, his touch once again, leaving herself confused by her mercurial emotions.

  Brian was not so confused.

  He knew that the intimacy he longed for only paled in comparison to her own desire for him.

  Never had he held in his arms a woman who could respond so quickly and feverishly to his kiss, his caress...

  She provoked in him a sexual hunger that threatened to burn him out in its heated intensity.

  Intensity.

  It was the word he could easily use to describe the look in her eyes as he had pulled away from their kiss, before he opened his big stupid mouth to speak instead of rain kisses down upon her.

  How she had responded, for the second time!

  He knew that the third time would be better yet.

  He held close to him the secret of the intimacies that lie in the future for him and his pale faced, onyx haired temptress. With a little tender loving care, administered in the right places, at the right times, without any more stupid comments from him, she would submit to him, he knew.

  There was nothing he looked forward to more...

  While Brian was in the foyer, smirking to himself, Miranda was in the master bedroom, stripping down to nudity. As though a phantom were upon her, she could still feel his hands, touching her back, her b
ottom, her breasts, her face...

  He had left her nipples sensitive and hard to the touch. Her swollen lips, moistened center and softened breasts were a startling reminder of what had just occurred between them.

  And what if she had not come to her senses?

  She gazed at the neatly made king sized bed and imagined for a moment what it would look like if Brian had come up here with her, still locked in the throes of their shared desire.

  Shared desire...

  Her body thrilled at the memory of his hands and her mind balked at it. Her arousal had proven traitorous, yet again, victor over her sensibilities.

  She contemplated this latest kiss or kisses, rather. How they had enraged part of her at first, as surely as they had enthralled her at the same time. She remembered how his lips had been so hungry, so insatiable, as he towered over her, invoking a hunger in her that she had never thought herself capable of.

  He could be so sexy and attractive at times and yet – how pig headed he was, even for a man!

  All brawn and no brains.

  He was big and dense and chauvinistic, using his size to his advantage.

  To think she had succumbed to him, yet again!

  It was the second time in the same day that he had kissed her so brazenly, so boldly.

  And what was worse?

  She had kissed him back, on both occasions.

  And what was worse than that?

  Brian was a pawn of her uncle Russ, sent to keep her safely under the protection of Russ’ thumb.

  Swearing under her breath at the both of them, she donned her robe of green silk and prepared herself for bed.

  She decided, as she brushed her long dark hair, that she loathed everything about Brian, from his huge body, to the confusion he brought out in her, to his cheesy Australian accent.

  “Miranda,” she said softly, mimicking him. “My sweet, succulent Miranda.”

  She realized as she crawled into bed that she had forgotten to brush her teeth and she did so want to get rid of the taste of him that lingered on her tongue.

  She could hear the TV going – he had not yet come up for bed.

  But then again, it was only ten o’clock.

  Angry at him, at herself, at the whole situation, she marched down the steps in the skimpy robe and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Brian sat in one of the two overstuffed armchairs, watching her intently.