Branded Sanctuary (2 page)

“No. I was interested. Am. Can you…keep going?”

“But then,” he continued, “I thought, well, she and Gen are taking care of the tea room while Marguerite‟s on her honeymoon, so maybe it‟s that. Maybe she‟ll still call.

So here you are.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he tactfully avoided all the months where Marguerite‟s honeymoon wouldn‟t have been an excuse. “I‟m so glad you did. I‟ve been thinking a lot about you. You made a big impression.” She stopped again. One small step from the bathroom, she stared at it. Maybe she could hold it until daylight. Too many shadows. “A bigger impression than I‟m making now?”

“If I could have picked one person in the whole world to call me at three in the morning, it would have been you.”

“Why?” She imagined him lying on his back in his bed. He slept shirtless, she was sure, and maybe he‟d have one muscular arm propped behind his head, the other holding the phone. How delighted those sheets must be, sliding along that lean, bare body. Maybe he slept naked.

Okay, that was more like herself. She was at the threshold. Quickly, she groped around the corner and snapped on the light. She let out a short scream.

“Chloe?” The instant, urgent concern in his voice jerked her back.

“It‟s okay,” she gasped. “Just clothes…hanging in the shower. Looked scary.”

“Oh.” She heard him draw a steadying breath as well. “Well, cotton blends can be menacing. I‟m convinced my shoes come out of the closet at night and form a ring around my mattress, stare at me through their eyelets, like spiders waiting to pounce.” It startled a giggle out of her. “You do not think that. You‟re trying to make me feel better about being a big chicken.”

“On the contrary. You‟re a petite, cute chicken.”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “People always call me cute.”

“Try being a guy born with the innocent expression of Beaver Cleaver. I thought the longer hair and a bit of stubble would help, but all the hair does is make women want to pet me like a golden retriever. The stubble itched.”

“I didn‟t think that at all. When I saw you, I thought you were a handsome guy.”

“Yeah, but if a bunch of terrorists had crashed the party, you all would have flocked behind Tyler and that other guy, Mac.”

“That‟s because Tyler is ex-CIA or some other freaky secret agency thing, and Mac is a homicide cop.”

“And because they look manly and heroic.”

She smiled. “You‟re being very manly and heroic right now. But I know what you mean. Just for once, I‟d like a guy‟s first impression to be how sexy I am.”

“I thought that. I would have jumped you at the wedding if you hadn‟t been on crutches. It didn‟t seem very sporting.”

She laughed outright. “I‟m going to put you on hold a second, okay?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah…I just… I need to go to the bathroom. Can you wait a second?”

“As long as you need. But come back soon.”

It was amazing, but the soothing timbre of his voice stroked her as if he were standing in the room with her. She wished he were. While usually she could flirt and tease with the best of them, and virginity was a distant memory, she really didn‟t go to bed with a guy on the first date. However, in this vulnerable moment, she‟d have taken him to her bed in a heartbeat. She wondered if Brendan would be the rare type of guy willing to just curl around her, hold her without doing anything else, if that was what she wanted.

After taking care of her bathroom needs, she found her nerves had steadied even further. She was certain it was as much because of his presence as her now more comfortable physical state. She pressed the button. “Are you still there?”

“As promised. What can I do for you now?”

She sat back down on her bed. “Well.” She made a game attempt to be the person he‟d met at the wedding, when everything had been magic and light, no room for fear or shadows. “You could tell me what you‟re wearing. Sorry, I‟m tired and I can only manage clichés.”

“Do you want me to go—”

“No,” she said, probably way too quickly, but he sounded pleased.

“Okay, then. When it comes to nakedness, guys really don‟t consider anything a cliché.”

“You‟re naked?” She squeaked it, then cleared her voice. “You‟re bullshitting, to distract me. You probably wear footie pajamas, Beaver.”

“You found me out. No, seriously.” His voice lowered, murmured in her ear in a husky tone. “I am completely, entirely, head-to-toe, naked. Under a light sheet.”

