Taming Tall, Dark Brandon

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  The journey of discovery began. They kissed, touched, caressed, with awe, with wonder. They were alone in a magical world they were creating with each beat of their racing hearts. It was ecstasy.

  Brandon drew the sweet flesh of one of Andrea’s breasts into his mouth, laving the nipple into a taut bud. She sank her fingers into his thick hair, pressing his head more firmly to her, rejoicing in the sensations swirling within her.

  He moved to the other breast, as he splayed one hand on her flat stomach, then lower and lower yet, finding the moist heat of her femininity.

  “Oh, Brandon,” Andrea said, nearly sobbing. “Please. I want you so much.”

  He moved over her, supporting his weight on quivering arms, then entered her, bringing her all that he was, filling her.

  “Oh, my,” she said with a sigh of womanly pleasure. “Oh, Brandon.”

  Brandon began the dance, slowly at first, then increasing the tempo. Andrea raised her hips and matched his rhythm in total-synchronization.

  The heat coiled tighter, building, taking them up and away, higher and higher, then flinging them into exquisite oblivion.

  “Brandon!”

  “Yes! Ah, Andrea.”

  They hovered in the place where they had gone, not wishing to return. Slowly, slowly, they drifted back, sated, complete.

  Brandon shifted off of Andrea and lay close to her side, weaving his fingers through her tousled, silky hair.

  “Perfect,” he said quietly.

  “Yes,” she said. “Perfect.”

  I love you, Andrea, Brandon whispered in his mind. He wanted to tell her, seal what they had just shared with his declaration of love.

  But, no. He’d wait. To say the words now was too clichéd, like a script from a romantic movie. A man makes love to a woman, then blurts out his statement of “I love you.” No. What he had with Andrea was too rare, special, to be allowed to even hint of the ordinary. He’d wait.

  “Mmm,” Andrea said. “I’m so sleepy.”

  “Then sleep, Cinderella.” Brandon kissed her on the forehead.

  Cinderella, Andrea thought hazily. Yes, that was who she was. She had to remember, must not forget that.

  Brandon glanced at the clock.

  “Andrea?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Nine

  The telephone on the nightstand next to the bed rang early the next morning, jarring Brandon awake. He reached out and snatched up the receiver.

  “Yes?” he said quietly, glancing quickly at Andrea where she slept peacefully next to him.

  “This is Ryan at the desk. Sorry to bother you so early, Brandon, but I have a problem here. A couple who were due to arrive this afternoon are standing in front of me right now. They drove all night so they could surprise their family on Christmas morning, but we don’t have an empty room to put them in.”

  “All right,” Brandon said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes to see what I can do.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said. “Oh. Merry Christmas.”

  “Mmm,” Brandon said, frowning as he replaced the receiver.

  Damn, he thought, this was definitely not how he’d intended to start the day. His plan had been to bring Andrea a hot cup of coffee, kiss her awake, then wait until the caffeine had accomplished its assignment.

  When he was assured that Andrea was her usual, smiling self, he would have looked directly into her eyes, declared his love for her and asked her to marry him.

  The only thing missing from the proposal was an engagement ring, but he’d rectify that at the earliest opportunity. They’d go to the aunts for Christmas breakfast and announce their intention to be married as soon as possible.

  So much for that grand scheme, Brandon thought, leaving the bed. He’d have to think of a fresh idea. One thing was certain, though. On this Christmas morning, he would propose to Andrea Cunningham.

  Brandon started toward the bathroom, then stopped, retracing his steps to stand next to the bed and gaze at Andrea.

  Incredible. That was what their night together had been...incredible. For the first time in his life he’d been intimate with a woman he loved and who loved him in return. His very own Cinderella.

  The lovemaking he’d shared with Andrea was so special, rare, wonderful, like nothing he’d experienced before.

  They’d both awakened in the night, as though nudged by an invisible hand, then reached for the other eagerly. Their joining had been sweet and slow, intoxicating, and sensational.

