FANTA C

by Sandra Brown

  She had been thinking that at last she was going to live one of her fantasies. She'd been a virgin when she married John Burke. He was the only man she'd ever slept with. Even her own sister would find that hard to believe, but it was true.

  Tonight, she had thought, why not join the rest of the human race? Why not take an opportunity when it was offered? No exercising sound judgment. No consideration for the consequences. Just going with the flow. Just enjoying a sexual encounter for no reason beyond the physical pleasure it would bring. "Good-bye to Sandra Dee." Isn't that how the song went?

  Sandra Dee was tedious. Elizabeth was ready to be the bad girl for a change. They had all the fun. She was sick of being Miss Goodie Two Shoes because Miss Goodie Two Shoes was dull, dull, dull. Every day she handled merchandise that catered to romance, but it was always for someone else's romance, never her own.

  The only time she ever shed her inhibitions and her stifling cloak of morality was in her fantasies. As a result, life was passing her by. The years would slip away. She couldn't think of a more pathetic picture than that of an old lady lost in her fantasy world and having nothing else to sustain her, not even bittersweet memories of actual love affairs.

  So when Adam Cavanaugh had opened the doors of the penthouse and ushered her inside, she had virtually drifted in, willing to taste the forbidden fruit of modern sexuality.

  But the joke had been on her.

  Adam had been passionate, all right. Passionately excited ... about the new hotel he was building in Chicago. He had led her into the bedroom, his eyes sparkling with promise ... to show her the scale model of the new hotel. His voice had trembled with desire ... to see this model become a reality. He'd been orgasmic ... about what this latest addition could mean to his fleet of hotels. Afterward, they had talked shop over Danish and coffee which he'd had room service bring up.

  Smiling wistfully over her own naïveté, Elizabeth laid her hairbrush down and turned away from the mirror. As she did so, there was a soft tap on her door. "Come in, darling," she said.

  Thad Randolph stepped across her bedroom threshold and closed the door behind him. The latch clicked shut. Elizabeth stared at him, aghast.

  "Who were you expecting? Cavanaugh?"

  Rapidly recovering from her shock, she snapped, "Actually, I was expecting one of my children. I didn't think you'd be rude enough to go creeping through my house in the middle of the night, especially after I ordered you to leave."

  "I hadn't said everything I wanted to say."

  "Well, I'd heard everything I wanted to hear."

  "Like how irresponsible you're being? I would have expected more out of a woman like you."

  "Expected more of what? And what do you mean, 'a woman like' me? What sets me apart from every other woman?"

  "Discretion. Decency. And intelligence. You know that Adam Cavanaugh is a playboy, don't you? You have no business messing with a smooth operator like him."

  "He's not a smooth operator. He's a gentleman in every sense of the word."

  He advanced into the room. Elizabeth got the impression that he was keeping his voice low only for the sake of the sleeping children whose rooms were at the opposite end of the hall. She also detected the smell of liquor on his breath. Apparently he'd spent his time downstairs fueling his anger with another drink.

  "If he acted like a gentleman, it was only because he knew that's what he'd have to be to get you in his bed. But the only thing that separates him from the sharks who cruise the streets picking up girls is the price of his suit. Or is that what has you so starry-eyed? His money?"

  "Absolutely not! I like him. He's interesting and—" It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have to justify anything she did to Thad Randolph. One arranged date to an elementary-school Fall Festival was hardly tantamount to posting banns. She placed her hands on her hips. "What gives you the right to cross-examine me, Mr. Randolph?" Then, assuming the provocative posture of a coquette, she angled her head to one side and batted her eyelashes Southern-belle style. "Or are you concerned for my virtue? Are you lecturing me for my own good?"

  She had never heard spoken aloud the word he said then. It singed her ears. The vulgar expletive was particularly paralyzing coming from soft-spoken, kind Mr. Randolph. That's why she was rooted to the floor with amazement when he lunged forward and caught her shoulders between his hands, shaking her slightly.

  "Dammit, Elizabeth, you wouldn't know what was good for you if it walked right up and ... and ... oh, hell."

  His mouth came down hard. It was a fiery, possessive, savage kiss that enraged her. She raised her hands to his chest and disconcertingly encountered bare skin. Despite the initial shock, she gave a mighty push.

  But he wouldn't be budged. Nor would he be denied. When she tore her lips free of his and tried to avert her head, he sank all ten fingers into her hair and held her head a helpless, immovable captive between his strong hands.

  "Kiss me back, damn you."

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth, swiftly and surely. The violation was so absolute, so irrevocable, that it was like experiencing the breach of virginity all over again. Reflexively she arched against him. Her fingers curled inward, but barely dented the solid muscles beneath them. Her nightgown was sheer, a negligible shield against his virility. All his anger and frustration seemed to be concentrated in his thighs and lower body. They were rock-hard and unyielding as they pressed into her softness.

