“Of course,” he teased. “It’s perfectly reasonable to keep the key in the fireplace.”
Shannon nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “I didn’t keep it there. That’s where I threw it. I thought it would stop me from coming here.”
“But it didn’t.”
She raised her hands, examining both sides of them, and sighed. “No, you can see what happened.”
“It wasn’t weakness that brought you here, Shannon. It was your strength.” He let her think on that a moment before he scrambled out of bed, trailing a sheet behind him. It was hitched low over his hips, and he smiled to himself at the way Shannon’s eyes narrowed on his hasty fastening, as if she expected it to fall apart at any second—and secretly desired it should do so.
Shannon watched Brandon disappear behind a dressing screen and return a little later with a basin and pitcher, a towel flung over his shoulder, and a distinctive expression of mischief on his face. He set the basin on the bedside table, poured some water in it, and lighted several more candles. Wringing out the cloth he had put in the basin, he sat on the edge of the bed. Shannon fully expected him to wash himself, so she was startled when he began applying the damp cloth to her face first.
“I can do that,” she said.
“Of course you can,” he agreed solemnly. “And you’ll get your chance when I’m finished.” His eyes were dancing as his fingers tugged at the counterpane that modestly covered her breast. “As I recall, you have a bit of soot here as well.”
Shannon knew she did. She had clutched the key to her breast in an agony of indecision when she had finally retrieved it. Still, it seemed to her that Brandon was cleaning an area wider than was warranted by the mark. The cloth separated his hand from her skin, but it might as well have not been there. She felt only his palm against her breast and an aching fullness in the wake of his touch.
“Do you remember the evening I walked in while you were taking a bath?” he asked idly.
Shannon swallowed hard then nodded. She continued to watch the path of his hand.
“I wanted to do this then. You looked perfectly adorable. Especially when you sat up in the tub. I could see your breasts. They were damp, like they are now, and I remember thinking that I wanted to touch them.” Brandon felt Shannon tremble as his movements slowed to a tender massage. He tossed the cloth back into the basin and began drying her with the towel. “But that was before you screamed,” he added, grinning cheekily as he wiped the last droplet of water away. He feigned injury when Shannon yanked the towel from his unresisting hands and flicked him with it.
“Wretch! I think you delight in teasing me.”
Brandon agreed happily. “Hold out your hands. I think they are begging for my attention.” He shifted the basin to his lap and spent several minutes wiping the grime from her palms. When he was finished he emptied the bowl in a chamber pot and refilled it with fresh water. Setting it beside Shannon, he scrambled to the other side of her and gave her the cloth. “Now you shall have your chance,” he announced. “And you may tease me all you wish. I am not so mean-spirited that I would take offense.”
Shannon looked dumbly at the cloth in her hand, then at the trail of her fingers across Brandon’s body. Gathering the threads of her dignity and determined to make something of this that he was not likely to forget, Shannon dipped the cloth in the water and began scrubbing Brandon’s shoulder. She pretended not to notice that he winced at her less than gentle treatment, and carefully maintained a grave expression when she really wanted to burst out laughing.
Shannon was not certain when her humor changed, and along with it, her intent. Perhaps it was when she watched water trickle from his shoulder, down his chest, and be absorbed by the sheet at his waist. The droplets of water that clung to the fine mat of hair on his chest trapped the candlelight. She could scarcely take her eyes away from the tiny beads of fire. She leaned forward and touched one of the beads to the tip of her tongue. She heard Brandon catch his breath. She touched another. Raising her face to his, she kissed him, letting him feel the sweet dampness on her lips.
Brandon was of the opinion that the kiss was too fleeting, more of a promise than a thing of reality. When he tried to make it deeper, Shannon pulled back from him, insisting he give her his back.
“It’s begging for my attention,” she said primly.
Brandon considered that perhaps hewasmean-spirited after all. Her teasing was sheer torture. He turned his back to her anyway and closed his eyes as she squeezed water from the cloth onto his shoulders. Her hand trailed along the length of his spine. She rubbed off each of her prints with the gentleness she would give to a baby’s skin or a fine piece of velvet. Then, imitating his own actions, she kissed each mark and branded him anew.
“You can turn around,” she said. When he complied she loosed the sheet and lowered it over his hip.
Brandon watched the color rise in her cheeks but made no comment. He studied her bent head as she applied herself to the task of removing the last of the soot. His hand went to the nape of her neck and then tightened in her hair when she lowered her mouth to kiss him there also.
He turned her on her back and trailed kisses across her collarbone. The sheet and the counterpane were discarded as their legs and arms sought the press of flesh to flesh. There were few words between them, but words were unnecessary as their bodies communicated hunger and need and, at last, the driving force of their passion.
They laughed once, both of them startled when the basin slid over the edge of the bed and banged on the floor, spilling its contents across the polished wood. Neither of them considered leaving the bed to clean it up, and their laughter was silenced by the much more important matter of exchanging kisses.
Brandon’s mouth adored the inside of Shannon’s wrist, tracing the delicate blue veins with the edge of his tongue. He teased the flat of her belly with his fingertips. His legs shifted between her slender ones and he felt her move, winding around him, rubbing against him as a cat would. She very nearly purred when his palm slid across her hip and brought her in closer contact with him. She smiled as the evidence of his desire was pressed against her.
Shannon’s hand brushed his chest, the tips of her fingers tracing the path of hair between his rib cage, down the center of his abdomen to the point where it tapered at his groin. There was the slightest hesitation before she reached for him, closing her hand around him and guiding him into her. She could not remove her eyes from the point of their joining. “Look at us,” she whispered.
Brandon did. Then, because he could not restrain himself, and did not believe she wanted him to, he lifted her hips and drove into her hard.
The rhythm that caught them was fiercely loving, a clash of bodies caught in mutual desire. There was violence and there was tenderness. Shannon’s fingers were pressed whitely to the bronze of Brandon’s flesh.
His kisses scored her senses.
In the aftermath there was only the sound of their breathing.
Brandon pulled the abandoned counterpane over their bodies while Shannon slipped an arm about his waist and nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder. He thought she had fallen asleep and was about to do the same when she spoke.
