“No!”
“But he did anyway. He forced himself on you.”
“Yes.”
“And later, he beat you?”
“Yes. He was always able to turn away from me, like you just did. It proved he was stronger than the temptation, he said. Then he punished me for it.”
Brandon frowned, trying to make sense of what Shannon was telling him. Stewart’s twisted reasoning eluded Brandon. “Did you want your stepfather to turn away from you, Shannon?”
“I prayed for it,” she said fervently. She hugged her knees to her chest and spoke as if to herself. “I did not want him to touch me. I hated his kisses, his groping.” Tears welled in her eyes, then dripped silently over her pale cheeks. “The beating was better. It was always over quickly. I did not mind it so much.”
Brandon ached for her. Wanting nothing more than to comfort her, he moved, pulling Shannon into his arms, fitting her curled form between his thighs, her back flush to his chest. His arms circled her lightly and his cheek rested against her hair. He rocked her gently, soothing her much as he would his daughter, whispering words of comfort in her ear. “None of it was your fault, Shannon. None of it. If you believe nothing else I have said or will ever say to you, believe that. You don’t have it within you to be wicked.”
“But-”
“Shh. I’m telling you the truth.”
Shannon knuckled her eyes and then accepted the handkerchief that Brandon offered her. “Th-thank you.” This further example of his kindness had the effect of making Shannon more miserable. If he did not want to punish her, then the question of what he wanted still remained. In her heart Shannon felt Brandon was wrong about her. At the core of her there was an emptiness waiting to be filled, a desire to be touched and held and loved. Shewaswicked. She wanted these things from Brandon Fleming: the touch of his hands, the comfort of his arms, and love in whatever form he wished to express it.
Shannon turned in his arms and tilted her face to him. Her mouth was a breath away from the hard line of his jaw. She could feel the tension in him, the rigidity of his posture, and knew that she was to blame for the faint white lines at the corners of his mouth, the proof of his self-denial. If he had asked her for more than a kiss, if he had put his desire into words, she would have said no. But he didn’t. To Shannon’s way of thinking it was another demonstration of his tender sensibilities, his innate gentleness, and it made her want to return a kindness in the only manner she thought was acceptable.
She touched her mouth to his chin, drawing her lips along the line of his jaw.
“Shannon. Don’t.”
Shannon heard the warning in his tone, yet she also realized he was making no move to stop her. It’s all right, she wanted to say. I want to give you what you cannot bring yourself to ask me. It is a small price for what you have given me. She thought these things, but said nothing. Her hand turned his face toward her. Her mouth brushed his for one sweet moment and then she was lost to the sweeping command of his desire.
The part of Brandon’s self that warned him to stop was silenced by Shannon’s huskily murmured encouragement. The kiss that she began as an inquiry, he answered with a passion and forcefulness that left little room for turning back. He twisted her in his arms, laying her down on the blanket, and followed with his body, never breaking the kiss. He was afraid to speak, afraid she would change her mind if she realized the depth of his need.
His fingers tugged at her bodice laces, hastily this time, and when he exposed her breasts, he simply stared for a long moment while one hand whispered across their fullness. Shannon’s hands fluttered on Brandon’s shoulders as his mouth teased her flesh. A tiny gasp was forced past her lips. Her throat arched and her eyes closed. She felt the hem of her gown being drawn upward, baring first her calves, then her thighs to the palm of his hands.
Shannon’s clothes were an obstruction not to be borne. Brandon wanted to make love to her, not merely toss up her skirts as if she were some common whore. He paused long enough in his exploration to divest himself of his boots, stockings, and shirt before he returned his attention to Shannon. Except for following his action with her eyes, she had not moved.
He closed her wary eyes by first kissing one, then the other. He stilled her tremulous mouth by covering it with his own. And while he quieted her fears with nearly incoherent murmurings, his hands were busy pushing her gown past her waist and narrow hips, removing the remainder of her garments with an urgency that clearly spoke of his quickening desires.
In spite of his need, or perhaps because of it, Brandon forced himself to go slowly with Shannon. Now that he was certain of having her, he felt as if time stretched infinitely before him. He nuzzled her neck as his fingers drew lightly across the flat plane of her stomach. He felt her drawing in her breath as the heel of his hand pressed close to the tuft of dark curls at her thighs. He retreated immediately, brushing the tips of his fingers across the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
“Touch me, Shannon,” he urged, bringing her palms flush to his chest. He turned on his back, pulling her with him so that she covered his body with hers. Brandon caressed the back of her thighs and then palmed her buttocks, holding her securely in the cradle of his hips.
Shannon discovered that Brandon’s breeches were no real barrier against feeling the hard outline that defined his arousal. Panicking, she pressed her palms against his chest, pushing to escape him, and found the point of escape had long since past. Her movements, ineffectual as they were, only served to make the contact at their hips more intimate.
Sensing her fear, Brandon released his hold and placed his hands over the back of hers. “Touch me,” he repeated.
The choice was once again hers, and Shannon chose to follow the prompting of the desire blossoming within her. Shyly at first, her hands slid from beneath his and traced the taut planes of Brandon’s smoothly muscled chest. Her nails flicked across his nipples, and she discovered there was an echo of the response her own body had made. She felt him strain, moaning deeply in his throat, as she placed her mouth against his shoulder and, with a boldness unknown to her before, slipped her fingers along the edge of his breeches.
“Oh, sweet Shannon,” Brandon said, bringing her mouth to his. Her lips parted without any urging from him. He rolled them again on the blanket and felt the sun at the small of his back as he removed his breeches. He wondered at her reaction to seeing him in the full light of day. What if she was repelled? Did he have the strength of will and body to call a halt?
But Shannon was not repelled. She was simply too stunned to register any reaction save astonishment.
She was unprepared for the raw beauty of Brandon’s body and, much to her embarrassment and his amusement, found she was incapable of looking away. As if the sun were already not hot enough, Shannon was burning from the inside out.
Brandon nudged Shannon’s thighs apart and knelt between them. Slipping his hands beneath her hips, he raised her to him. Shannon shut her eyes. She thought: He will find out now that I am useless to him, that what he wants will be as nothing. He will surely want to beat me then. A wave of pure misery swept over her, tempering the pleasure that had coursed through her earlier. She was tight and unready for Brandon’s entry.
She cried out, then brought her hand to her mouth, biting into the fleshy pad of her palm as Brandon thrust into her. “N-no.” Her head moved from side to side in negation of the pain. “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.
Sweet Jesus! She was a virgin. Brandon’s body stilled even as his thoughts rioted. He had known she was innocent of love’s pleasures, but nothing had led him to believe she was a virgin. “Stewart was impotent, wasn’t he?” he asked more roughly than he intended.