  But more distressing than his possessiveness was her reaction to it. A wildfire of sensation radiated from the tops of her thighs to the tips of her extremities. She struggled against this involuntary response. "Stop this, please, Thad."

  His answer was to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bed, where he unceremoniously tossed her down. This reversal of his benign personality astounded her so much she couldn't move. She lay there and stared up at him with incredulity as he angrily shoved off his shirt and went for his belt buckle.

  "What are you doing?"

  "That should be obvious." He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, but didn't remove them. Instead he sauntered toward the bed. Fighting the urge to stare at the wedge of dark hair his open trousers had exposed, Elizabeth shrank from him and cowered against the headboard. Grinning triumphantly, he reached down, grasped her wrist, and hauled her to her feet so abruptly that her teeth clicked together.

  He planted the heels of his hands at the small of her back, curved his fingers down over her derriere, and jerked her against him. Lowering his head, his mouth sought her evasive lips once again. When she failed to comply to his silent demands, he brought one hand around and squeezed her jaw between his fingers. His lips forced hers apart.

  She moaned, first in outrage, then in helpless surrender, as his tongue slid in and out of her mouth in so sexual a cadence she felt her bones melting.

  He recognized her capitulation within a heartbeat. His tongue ceased to be a plunderer and became a lover, stroking her mouth to ecstasy. By slow degrees, her struggles ceased, her body relaxed and became pliant, molding itself to his, reshaping itself to fit his steely contours.

  "Elizabeth." He groaned. "Dear Lord, Elizabeth."

  His open mouth moved down her neck. His hand searched for and found the buttons on her gown, but they stubbornly refused to come undone. Arousal gave him superior strength, which the daintily tucked and pleated bodice couldn't withstand. The sound of tearing cloth joined that of their ragged breathing. The nightgown dropped to the floor, creating a puff of air when it landed around her ankles.

  His parted lips followed the curve of her breast. Then he lifted his head and visually devoured her nakedness. He cupped one breast in his hand and played with the dusky crest until it became stiff. Growling with gratification, he ducked his head and whisked it with his tongue, again and again, until Elizabeth clung to him for support.

  He swept her into his arms. Only this time, when he deposited her onto the bed, he did so with gentleness. His eyes were alight with p
assion, not anger. His face was taut with desire, not enmity.

  She stared up at him with wide-eyed misapprehension as he backed off the bed and removed his trousers and a pair of jockey briefs. When he lay down beside her, he was naked. And warm. And hairy. And manly. And wonderful.

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, then carried it down to his sex. He acquainted her with the dimension, the power and strength, of his desire for her. "This gives me the right to ask, to know. Did you sleep with Cavanaugh tonight, Elizabeth?"

  "No. Of course I didn't."

  He stared deeply into her eyes, searching for signs of mendacity, but saw only leaping arcs of desire. He impressed a hungry, twisting kiss on her receptive mouth. His sex became even fuller within her caressing grasp. He nudged her knees apart and settled himself heavily within the cradle of her thighs.

  In one long, slow plunge, he imbedded himself between the stretching walls of her body. Elizabeth, thrilled with his magnificent strength, brought her knees up to accommodate him. He moaned with supreme satisfaction and buried his face in the perfumed cloud of her hair which was spread out on the pillow.

  Though it seemed impossible, he delved deeper into her with each rhythmic push. She felt those supple contractions against her hands which greedily drew him closer, higher. He kissed her ears, her throat, and, as his thrusts accelerated, her mouth.

  After several moments she clasped his head and held it away from her. Her breath was choppy; her flushed breasts rose and fell with each shallow pant. "You don't have to wait on me, Thad."

  He looked surprised, then smiled tenderly. "Yes I do."

  "No, really. You don't have to do that for me."

  "I'm not," he said hoarsely. "I'm doing it for me."

  She gave a joyful little gasp when he slid his splayed hands beneath her hips. He rubbed his face against her nipples, once, twice, letting her feel his cheeks, chin, nose, and tongue against them.

  With his next deep thrust, her neck involuntarily arched and she lost herself in this splendid mating rite. Her hips responded to his clenching fingers. She ground her body against his, wanting more, always more.

  And when she was seized by a rush of sensation so intense she couldn't contain it, she bit her lower lip to hold back a scream of pleasure. The immensity of it was compounded when she felt, deep inside her, the staccato spasms of his release.

  Neither knew if it was seconds, minutes, or eons that they lay in a state of complete exhaustion. Thad was the first to move. He propped himself on one elbow and gazed down at her.

  "You're beautiful," he said, still breathing unevenly.

  "You think so?"

  "Oh, yeah," he drawled, smiling and nodding his head.

  His unhurried caresses matched his inflection. He drew his index finger across her chin, down her throat, and then continued across her collarbone. From there it meandered over her breasts, following the high curves and dipping into the shallow valley between them. He traced a faint white stretch mark.

