Rose of Betrayal (50 page)

           
Stunned
by the sight of Sam's jogging suit laying in a pile on the floor and suspecting
nothing remained underneath the blanket, halted Brad at the top of the
stairs.
 
Circumstances were not good, he
sputtered.
 
It took him sometime to find
just the right clothing to hide all her attributes, now this.
 
Simply hand her the clothes and back away, he
preached.
 
His heart skipped with each
descending step.
 
Increasing anxiety contracted
stomach muscles.

           
The
creaking of the steps invited Sam's attention.
 
In his haste to put on a dry jogging suit, Brad neglected to zip the
front of the jacket now dangling open, the light color calling attention to the
black fur covering his chest and continuing downward in a narrow strip to
become concealed by the elastic band squeezing a trim waist.
  
The rays of the fire reflected off the gold
pendant around his neck, and though untidy tendrils disguised his brows, there
was no concealing the raven eyes holding her in suspended animation.
 
No man should look so positively edible. He
was doing it again.
 
Stop it, she
screamed quietly.
 
Eyelids closed she
planned, reach out, take the clothes and run as far and as fast as you can.

           
 
Brad's steps slowed the moment Sam faced him,
the fire's glow behind casting a halo of highlights off ebony hair.
 
Looking like a swaddled child waiting for an
embrace, there, in her twinkling eyes, was the familiar fear he never ceased to
rouse.
  
Why was she so afraid of him,
or, was it possible she did not trust herself.
 
Fear was good, he concluded, it would keep Sam from lowering her
guard.
 
If she did, it would be all
over.
  
Retreating now would be wise his
conscience warned.
 
He couldn't.
 
His feet moving without conscious control
brought him within reaching distance of her before his brain screamed
halt.
  

           
Surely,
Sam was a demon.
 
Only a demon possessed
the proficiency to generate the turmoil inundating him.
 
To surrender meant losing his soul.
 
The woman–child standing before him, full of
youth, and innocence, absolutely, captivating, the subliminal movements of her
body, was teaching ambitions folly. What good was success if there was no one
at night to greet you?
 
That was why he
paid the price for her shop.
 
Money was
unproductive unless used to make a loved one happy.
  
For Sam he would have sold his soul, it was
no good without her anyway.

           
Sam
smiled, a smile, seeming to cast its' shadow like magic over Brad's handsome
features.
 
Meanwhile inside she whined
quietly, don't come any closer.
 
Her
knees were wobbling like
Jello
, her chest fluttering
like butterflies.
 
It took a conscious
effort to compel her lungs to breath.
 
Moist heat shot to her vulnerability as he handed her the clothes.
 
If he touched her, grazed her, she'd . . .

Speak say something, anything, an
invisible being coached Brad, “These were all I could find.”

“Thank . . . you . . . Thank you . .
. not for . . .
 
the clothes, but . . .
That's why I came, to thank you.”

           
Deep
throaty whispers floating out in waves pulverizing Brad's senses sent currents
to lungs zapping the oxygen from them.
 
His heart, like an elevator, shot upward with a rush of pneumatic air,
then plummeted, and he wondered how Sam would feel if knowing his gift was
nothing considering he would give his life to insure her happiness, health, and
safety.

           
The
barest touch of Brad's finger to her lips robbed Sam's remaining strength. Her
heart hopped into her throat, its pulse pounding in her eyes.
 
She lowered her head afraid he might see it
beating there.
 
The weight of the blanket
became a burden she could no longer carry, and as the blanket fell into a heap,
bolts of light burst through the windows and rumbling shook the room warning of
impending disaster.
  
Taking his position
between them, the devil took a bow.

           
Brad
was positive the floor quaked beneath his feet.
 
Yearnings began plundering his mind, he would simply look, that's all,
before covering her divine body and leaving, he could do it, he had left her
before.
 
Bending slowly awkwardly to
claim the blanket, his eyes began painting Sam's body like a feather.
 
Her dark skin shined like satin, the round
firm hills of her breasts were expanding with each breath, the dark tips
protruding pleading to be conquered.
 
The
lean curves of her rib cage and stomach made his mouth water from want.
 
Dark curls ended where ultimate desire could
be quenched, there shapely thighs promised to cling tightly during passions
bliss, and from there to even more enticing knees and calves.
  
Now he knew how all Story Book heroes’ felt
when facing their waterloo. God, even her toes were perfect, he believed, as
lust's dew coated his skin, and a hurtful pulsing enlarged his penis.
  
If he looked a few seconds more, he would
have had Sam without even touching her - the ultimate climax.
 

Sensing Brad's gaze on her feet, Sam
wriggled her toes, marveling at how easily he made her feel ill-at-ease.

           
Yes,
he confessed tightening his hold, he had fallen from heaven with grace to be
swallowed and drowned in the sea of love whose undercurrent was dragging him
down and expelling him repeatedly.
 
It
was not him raising the blanket to enshroud the goddess, fastening it securely
so not one inch of her tempting body was exposed. He was too busy hanging on
for dear life as if dangling from a cliff over a bottomless gorge.
 
The Brad Johnson of long ago would never have
denied himself such celestial pleasure, never, but then, he had never known
such an all-encompassing love.

