They were on the dance floor when a song ended, and Theresa turned toward their table to be waylaid by Brian’s hand on her forearm. “Not so fast there, young lady.” When she turned back to him, he lifted a wrist, tugged his corduroy sleeve up over his watch.
“Only five minutes to go. Let’s stay out here until the big moment, okay?”
A flush of sexual awareness radiated through Theresa. Without realizing where her eyes were headed, they centered on Brian’s lips. His mouth was very beautiful, very sensual, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper, those lips slightly parted now, glistening enticingly as if he’d just passed his tongue along them. She remembered the brief times they’d touched her own, and the maelstrom of emotions his fleeting kisses had created within her heart. The same reaction began again, just from her gazing at his lips.
Her eyes raised to find his upon her own mouth. The lingering gaze held sensual promise she’d never dreamed of finding in a man. She had kissed relatively few men in her life, and all of them in private. The idea of doing so in public heightened Theresa’s inhibitions. She glanced around the dance floor: there was a certain amount of anonymity when so many people were pressed almost shoulder to shoulder in a throng of this size and density.
Just then someone nudged Theresa from behind. She turned to find a waitress elbowing through the dancers, passing out hats and noisemakers, confetti and streamers. Brian got a green foil top hat that would have done Fred Astaire proud. He perched it on his head, then adjusted its brim to a rakish angle and pulled it low over the left side of his forehead. He touched the brim, looking as though he wished his hands were encased in formal white gloves, and cocked an eyebrow at Theresa. “How do I look?”
“Like Abraham Lincoln gone Irish.”
He laughed. “A little respectable and a little oguish?”
“Exactly.” The green hat set off his dark, handsome face and hair in a way that made it difficult for Theresa to draw her eyes away.
“Aren’t you going to put yours on?”
“Oh!” She lifted the tiara and turned up her nose in disgust. It was covered with horrible, shocking pink glitter that would clash abominably with her red hair. But she lifted her hands and gamely settled the circlet atop her head. As she felt with her fingertips to determine if it was on straight, Brian took over.
“Here, let me.”
He brushed her fingertips aside, then adjusted the gaudy headpiece on Theresa’s bouncy curls. His touch seemed to send fire straight down each hair follicle into her scalp. Just being near the man did the most devilish things to her senses.
“How do I look?” she asked, trying to get command of herself, keeping spirits light.
“Like the angels sprinkled you with stardust.” He touched a fingertip to her left eyebrow. It felt as if she’d received a 110-volt shock. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little stardust. Guess I’ll put it back.” Again he touched her, replacing the flake of pink glitter, this time on the crest of her left cheek, then running the finger slowly down to her chin before dropping his hand between them and capturing both of her hands without looking away from her astounded eyes. His own were penetrating, admiring and seemed to be radiating messages much like those she was unable to hide.
“You’d better close your eyes, Brian, or all this color will give you a headache,” Theresa warned, realizing how garish she must look in the gaudy vermilion tiara, with hot pink glitter highlighting her freckle-splattered cheeks.
The drummer began a drum roll. It seemed to both
Brian and Theresa the sound came from the opposite side of the universe, so wrapped up in each other had they become.
“Gladly,” Brian agreed, “but not because anything gives me a headache.” He was clutching her hands so tightly she completely forgot about everything except his eyes, reaching toward hers with a deep, probing knowledge of something she’d yearned to see in the eyes of one special man, a man just like the one before her now. Around them the crowd bellowed the countdown to midnight. “Five ... four ... three ... two ... one!” The band hit the opening chord of “Auld Lang Syne,” and neither Theresa nor Brian moved for the duration of several heartbeats.
Then she was being enfolded in strong, warm arms and dragged against his hard chest, against his belly, against his hips and his warm, seeking mouth.