  "I've been a mother twice," she reminded him apologetically.

  He only growled with pleasure. "You certainly have."

  Leisurely he circled each nipple with the tip of his finger until they both responded prettily. Lowering his mouth to one, he flicked it with his tongue, then closed his lips around it and sucked gently. Elizabeth made a whimpering sound.

  "You like that?" he asked, moving his lips over the glistening bead of flesh.

  "Yes."

  "Good. So do I. Very much." He covered her other nipple with his mouth and rugged at it hard enough to give pleasure, but temperate enough to prevent pain. He raked his teeth against it and plucked at it lightly with his lips. "I was dreaming of this when you woke me up the other day. I was making love to your sweet breasts."

  "You said as much."

  "I've had some wonderful dreams about you lately, but you never felt this good against my tongue in any of them. And nothing I've ever dreamed of tasted as good as this."

  She had thought that John Burke was a romantic man. But compared to her late husband, Thad was Cyrano de Bergerac. He had the soul of a poet, but the carnal appetites of a sultan.

  "You're quite a lover, aren't you, Thad?"

  He raised his eyes to hers, at first thinking that she was teasing. But when he saw that she was serious, he answered in kind. "I've had very few complaints from the women I've been with."

  "And how many is that?" Regretting the words the moment they were out, she turned her head into the pillow. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that. I have no right to ask."

  After a lengthy pause, he said softly, "I bought the teddy for you." Her head came around and she stared up at him, speechless with surprise. "That's right. For you. There is no other woman right now." He reshaped the underside of her breast to fit his hand and fondled her as he spoke. "When I got back from Vietnam, my fiancée ditched me for another guy. Actually, she had ditched me long before I got back but she was kind enough not to write and tell me so.

  "Since then, I've kept my relationships brief. I took what I wanted from them, gave back only enough to salve my conscience, then split while lust was the only thing the woman and I had in common. I'm not a saint. Never pretended to be. So, yes, I've been with a lot of women.

  "But I never allowed myself to focus on any one woman because, frankly, I liked being single. And," he added, with a shrug, "I guess maybe I was afraid to fall in love and be jilted again. Anyway, I liked my life the way it was.

  "Then I moved here. Your kids were so damn cute, I began to have second thoughts about my lifestyle. Every now and then I got a hankering to have kids of my own."

  He drew a deep sigh. "And then, of course, there was you. I'd catch myself peering through trees more often than not when I heard your car pull into the driveway. Whenever you came into the backyard I made up reasons to be outside myself just to get a glimpse of you, to see if you were as pretty as you looked from a distance. But you never initiated a conversation, so I left things alone. When I got lonely, I told myself that I was lucky and damn clever to remain unentangled.

  "I thank providence for stranding that kitten up in the tree. It gave me a reason to come close." He ran his finger down her cheek. "The instant I looked into your face, the top of my head blew off. And every time I've seen you since then, I've wanted to be in bed with you, doing this."

  His voice lowered to a seductive pitch. "That night I caught you by the water hydrant, I barely stopped myself from taking you against the wall."

  "Why didn't you?"

  He registered surprise. "Would you have let me?"

  "I honestly don't know. Why didn't you at least try?"

  His eyes looked turbulent, as though he were wrestling with the decision of whether or not to tell her. Finally he met her gaze squarely and said, "Because I thought then that I only wanted to have you sexually. And you deserved better than that."

  Her gaze flickered away from his. His blunt honesty was unnerving. "So why did you come into the shop the next day?"

  "I couldn't stay away. I wanted to get another look at you in the daylight, to convince myself that you were real. You were." He bent over her and planted a solid, hot kiss on her mouth. "Were you ever."

  After another deep kiss he said, "So there I was in Fantasy, damn sure I wanted you, but unsure how you felt about me. I decided to test the waters by trying to make you jealous."

  "That was a sneaky, rotten thing to do."

  He smiled mischievously. "But it worked, didn't it?" She clamped her lips shut and refused to answer. "Come on, now. I made an ass of myself tonight when you came in from your date with Cavanaugh. Can't you admit to even a trace of jealousy?"

  "All right, a trace. I thought it was extremely unchivalrous of you to come into my store to buy a scandalous piece of lingerie for your mistress."

  "Mistress?" he echoed, laughing at the old-fashioned term. "Feel free to come over and slip into the teddy and stockings any time." He murmured the words against her
throat. "They're still wrapped up in pink tissue paper, even though I've taken them out and played with them a few times."

  "How perverted."

  "Hmm. I imagined your breasts filling up those lace cups. Your nipples straining against them."

  He kissed her thoroughly. His hand sawed back and forth in the hollow of her waist, then flattened against her stomach. He slid it down to cover the triangle of tawny hair. Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment when he ended their kiss so he could watch as his fingers explored. He let the pale curls ensnare them.

  "So pretty," he whispered. "So soft and sexy." And that was only the beginning.

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