  Lord, how he loved this woman.

  How very right she looked sleeping there in his bed, where she belonged.

  And where he belonged, Brandon thought, spinning on his heel and striding toward the bathroom.

  He showered and shaved as quickly and as quietly as possible, then dressed in black slacks and a royalblue sweater. He indulged in one more long look at Andrea, then left the room.

  With any luck he’d solve the problem of the early arriving guests in a jiffy, and just might be able to return to the apartment before Andrea even knew he’d been gone.

  He could reinstate his original plan of kiss, coffee and “I love you. Will you marry me?”

  But luck was not on Brandon’s side.

  The couple waiting at the registration desk proved to be extremely difficult to deal with.

  No, they didn’t want to leave their luggage in a safe place at Hamilton House and proceed to their destination to surprise their family. They wanted to shower and change into fresh, festive clothes.

  Yes, they realized they had arrived early, but the hotels they were accustomed to always accommodated them if they changed their schedule a bit. Was this, or was this not, a first-class establishment? One that they might, or might not, recommend to their many friends?

  Brandon gritted his teeth and searched his mind for a solution to the dilemma, wondering if one of the alternatives might be to strangle these unreasonable, demanding people?

  Andrea stirred, yawned, opened her eyes, then turned her head, frowning as she saw that Brandon wasn’t next to her in the bed. She sat up, clutching the sheet over her bare breasts.

  “Brandon?” she called.

  He wasn’t in the apartment, she realized. Where on earth could he have gone? Well, he was the owner of Hamilton House. There was no telling what kind of emergency he might have been summoned to tend to.

  Satisfied with her deduction, Andrea flopped back onto the pillow and stretched leisurely.

  Her body was tender in places she’d nearly forgotten were there, she thought, smiling. Oh, how glorious their lovemaking had been. What a magnificent and considerate lover Brandon was, assuring her pleasure before seeking his own release.

  What had Brandon said? Oh, yes, he had declared their joining as being “perfect,” and that was true, wondrously true.

  Andrea sighed in contentment, but her euphoric mood began to fade as a niggling little voice started to whisper in her mind.

  Christmas Eve was over. The clock had struck midnight, and the ball, as well as the Cinderella who had attended it, were no more. It was time for a reality check.

  She had no regrets about the night before. Quite the opposite. She would cherish the memories of making love with Brandon, keep them safely in the treasure chest in her heart forever.

  Andrea turned her head to look at the pillow next to her that still held the indentation from Brandon’s head.

  She missed him, she thought. She wanted him suddenly to materialize so she could reach out and touch him, kiss him, feel his powerful arms pulling her close to his magnificent naked body.

  She wanted to make love with Brandon now, right this minute, soar with him to that place of pure ecstasy where she could travel to only with him.

  Yes, she missed him.

  Andrea shifted her gaze to the ceiling and frowned.

  This was not good, she thought. If she missed Brandon now, when he was in the hotel someplace taking care of an important matter, what would it be like
when she left Prescott next week and returned to Phoenix?

  Would tears flow in the darkness of night as she tossed and turned in her lonely bed, aching for him?

  Would he consume her thoughts as she went through each day?

  Would she look for him in crowds, even though she knew he wasn’t there?

  Would she snatch up the telephone every time it rang, with the hope of hearing his voice?

  No, no, that was silly, all of it. Those were things a woman in love did, and she was not in love with Brandon Hamilton.

  Was she?

  Andrea sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on top.

  She was playing emotional ostrich, she admitted to herself. She was refusing to discover the truth—whatever it was—of how deeply her feelings for Brandon went.

  A chill suddenly swept through Andrea, and she felt as though a dark cloud had settled over her, threatening to obliterate the sunshine mood she’d awakened with.

  She was registering a strange sense of déjà vu. It was as though she had somehow been on this emotional road before and had then, as now, refused to listen to her inner voice.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said aloud, raising her head from her knees. “Impossible.”