A coil of pink paper came flying through the air and drifted across the brim of Brian’s green top hat, trailing down over his ear and jaw, but he was totally unaware of it. A shower of confetti settled onto Theresa’s hair and shoulders and drifted down the bridge of Brian’s nose, but they were lost in each other, aware only of the closeness they’d at last achieved. Their eyes were closed as they kissed with a full, lush introduction of tongues that sent shock waves skittering down Theresa’s spine. Her arms were threaded beneath his, and her palms rested on the center of his back while one of his pressed between her shoulder blades, and the other slipped up into the warm secret place at her nape, under the cloud of soft hair.
The interior of his mouth was warm, wet and compelling. The shifting exploration of his tongue brought hers against it in answer, as a river of longing coursed through Theresa’s body.
Brian started moving as if unable to be drawn from a deep spell—slowly, seductively—carrying her with him to the nostalgic rhythm and words of the song. Their hips joined, pressed and swayed together, but their feet scarcely shuffled on the crowded floor. He moved his head in a sensuous invitation to deepen the kiss and opened his mouth wider over hers. Her response was as natural as the evocative dance movements they shared: her own mouth opened more fully. She felt the sensuous drawing of his lips and tongue, and the moist heat of his mouth seemed to burn its way down the length of her body.
In her entire life, nothing like this had ever happened to Theresa. The kisses of her past had been accompanied either by timidity or groping, and sometimes by both in rapid succession. She let Brian rub her hips with his own, lightly at first, then with growing pressure until the side-to-side motion evoked images of further intimacies. Finally, he drew her against him with a possessiveness that made her ribs ache sweetly. And still the kiss continued ...
He began humming into her open mouth, and auld acquaintances were indeed forgotten by both of them while she answered by humming too. Before the song was half through, before the new year had been completely ushered in, before she could quite capture the realization that it was really happening to her, Theresa felt Brian’s body go hard within the blue jeans. But she remained against him, marveling that someone at last had unlocked her to the wondrous side of physical contact.
“Auld Lang Syne” drifted to an end, and somewhere in the reaches of her consciousness Theresa knew the song had changed into another as Brian lifted his head but not his hands. He held her in a warm embrace while they rocked, remaining hip to hip, breast to chest, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Theresa.” He lifted his eyes to her hair, let them skim back to her enraptured face, which reflected amazement, arousal and perhaps a touch of apprehension. “This started before I ever met you. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was rich with passion. Her lips dropped open, and she found it very difficult to breathe.
“B ... before you met me?”
“Jeff told me things that used to make me lie in bed at night and wonder what you’d be like when I met you. I would have been the most disappointed man in the world if you hadn’t turned out to be exactly as you are.”
She dropped her eyes to the dusting of confetti on his shoulders. “But, I’m—”
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, lowering his head until his mouth cut off further words. Then, to her astonishment, he did something utterly provocative, and distractingly sexy. He loosened his hold momentarily and opened his corduroy jacket so that its bulk no longer disguised the state of his body—not in the least. Then he took her back where she belonged, inside the open jacket, with her hands between it and her sweater while they danced the remainder
of the song.
When it ended, he backed away, but kept his arms looped behind her waist as their hips rested tightly together.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested in a low, throaty voice.
“B ... but it’s only midnight,” she stammered, awed by the suddenness of the sexual urgings she felt. He lifted his eyes to her hair. It was peppered with confetti. The glittered crown had tipped awry, and he plucked it from her hair, then smiled down at her open lips.
“Let’s go home.”
“What about Jeff and—”
“Are you scared, Theresa?”
She felt the press of blood staining her neck and pushing upward, but he lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Theresa, are you scared of me? Don’t be. I want to be alone with you, just once before I leave.”
But, Brian, I don’t do things like that. I’m not like your groupies. The words crossed her mind, but not her lips. She’d look like a complete idiot if she said them and his intentions were honorable all along. Yet he’d opened his jacket and made his sexual state unquestionably clear! And she was a twenty-five-year-old virgin who was both tormented and compelled by the traumatic first that might very well happen if she agreed to leave early with him.
