Navy Brat (Navy #3)

Navy Brat (Navy #3) Page 14

"Brand?" His name was a husky question on her lips.

"It’s all right, sweetheart," he assured her. "It only gets better after this."

His finger slid smoothly through the moist heat as she gently rolled and swayed her hips, seeking her own satisfaction. Lightly he pushed and explored, going deeper and deeper, again and again. In and out, in an age-old rhythm.

Her hands tightened into a painful grip at his shoulders. Her long nails dug into his flesh as she arched and, with a strangled moan, tossed back her head and panted, cried out as release exploded within her.

There was no such deliverance for Brand, however, and his body throbbed with frustration and denial. He held her for several moments more until her breathing had calmed. Then he broke away from her, walked over to the sink and braced his hands against the edge as he drew in deep, even breaths.

"Brand?" Erin’s silky smooth voice reached out to him. "Thank you… I never knew… I’ve never done anything like that with a man. I’ve never…"

His smile was weak at best, and when he spoke, his voice was husky and low. "I know."

"You did?"

He nodded.

"Can I do anything like that… for you?"

Brand shook his head fast and hard, the temptation so strong it nearly consumed his will. Nearly all his worthy intentions had been destroyed as it was.

"Can I?" she repeated.

He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. For good measure, he added verbally. "No."

"You’re sure?"

Hell, no, he wasn’t sure of anything at this point, but his mind was beginning to interject cool reason, and he took hold of it with both hands. How easy it would be for him to set aside their problems and make love to her until she saw matters his way. Once they’d crossed the physical barriers, Brand was certain, he could convince her to marry him. If he’d been a different kind of man, he might have done it, but Brand was convinced he’d hate himself for manipulating her, and eventually so would Erin. He couldn’t risk that.

Once he’d composed himself, he turned around and held out his hand to her. She slipped into his embrace, her arms cradling his middle.

"Why?"

Once again Brand didn’t require an explanation. She was asking why he hadn’t made love to her.

"We’re not ready."

He felt her lips form a smile against the hollow of his throat. "You could have fooled me."

Brand eased her away from him, holding her at arm’s length, his hands braced against her shoulders. "We’ll make love when we’ve reached a compromise. I’m not going to fall into the habit of settling our differences in bed, and that’s exactly what would happen. I’m not looking to have an affair with you, Erin. I want a permanent relationship."

Her shoulders sagged, and her head dropped. "There isn’t any compromise for us."

"There is if we want it bad enough."

Erin felt herself weakening against the powerful force of Brand’s personality. If only Brand weren’t so incredibly stubborn. He claimed he didn’t want them to complicate their feelings for each other by hopping into bed with one another. Good grief, a woman was supposed to be the one seeking commitment. If she wanted to make love, which she obviously had, then he should "damn the torpedoes" and comply with her wishes. But oh, no, he wouldn’t do that! He had to complicate everything by being decent and honorable.

If she’d had her way, they’d be in bed this very moment. She was so eager to relinquish her virginity that she’d practically thrown herself at him. Erin’s cheeks grew pink as she remembered the way she’d begged him to make love to her. She’d never been so brazen with anyone in her life. Not even in her wildest fantasies with Neal.

Neal was her make-believe lover. Okay, it was silly – stupid, even – but during college, she and her best friend, Terry, had read several books about setting goals and achieving dreams. Each and every one of those self-help books had claimed that one had to learn to visualize whatever it was one wanted in life.

One Saturday afternoon, when they were bored and lonely, convinced they were destined to live their lives alone, Erin and Terry had conjured up the perfect husband. Terry had named her lover Earl, and Erin had chosen Neal, because she liked the sound of the name on her tongue.

Last summer Terry had met and married a man she claimed was exactly like the one she’d created. Erin had flown to New Mexico for the wedding.

Brand, however, had little in common with her dream lover. Both men were tall, dark and handsome, naturally. If it were the physical attributes that concerned her most, then Brand would fill the bill perfectly. In fact, he was more attractive than anything she’d ever expected in a man.

Neal, however, had roots buried so deep they reached all the way to the center of the earth. He was from a well-established pioneer family. His great-great-grandfather had battled Indians and helped settle the area – not Seattle in particular, but any area.

He’d been born and raised in the same house. A home built on a corner, bordered by a tall, fenced backyard. Erin didn’t know why she’d decided on the corner house with the fenced yard, but it had a nice secure feel to it.

Once they were married, she and Neal would buy a house themselves, and it, too, would be on a corner. Once children arrived, they’d fence it, as well.