  She cared more for Brandon than she had for any man she’d ever been involved with. There was no déjà vu in that. Her relationship with Brandon wasn’t remotely close to anything she’d felt, or done, before.

  Then why, why, why, couldn’t she shake this dark, chilling thought?

  “This is crazy,” she said with an unladylike snort of disgust. “Just forget it, Andrea. You should never think before you’ve had your first cup of coffee.”

  She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.

  It was getting late, she thought. She and Brandon were due at Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity’s apartment for Christmas morning breakfast.

  As much as she’d prefer to wait for Brandon in his bed, there just wasn’t time. She had to go to her own room to shower and put on fresh clothes.

  Suddenly Andrea laughed.

  She was about to skulk down the hallway, wearing last night’s dress, hoping that no one saw her before she was safely behind her own door. She’d never done anything like that before. She would be able to add “skulking” to that long list of “firsts” she was experiencing in Prescott.

  “Oh, well.” She shrugged, slipped off the bed, then reached for the wrinkled dress where it lay on the floor. “Go for it.”

  Brandon trudged slowly up the flights of stairs that would take him to the fifth floor.

  A glowering glance at his watch told him that Andrea was no doubt long gone from his apartment, and was probably already sipping tea with the aunts.

  So much for his plan to propose to Andrea while they were still alone, then announcing their coming marriage when they arrived at Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity’s. Damn.

  Brandon slapped his cheeks once sharply to be certain that the phony smile he’d kept firmly in place while dealing with the wealthy-travelers-with-an-attitude was no longer in evidence.

  Cripe, he thought, shaking his head, those people had been obnoxious to the maximum. They’d ended up canceling their reservation at Hamilton House in a huff and demanding the use of the telephone to call the other upscale hotels in town.

  “Then the worm turned,” Brandon said aloud as he continued his upward trek.

  There had been no vacancies anywhere in Prescott. The couple had been forced to ask if they could reinstate their reservation at Hamilton House.

  He’d softened their defeat by presenting them with a dozen cinnamon rolls from the hotel kitchen to take with them as they surprised their family with their early arrival.

  “In their grungy clothes,” he muttered. “Serves them right.”

  Enough of this, he ordered himself. It was time to refocus, direct his energies on Andrea, the aunts, breakfast, and the exchanging of Christmas presents.

  Then the minute he could politely whisk Andrea away without hurting the aunts’ feelings, he would get her alone and ask her to marry him.

  Man, oh, man, this was going to be one fantastic Christmas Day that he would most definitely never forget.

  This was the epitome of that saying, “This is the first day of the rest of your life.” A glorious life. A rich, warm, overflowing-with-love-and-happiness life. With Andrea.

  Andrea Cunningham Hamilton. Mrs. Brandon Hamilton. Brandon and Andrea Hamilton. Yes!

  Brandon quickened his step as he arrived on the fifth floor. The smile on his face was genuine as he greeted Aunt Pru when she answered his knock on the door.

  “Merry Christmas, dear,” Aunt Pru said. “Come in, come in. Andrea is already here, and breakfast is ready.”

  “Merry Christmas, Aunt Pru,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  He crossed the room to Aunt Charity and repeated the greeting and kiss.

  “Merry, merry, big boy,” Aunt Charity said.

  Brandon turned and met Andrea’s gaze.

  “Good morning,” he said, smiling. “And Merry Christmas.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, matching his smile. “A very Merry Christmas.”

  “You look festive,” Brandon said.

  Andrea glanced down at the bright green sweater she wore with winter-white slacks.

  “String some lights on me,” she said, laughing, “and I could pass for a Christmas tree.”

  Brandon had a sudden image in his mind of a holiday tree with its stiff, unyielding branches, followed immediately by the vision of a naked Andrea in his arms, soft and feminine, fitting perfectly against him.

  “No,” he said, then cleared his throat as heat shot through him. “You’re definitely not a tree.”

