For Eric's Sake (15 page)

"Oh, but I couldn't take
your
money," said Brandy, awed by his gesture when she had only just met him. "Not any more than I can ask Shaw for it."

"Why not?" He grinned, and Brandy knew he could be almost as persuasive as his brother. "It's all in the family. Besides, I see it as an investment more than anything… sort of like owning stock in a racehorse or something. I expect it'll pay off in the long run."

Brandy laughed at being compared to a racehorse, and asked if he thought she remotely resembled a nag. In minutes they were both laughing so hard neither one heard the front door open and Shaw walk into the kitchen where they sat over now-cold cups of coffee.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" He scowled, and Brandy wondered what had happened at the restaurant to make him so ill-tempered.

"Oh, Shaw!" She scrambled up as quickly as if she had been caught in bed with Marcus—and from the way Shaw's eyes flashed at the two of them, she might as well have been. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."

"Hello, old man," said Marcus, standing up and extending his hand in greeting. "I must say you don't look too happy to see me."

Shaw's glare was answer enough, but he shook his brother's hand nevertheless.

Brandy looked from one man to the other, the resemblance more obvious now that they stood in the same room. Shaw's attitude confused her. From what Marcus had said, Shaw had summoned him, yet Shaw did not seem too pleased to see him.

"Why don't the two of you get reacquainted in the living room," she suggested, "while I get something started for dinner."

"Don't bother about us," said Shaw, without even looking at Brandy. "We're going out. And it might be late before we get back in. Just make up the couch, will you? For Marcus to sleep on."

So that
was
it. Whether or not Marcus had legitimate business here with Shaw, one service he would be providing was occupancy of the couch—where Shaw had been forced to sleep these past two weeks. That meant, unless she moved in with Eric—which Shaw would probably forbid her to do now that they had a witness within hearing distance of any arguments they might have—Shaw would be sharing his bed with her tonight and every night Marcus remained here.

"But, Shaw—" she protested, feeling trapped, although earlier she had been willing to invite him to bed. She had misread his motives if he would invite his brother there just to give him an excuse to have access to her. Love had never entered his mind. How could it when lust was eating up his heart? she thought.

He stared down at her, his green eyes flashing as if to challenge her to defy him. "I'll talk to you later," he said quietly, but the authority in his voice nailed her to the wall. Even if she could find her voice, he wouldn't hear a thing she had to say.

"I'll wait up for you," she squeaked, sounding like the perfectly obedient wife.

"Don't," Shaw said, and by the look of him he knew it was perfectly clear to both of them where he would be sleeping that night.

"It's been nice meeting you," Brandy raised her voice for Marcus, who had walked out of the kitchen to give her a few minutes alone with Shaw.

"Yes, extremely charming." Marcus smiled at her. "I'll talk to you later."

"Goodbye, Uncle Marcus," Eric said from his place in front of the television set.

Shaw's scowl darkened, and Brandy thought,
he's jealous
! Just because Eric took to his brother more quickly than he had taken to Shaw. Brandy wanted to smooth her hand over Shaw's brow to assure him that to Eric, Shaw was still his hero. But he didn't give her the chance, and it would probably have angered him further if she had tried something so intimate in front of Marcus.

Brandy found it difficult to settle down that evening. The time was somewhat bearable while Eric was still awake and she could forget her fears by reading to him, playing with his toys and treating him to a special evening snack of homemade fudge. She would have kept him up later than usual, just to have his company and keep her thoughts of Shaw at bay, but the day in court, meeting Marcus and the full evening of playing with Brandy had worn him out. He was practically nodding off to sleep before she could tuck him between the covers.

What now
? she asked herself, when it was only 9:30 and she was too keyed up to watch television or read a book, although she tried both. If it had not been for Eric asleep in the next room, she would have slipped out of the apartment just to go for a walk—anything to get away from Shaw. His presence was just as profound in the apartment when he was gone as it was when he was home.

She could smell the scent of him from his collection of toiletries, and his arrogance was stamped on his bold decorating. When she tried playing some of his records, she was reminded of his smoky, seductive green eyes laughing at her, enticing her into his arms.

It was after midnight when she finally crawled into bed, dressed in her most demure set of lounging pajamas—a jumpsuit. As she lay stiffly in bed, tensed for the sound of the door, she hoped Shaw would find gaining access to her body as difficult as opening the tin of a sardine can. She wished the outfit had feet sewn into it, but that would just irritate Shaw, and make it all the more difficult for her to pretend she despised his touch when, in fact, she found herself wanting him more and more each day.

The luminous dials of the clock read 3:46 when Shaw came in. He and Marcus were being very quiet tiptoeing around, and the carpet muffled most of the sounds. She heard movements in the kitchen where they were quietly talking. Dare she creep closer to the door to try to catch their conversation, she wondered? With her luck Shaw would open the bedroom door and she would fall into the living room. It was safer to lie here trying to guess what they were doing.