Instead of waiting for her answer, he turned her toward the edge of the dance floor, his palm riding the hollow of her spine while she led the way to the table, found her purse and couldn’t quite meet Jeff’s eyes as she and Brian said good-night.
He drove again, by tacit agreement. Inside her warm woolen coat, Theresa was shuddering throughout most of the ride home, even after the heater was blowing warm air. In the familiar driveway, he pulled the car to a stop, killed the engine and handed her the keys in the dark. She began pivoting toward her door when his strong grip on her wrist brought her up short.
“Come here.” His command was soft-spoken, but tinged with gruff emotion. “It’s been a long time since I kissed a girl in a car. I’d like to take the memory back to Minot Air Force Base with me.”
It had been easier on the crowded dance floor when proximity took care of logistics. Now Theresa had to willingly lean her half of the way across the console that separated them. She hesitated, wondering how women ever learned to perform their part in these rites that seemed to inhibit her at every turn.
He exerted a light pressure on her wrist, pulling her slowly toward him, and tipped his head aside to meet her lips with a new kind of kiss that, though lacking in demand, was no less sensitizing. It was a tease of a kiss, a falling rose petal of a kiss. And it made her long for more.
“Your nose is cold. Let’s go in and warm it up.”
Chapter Seven
INSIDE, THE HOUSE WAS QUIET. The light above the stove was on again, and she hurried past its cone of brightness to the shadows of the hallway, knowing that if Brian got a look at her face, he’d see how uncertain and scared she’d suddenly become. She felt his hands taking the coat from her shoulders, though she hadn’t known he’d followed her so closely. A myriad of conversational subjects jumped into her mind, but scattered into pieces like the colors in a kaleidoscope. Unable to believe she’d sound anything less than petrified if she introduced any of them, she was preparing to wish him a fast good-night and skitter off to bed, when he turned from the closet and lazily took her hand in one of his.
“It sounds like your mom and dad are in bed already.”
“Yes... yes, it’s awfully quiet.”
“Come downstairs with me.”
Trepidation stiffened her spine. She tried to dredge up a reply, but both yes and no stuck in her throat. He threaded his fingers through hers as if they were setting out to stroll hand in hand through a meadow and turned them both toward the basement stairs.
She allowed herself to be led, for it was the only way she could approach the seduction she knew was in the offing.
At the top of the basement stairs she snapped on the light, but once downstairs, he released her hand, crossed to the ruffled lamp and substituted its mellower glow, then unconcernedly switched off the garish overhead beacon.
Theresa hovered by the sliding glass door, staring out at the black rectangle of night, while she chafed her upper arms.
Behind her, Brian noted, “It looks like your folks had a fire. The coals are still hot.”
“Oh,” she squeaked, knowing what he wanted, but unwilling to abet it.
“Do you mind if I add a log?”
“No.”
She heard the glass doors of the fireplace being opened, then the metallic tinkle of the wire-mesh curtains being pushed aside. The charcoal broke with a crunching sound as he settled a new log, and the metal fire screen slid closed again. And still Theresa cowered by the door, hugging herself while her knees trembled.
She was staring out so intently that she jumped and spun to face Brian when he reappeared beside her and began closing the draperies. He was watching her instead of the drapery pulls while he worked the cord, hand over hand. She licked her lips and swallowed. Behind him, the fresh log flared with a whoosh and she jumped again as if the puff had announced the leaping arrival of Lucifer.
The draperies drew to a close. Silence bore down. Brian kept his disconcerting gaze riveted on Theresa as he came two steps closer, then extended his hand in invitation.
She stared at it but only hugged herself tighter.
The hand remained, palm up, steady. “Why are you so scared of me?” His deep, flawlessly modulated voice delivered the question in the softest of tones.
“I ... I ...” She felt her jaw working but seemed unable to close it, to answer, or to go to him.
He leaned forward, balancing on one foot while capturing one of her hands and tugging her along after him toward the far side of the room where the sofa faced the hearth. The fire glowed brightly now; passing the lamp he switched it off, leaving the room dressed in soft, flickering orange. He sat, gently towed her down beside him, and resolutely kept his right arm around her shoulders while he himself slunk rather low, catching the nape of his neck on the cushion, and crossing his calves on the shiny maple coffee table before them.