“How far up is the sheet?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

“I can see my right hipbone. The other side is up a little higher, on my stomach.” With a hipbone bare, if he was on his back and she stood at the right side of the bed, she would see his bare ass against the mattress. She pressed her lips together.

“What about you,
le poulet petit?
Are you naked?” The French rolled off his tongue and turned the remains of cold fear in her belly to heat.

“Would you like that?”

“I would,” he said. “But I‟d like a nightgown as well. Sometimes what women wear is as provocative as the flesh beneath. You have a way of making the two work so well together.”

“What would you do first, if we were together?”

“Hmm… Well, considering we‟re both naked…” He waited a pregnant pause and she stifled a giggle, refusing to answer. “I‟d pull you in my arms and hold you. Just hold you, until all those shakes went away. Rub your back, stroke your hair. Wipe the tears from your face. Promise you no one is ever going to hurt you again, because I won‟t let them. I‟d make the nightmares go away.”

Chloe swallowed over a jagged ache developing in her throat. “Oh, Brendan. You‟re really being far too nice. I‟m never going to hear from you again, am I? You‟re going to help this pitiful wretch through her nightmare and then decide you want to go date a nice normal girl who doesn‟t call you at 3 a.m. I‟d tell you I‟m not usually like this, and I‟m not, but I don‟t know…lately I haven‟t been myself.” He was silent a long moment. “Chloe, you took on a crazy psychotic, a convicted felon who‟d served hard time. You fought him tooth and nail to protect a child. Jesus, he had to beat you nearly to death to get her away from you. You were brave as hell.”

“No,” she quavered, brushing away the few tears that rolled out of her eyes against her will. These days, she always seemed ready to cry, but she‟d become tyrannical about it, refusing to allow more than a few to squeeze out at a time. A contrast to the easily emotional person she‟d been, who‟d accepted tears as easily as laughter, feeling both were cathartic. That was before.

“It wasn‟t that. All I could think about was what he‟d do to Natalie if he took her from me, and I knew he was going to. I knew I‟d rather have him kill me than survive to find out what he‟d done, all because I wasn‟t strong enough to stop him. When Marguerite found me, I wanted to be dead. If she hadn‟t gotten to her in time…”

“No, don‟t think that.” He responded immediately. “No matter what happens in life, Chloe, no matter how bad it gets, you can get through it. There‟s always someone out there whose hand you can hold, so the abyss doesn‟t pull you in.”

“Like yours.” She wiped at her eyes again. “Thanks.”

“Like mine. From now on, I want to be the first person you call when you feel this way, okay? Then you‟ll feel so guilty, you‟ll have to go out with me.”

“You‟d
guilt
me into dating you?”

“Oh yeah, pretty much. With this pretty-boy innocent face, I don‟t get many of the hot women.”

“Yeah, right. Now you are bullshitting me. I‟ve seen you. Women would catfight to go out with you.”

“Anytime you feel like staging one, I‟m there. Clothing optional. Heated body oil would make my year.”

Again the laughter rolled over her. Chloe curled back in the bed, pulling the covers up and watching the candles burn inside the glass bowl. “Thanks. Thanks for making me feel not so pathetic.”

“That‟s the very last thing I consider you. Now we were on the whole naked thing…”

She chuckled. “One-track mind.” On a whim, she wriggled out of the sleep shirt and panties. “Okay, I‟m naked now.”

Another pause. “Really?”

“Really. I was wearing a Save the Whales sleepshirt and pink underwear.”

“Lace, cotton, thong?”

“Lace, cotton, no thong.” She smiled. “Not really comfortable for sleeping, but if you want to imagine…”

“Men prefer to think women sleep in teddies or thongs and demi-bra sets. And slip into stiletto heels when they get out of bed.”

“So their butts will do that provocative swing as they walk to the shower?”

“Absolutely. Are you really naked?”

“
Brendan.
” She laughed at him. “Tell me more about
you
being naked.”

“Is that a command?”

There was a curious space of time after the question that tingled with something unusual. Intrigued by it, she bit her lip. “Yes.”

“All right, then. I‟m lying on my back. I‟m using an earpiece, so I have both hands laced behind my head. I‟ve propped up a knee, so the sheet has slipped.”