Her ideal man would have been popular in school, and his senior-class president. He was well liked and trusted by all who knew him. As for his profession, Erin saw him as a banker or an attorney or something equally stable. If he was offered a huge promotion, if it meant moving, he’d never accept it. His home and his extended family were everything to him. He wouldn’t dream of uprooting his wife and children for something as fleeting as a career opportunity.

Neal wasn’t wealthy. Money had never concerned Erin much, although it would be nice if he did happen to have a healthy savings account, since she tended to live paycheck-to-paycheck .

For the past several years, whenever Erin had dated someone new – which she hated to admit hadn’t been that often – she’d compared him to Neal. Her ideal man. The visualization of her dream husband.

Although Brand and Neal might be relatively close in physical attributes, they were worlds apart in every other area.

"What did you just say?" Brand asked, nuzzling her ear with his nose. They were sitting on the sofa, watching an old television movie. Most of the day had been spent walking around the Seattle Center, the site of the 1962 World’s Fair, and talking. Although they’d talked for hours on end, neither of them had spoken about their situation again or discussed their options.

"I said something?" Erin asked, surprised.

"Yes. It sounded like ‘Tell Brand about Neal.’"

"I said that out loud?" She scooted away from him and sat on the edge of the cushion, pressing her elbows into her knees. This habit of voicing her thoughts was growing worse all the time. Nothing was sacred anymore.

"Who’s Neal?"

"A… friend," she stammered, not daring to look at him. If she were to let Brand know that Neal was just part of her fantasy world, he’d book her into the nearest hospital and request a mental evaluation.

"A friend," Brand repeated thoughtfully. "Competition?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Why didn’t you mention him before now?" Brand’s voice had tightened slightly.

It seemed the perfect opportunity to pretend Neal was real, but that would mean lying to Brand, and Erin didn’t know that she could do it. She’d had such little practice at telling lies, and Brand would probably see through it in a second.

"I haven’t seen Neal in a while," she answered, stalling for time. She had to think fast, milk this opportunity for all it was worth and prove to Brand that she wasn’t as naive or as guileless as he seemed to believe.

"So he’s a friend you haven’t seen in a while?"

"That’s correct. Are you jealous?"

"Insanely so. Do I need to worry about him?"

"That depends."

"On what?" he demanded.

"Several things." She stretched and, leaning back, relaxed against him, tucking her feet beneath her.

It was all the invitation Brand needed. His hands stroked the length of her arms as he buried his mouth against her hair and said, "I’m not too worried."

"Good. There’s really no reason for you to be."

Brand slipped his mouth a little higher and nibbled at her earlobe. At the heated flow of tingling pleasure, she carefully edged away from him, unfolding her feet.

Brand caught her by the shoulders and brought her back against him. He pushed his fingers through her hair, lifting it away from the side of her neck, and kissed her there, his tongue moist and hot.

"As I said before," Brand murmured against her throat. " P m not concerned."

"Maybe you should be. He’s got a steady job. Roots."

"So do I."

A tiny smile edged up her lips. "Perhaps, but your roots are shallow and easily transplanted. Maybe you should consider Neal competition."

"Is that so?" He twisted her around and pressed her back against the sofa cushion, poising himself above her. His eyes held hers, reading her as best he could. Erin didn’t dare blink.

Slowly he lowered his head to the valley between her breasts and flicked his tongue over the warm flesh. His fingers laid open her lacy bra with a dexterity that should have shocked her, and in fact, did.

Erin clasped his head and sighed with welcome and relief as his mouth latched hungrily on a nipple and feasted heavily. The things he did to her breasts felt so good, so wonderful. To have him come to her like this, as if he were familiar with every part of her womanly body, as if the passion and the intimacy they shared made everything right. She arched and buckled beneath him, having trouble thinking coherently. He didn’t help matters any by transferring his attention to the other breast.

Brand made everything feel right. Such thinking was bound to lead her into trouble. Erin might as well believe she could walk on water or leap off a tall building without the least bit of worry as have him make love to her like this.

As nonsensical as it was, having Brand touch her caused all the problems in the world to fade from view. All the conflict between them shriveled up and died a quick and silent death. With her breasts filling his mouth and his hands creating a magic and a heat that threatened to bring her to that earth-shattering sensual explosion, there was no room for anything but feeling. No room for doubt. No room for fear. No room for questions.

His kiss raked her mouth while his hands shaped and molded her breasts, lifting them so that the hardened, excited peaks rubbed against the rough fabric of his shirt. She longed to feel her flesh against his, and she worked toward that end, nearly tearing the material as she tugged it free from his waist. After she popped one button, Brand pushed her eager hands aside and unfastened the few remaining buttons himself. With his help, she was able to peel off the only barrier between them, thin as it was.