Beneath his arms, Brian could feel Theresa’s shoulders tensed and curled. Everything had changed during their ride home. She’d had time to consider what she was getting into. Her withdrawal gave him a corresponding sense of hesitation, which he hoped he was hiding well. One skittish partner in such a situation was enough. He had misgivings about kissing her again in an effort to break down her reserve. She was pinched up as tightly as a newly wound watch, and he knew she hadn’t done anything like this very often in her life. Jeff had told him she was spooked by men, that she turned down most invitations or advances that came her way. And Jeff had told Brian, too, the reason why. That knowledge hovered above him like a wall of water about to curl in upon his head. He felt as if he was savoring his last lungful of air in anticipation of being sucked under when the tidal wave hit.
Brian Scanlon was scared.
But Theresa Brubaker didn’t know it.
She rested against the side of his ribs, with her head cradled on his shoulder and the crown of her hair against his cheek. But her arms remained crossed as tightly as if she wore a straitjacket.
With the hand that circled her shoulders, he gently rubbed her resilient upper arm. Her hair smelled flowery and created a warm patch of closeness where it pressed beneath his cheek. He pinched the knit sleeve of her sweater between thumb and forefinger and drew it away from her flesh.
“Is it true that you bought this whole new outfit just for tonight?”
“Amy’s worse than Jeff. She can’t keep any secrets.”
His hand fell lightly upon her arm again. “I like the new clothes. The color goes great with your hair.”
“Don’t mention the color of my hair, please.” She clasped an open hand over the top of her head, burying her face against his chest.
He smiled. “Why? What’s the matter with it?”
“I hate it. I’ve always hate
d it.”
The arm that had been circling her shoulders lifted, and what he’d done with the sweater, he did with her hair, lifting a single strand, rubbing, testing it between his fingers while studying it lazily. “It’s the color of sunrise.”
“It’s the color of vegetables.”
“It’s the color of flowers—lots of different kinds of flowers.”
“It’s the color of a chicken’s eye.”
Beneath her cheek she felt his chest heave as he laughed silently, but when he spoke, it was seriously. “It’s the color of the Grand Canyon as the sun slips down beyond the purple side of the mountains.”
“It’s the color of my freckles. You can hardly tell where one stops and the others start.”
His index finger curled beneath her chin and forced her to lift her face. “I can.” The way he lounged, his chin was tucked against his chest, and she gazed up across his corduroy lapel, feeling its raised wales digging into her cheek as she met his slumberous green eyes. “And anyway, what’s wrong with freckles?” he teased, running the callused tip of his left index finger across the bridge of her nose and the crest of one cheek. “Angel kisses,” he whispered, while the finger moved down the tip-tilted nose and the rim of her lips, over the pointed chin and on to her soft throat where a pulse thrummed in rapid tempo.
She tried to say, “Heat spots,” but nothing came out except shaky breath and a tiny croak.
His nape came away from the back of the sofa in slow motion while his sea-green eyes locked with hers. “Angel kisses,” he whispered, closing her eyes with his warm lips—first touching the left, then the right eyelid. “Have you been kissed by angels, Theresa?” he murmured. The tip of his tongue touched and wet the high curve of her left cheek, and the end of her nose, then her right cheek.
“Nobody but you, Brian.”
“I know,” came his final murmur before his soft mouth possessed hers. His kiss plucked at her reserve, encouraging a foray into the unknowns of sensuality, but her crossed arms still maintained a barrier between them. His tongue sought nooks and crannies of her mouth that it seemed her own tongue had never discovered before. It swept across warm, moist valleys from where tiny explosions of sensation burst upon her senses. He eased the pressure, catching her upper lip between his teeth, sucking it, releasing it, sensitizing the lower one next in the same seductive way.
Sweet Memories Page 12