“What can I see now?”

“You‟d pretty much see all of me, except for part of one leg, about to mid-thigh. I‟m being a slut for you, but only to help you through your nightmare.”

“Oh.” Even as she smiled, her breath sighed out of her. “Will you…touch yourself?”

“I don‟t know. May I?” That pause again that made her chest tighten, like the panic attack but far more pleasurable. “You have the control, Chloe. I‟m all yours.” She had to find her tongue, but when she did, the answer came without hesitation.

“Yes.”

“All right, then. I‟m sliding my palm down the center of my chest, over my stomach…slow…”

Chloe closed her eyes, imagined that tanned hand moving over muscular pecs, a taut brown nipple, down to the ridged abdomen she was sure he‟d have. Down, down.

“Do you want me to go lower, Chloe? Touch myself there?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Your wish is my command. Do you prefer a certain word for…”

“What do you call it?”

“Depends on the day. Cock, dick. Bane of my existence, reason for living…”

“Cock.” She stumbled over it a little, grinning, but nervous too. “I don‟t like penis.

It makes me think of my six-year-old nephew playing naked in the sprinkler. He kept shouting out the word penis to shock everyone.”

“Well, I definitely don‟t want you thinking about that.” That sensual amusement was in his voice again. “So I‟m gripping the base of my cock, stroking upward. I‟m hard for you, Chloe. If that doesn‟t offend you.”

“It doesn‟t,” she said with a dry throat. Her nightmare seemed very far away.

“I wish I could see you. You had beautiful breasts. Perfect. I wanted to touch them at the wedding.”

“That might have been awkward.”

“Fortunately, I restrained myself. Will you touch them for me now? Imagine it‟s my hands on them?”

She remembered his hands. She‟d watched them avidly, whether they were clasping a utensil or wine stem, or holding out a chair for someone. When he‟d asked her to dance, his hand had folded over hers, the other low on her back, warm and strong as they turned together. Why the hell hadn‟t she called him earlier? He likely would have been in her bed tonight, and this never would have happened.

He was taller than she was, and her head had fit perfectly into the hollow of his throat. He‟d laid his jaw on the crown of her head, and she‟d almost fallen asleep as they swayed, because her injuries had still been healing. Despite his joke about crutches, she‟d actually been using a cane that day. Though her leg had ached horribly, she‟d wanted one dance. By the time she finished that one song, he‟d been bearing almost all her weight. He‟d have carried her back to her chair if she‟d let him.

Sliding her hands up, she cupped her breasts, feeling self-conscious, though of course she‟d aggressively cupped them before in this room, when she‟d pleasured herself. Imagining countless alpha heroes, she‟d even fantasized about Tyler more than once. Not that she‟d ever tell Marguerite that, but Goddess, no woman with a pulse could help but fantasize about that man. After the wedding, she‟d fantasized about Brendan quite a bit, but with the nightmares, she hadn‟t had the energy to see any of it through in some time. It had probably been six months since she‟d managed an orgasm alone, let alone with anyone else. Of course, she would have to go out with someone to become more than a party of one, and that hadn‟t happened either.

Regardless, her libido was stirring in quite an alert fashion now, as if recalled from sabbatical on a NASA rocket red-eye flight. She was pleased by his comment, because she had generous C-sized breasts on her short, curvy frame. It contributed to the hourglass look that Gen had said most women would cheerfully commit all manner of sins to have.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you imagining my hands? I‟m imagining yours. I‟m imagining you stroking me, setting the pace, wanting to torment me as long as possible while I strain in your pretty small fingers.” When he spoke again, his voice was rough with a passion that told her his desire. “Do you want me to take this all the way, Chloe? Do you want me to come for you?”

“Yes.”
God, yes.

She heard the rasp of his breath elevate, knew his pace would be quickening. The curl of that capable hand would be stroking closer to the head, working the skin up against it, thumb probably pressing on the sensitive vein beneath. His balls would be drawing up, getting ready, his body turning into a hard statue of muscle and focused male need, buttocks getting tight as a drum head against the mattress, pushing his cock into his grip.