  “Breakfast is served,” Aunt Pru said.

  The four were soon consuming scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and fresh fruit.

  “We cooked this ourselves,” Aunt Charity said. “Take a good look at it, because it isn’t going to happen again. I’m thoroughly spoiled by eating in the hotel dining room, and this is the last of slaving in the kitchen.”

  “Hear, hear,” Brandon said, raising his coffee cup in salute.

  “We were having a delightful conversation with Andrea when you arrived, Brandon,” Aunt Pru said. “About the possibility of adding specialty shops in the lobby. Tell him about it, Andrea.”

  “We were just chatting,” Andrea said with a little shrug. “The lobby is enormous. There’s room for three, maybe four, small shops.”

  “Go on,” Brandon said, nodding. “You have my full attention.”

  “You don’t want to distract from the decor in any way,” she said. “The stores should have open fronts to give a visual flow from the lobby. You could have old-fashioned lampposts by each one, and maybe a cobblestone path in front, like a Victorian village, of sorts.”

  “I’m getting the picture,” Brandon said. “What kind of stores are you thinking of?”

  Andrea laughed. “I’ll bill you for my advertising expertise, Mr. Hamilton.” She paused. “You’re targeting impulse buying. A flower shop for sending flowers to the wife in the room, or the one left at home by a traveling salesman. Flowers delivered to visiting guests.”

  “Makes excellent sense,” Brandon said, reaching for another slice of toast. “What else?”

  “Maybe candy,” Andrea said, then took a sip of coffee. “Marketing studies have shown that men will spend more impulsively than women while away from home. So, I’d also suggest some kind of exclusive women’s wear. Sweaters, lingerie—whatever—for that away-from-home man to purchase for his sweetie pie.”

  “Very interesting,” Brandon said.

  “The advertising would be very crucial,” Andrea went on, leaning slightly toward him. “These shops will be small, offshoots for owners who are wellestablished elsewhere. You pitch them as a service. You know...now you can have Bertha Burp Chocolates at your fingertips, right here in Hamilton House.”

  “‘Berth
a Burp Chocolates’?” Brandon said with a burst of laughter.

  “I pulled that out of the air,” Andrea said, smiling.

  “But you get the idea.”

  “I certainly do. I’m going to mull this over, then maybe have a powwow with my accountant, Clem Sinclair, about it.” Brandon paused. “Andrea, you’re very good at what you do, aren’t you?” he said, his smile fading as he looked directly at her.

  “Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am. I wouldn’t be the vice president of Challenge Advertising if I didn’t excel in my profession.”

  “But it exhausts you so, Andrea, dear,” Aunt Pru said. “It saddens me to think of the condition you were in when you arrived here.”

  “Advertising is a very high-stress, demanding career,” Andrea said.

  “It wouldn’t have to be if it was done on a smaller scale,” Brandon said. Right here in smaller-scale Prescott, Arizona. “Pass the jelly, please.”

  “Challenge is growing all the time,” Andrea said. “It’s certainly not going to get any smaller if we maintain our level of excellence.”

  “Mmm.” Brandon smiled at her pleasantly. “The jelly is by your right hand.”

  “There’s more to life than just work,” Aunt Charity said.

  Bless you, Aunt Charity, Brandon thought.

  “Yes, well...” Andrea said, picking up the dish of jelly.

  But work was all she had in Phoenix, she mused. There was nothing else, no one else, to occupy her mind, her time. Her heart? Oh, for heaven’s sake, where had that poor-little-me thought come from? Her life in Phoenix was busy and fulfilling, all that she wanted and needed.

  Wasn’t it?

  Andrea, stop it right this minute, she ordered herself. Her brain was going off on a ridiculous tangent. Enough of this.

  “Jelly,” she said, offering the dish to Brandon.

  The conversation shifted to the previous night’s party. Andrea made comments in the appropriate places, smiled, and agreed that the event had been a huge success.