           
Knowing
Brad was drinking in the scenery so brazenly offered Sam closed her eyes
waiting in anticipation for the fingers that would surely play the melody she
longed to hear.
 
She felt the heat of his
eyes, the yielding in her senses as he slowly explored her with smooth sweeps
making sure he owned every inch of each forbidden place, his eyes stroking, penetrating,
making her shudder.
 
His hunger for every
part seemed insatiable as he claimed each forbidden place without a touch.
 
The maestro had superseded her will.
 
Before the night was over she had to know how
the story ended in order to calm the turbulence inside and discover the answer
to the question haunting her - was it possible to love one man and desire
another.
 

Blue eyes flew open in
wonder as he wrapped her in the blanket instead of his arms. Was something
wrong?
 
She had finally revealed her body
to the one who had claimed her soul and he dared to refuse it.
 
Did he want her to beg, she would, of course,
her need for him at the moment so oppressive.

“Look at me, Princess.
  
I want to see your eyes search mine for
whatever it is that frightens you about me and lay it to rest.”

           
Feeling
inadequate to satisfy the king of seduction, she wondered if possibly he
enjoyed humiliating her with his refutation of her most precious gift and in
doing so sentence her to eternal punishment.
 
Acute embarrassment made her cling to the blanket. Again, her eyes
closed, but the pressure of her tears raised the lids sufficiently to allow
them to flow and burn her flushed cheeks.
 

           
Brads
hands cupped each side of Sam's head, his touch unbearable as his thumbs wiped
at the ceaseless stream until
 
her lids
flickered open and the Sapphire gems pelted his heart.
 

           
Sobs
wrenched from Sam, mixed with cracking words, “Tell me . . . it's my . . .
imagination . . . tell me you . . . don't . . . want me.
 
Tell me anything, . . . but please . . .
don't just stand there touching me.
 
This
is what you want isn't it?”

Shaken to the core, Brad clamored to
answer, but didn‘t.

           
Peppered
with anger Sam's voice became stronger, louder.
 
“You knew all along, didn't you, you knew eventually I would
surrender.
 
Now you are basking in the
glory of refusing it.
 
Damn you.”
 
Annoyed and outraged by her unruly tongue
running away, how he had raped her without the slightest touch leaving her
wanting, her fists began to flail his chest.
 

           
The
cushion of the blanket did little to prevent his fingers from biting into
slender arms attempting to thwart her.
  
Flames from the fireplace finding charcoal eyes said her words had cut
him to the bone.
 
She didn't care, he
deserved to hurt, for she was dying from his renunciation, from shame.
 
How dare he refuse her?

           
The
deep voice spewing confusing words poured gasoline on the inferno inside.
 
“You're wrong, so wrong, but not about me
wanting you.
 
I have from the moment I
laid eyes on you.
 
I can't sleep, I can't
eat, I can't think from wanting you, but , . .”
 
Brad's confession was like a valve releasing pressure from a steam
engine except it was only a partial confession. Those that would have relieved
potent emotions died in his throat.
  
I
love you, Sam. I need you.
 
I want
you.
 
Marry me.

           
Mentally
and physically exhausted, Sam's knees buckled forcing her against him.
 
Even the thick dark matting of his chest
would not soak up her tears, her sobs, and hiccups mimicking those of a
distressed child.
 
She wondered as he
lifted his head upward if he was trying to stop the tears she was almost
certain were trying to put out the fire in his eyes.

           
His
hands moved to her elbows to gather her closer, the degree of his anger
multiplying the intensity of his grip.
 
“Damn you, Sam.
 
Why did you have
to come?
 
Why is this happening,” he was
trembling too, she felt it.
 
Raising her
head to dare another look, the flickering illumination revealed tears coursing
down his cheeks.
 
Hands typically
soothing and gentle, now held her away shaking her savagely making her wonder
what there was about her that made men so angry.
 
Was it because she possessed the proficiency
to unsheathe their weaknesses?
   

           
Reclaiming
control, Brad disengaged his hands abruptly.
 
Loathing his own sensitivity, he resented Sam for filling him with
confused feelings.
 
Turing to retreat, he
barked words brimming with ridicule.
 
“Get dressed.
 
You should not be
here.
 
Go home, now!
 
Remember Ted, your finance.
 
He’s the one you should be with tonight?
 
Isn't he the one you love?
 
The one you're going to marry?
 
You belong to him.
 
Get out!”
 
Proud he’d made it half way across the room offered a false sense of
control.
 
If he got mad enough, he would
not have to deal with the throbbing in his head, his chest, his . . . Damn her!

           
With
a sudden burst of temper, a wail of crisp, cold utterances sounding too loud in
the stillroom halted Brad and shredded the remains of his self-control.
 
So fierce was Sam's fury she almost
hyperventilated.
 
How dare he turn his
sarcastic anger on her, she fumed, feeling a treacherous flicker of
response.
 
“You must be proud of
yourself, Brad Johnson.
 
You're quite a
successful businessman aren't you?
 
You
live in the milieu with the rest of the pin-stripe suits, drink double Martini’s,
drive the latest, most expensive sports car, only you take it one step further
by seducing every woman that comes along.