Then she heard the sound of running water in the bathroom next door. Of course, it could be Eric getting a drink of water in the middle of the night, but more than likely it was Marcus getting ready for his sofabed, for in the next instant the bedroom door opened and Shaw stood there, his feet spread apart, his body outlined by the soft backlighting of a lamp from the living room.

His hair was falling onto his forehead and she wondered why he stood there hesitating, surveying her and the bed like some kind of swarthy pirate about to ravage and plunder. All he needed was a sword in a sheath at his side to complete the picture, and mentally she drew it in, knowing he didn't need a weapon to force her to surrender.

She wanted him to take her. She wanted to taste his brand of lovemaking, because she already belonged to him body and soul. The problem was that he didn't love
her
. He just loved her body because it was the piece of candy she held out of his reach.

She must have called out his name, involuntarily, unable to deny the pain of her longing.

Just as he was about to turn away, he caught the sound of his name and moved back into the room. "What?" He stepped closer, his eyes piercing the gloom of the room in the light straying from the living room. "I thought you were asleep."

Her heart was pounding. Was he just stopping in to check on her? Had he no intention of sliding into bed with her tonight when his brother would be sleeping on the couch? Surely that was the only reason Shaw had asked Marcus to visit—just so he would have an excuse to claim his rightful place in his bed.

"No," she whispered, unable to say anything else, for he was unknotting his tie now, stretching his neck as he unbuttoned the starched collar of his shirt. It filled her with delight just to watch these simple actions of his, to know that she was close enough to touch him.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, his thigh touching her knee through the coverlet. She could feel the heat of his body and smell the scent of him. He began pulling off his shoes, just as he must have done countless times, times when she hadn't lain here in his bed, times when he had been alone, or when some other woman had been in her place.

"Mind if I turn on the light?" he asked.

"No," she croaked, watching his powerfully muscled arm reach to the lamp switch on the night table beside her head. He stood up then and padded across the room, kicking the door shut with his toe as he began undoing his shirt, his face distracted, as if he were alone.

It would be this way if I weren't here
, thought Brandy. He was so tired all he could think about was sleep. But his eyes caught hers and the look said he would be aware of her if she were sleeping ten miles instead of ten steps from him. "Mind if I sleep here tonight?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically, resenting the fact that he had to ask permission to use his own bed. "The couch is pretty cramped for sleeping."

Of course Brandy couldn't protest, especially with Marcus sleeping outside the door. They had to keep up appearances of a loving, honeymooning couple, even to close family, for Eric's sake. "If all you want to do is sleep—" She wanted to make her position clear.

"It's not all I
want
to do," he made his own desires explicit, "but it's all I intend to do at this point. I'm dead tired and I have no desire to have a hairpulling, backscratching fight at this hour of the morning. I can see it in your eyes—that's all I'd get if I so much as tried to kiss you goodnight."

Brandy's eyes rounded. She was wary of him, because she wanted him to make love to her, and she was afraid of what would happen when he did. But she also wanted him badly, and worried that her desire would show in her eyes.

He stripped off his shirt and threw it onto a chair. "I won't have to fight to get you," he reminded her. "When the time is right, we'll both know it. And you'll want me just as much as I want you. You'll come to me willingly enough."

"Don't hold your breath waiting," she told him, at the same time wondering herself how much longer she could resist touching him when he was so close.

"I'm going to take my pants off now, in case you want to look the other way," he grumbled.

Brandy turned away from him onto her side, and pulled the covers up closer to her chin.

She could hear all the sounds of his final undressing, the intimacy of being in such a position filling her with a breathlessness she could not control. She tensed as she felt him come up behind her. Would he haul her into his arms in spite of all his talk of her coming to him? Would he find her irresistible, even wearing this terry Winnie-the-Pooh-style outfit? Would he reach out and caress her as he had done the previous evening?

He turned out the bedside light, filling the room with shadows that seemed to make him closer to her than ever before.
When
? she asked herself. When would he take her in his arms and tell her he loved her?

"Move over." He nudged her back with his knee. "You're sleeping on my side of the bed."

Brandy scrambled to the extreme side of the bed. The nerve of the man! Treating her as if she were a cold fish! For two wooden nickels she'd show him she had a lot more to offer than whatever woman it was he spent most of his nights with. But maybe that was what he was counting on—making her angry enough to get her into his arms.

"Excuse me," she sniffed, "for trespassing."

"There's room enough for both of us. And you can even have this side if you like it so much. But you have to share it with me. I've had enough of that lumpy couch." She could hear his stretching. "This thing feels so good it can almost distract me from the thought of who's here with me."

"I certainly wouldn't be sharing your bed with you, Shaw Janus, if I had any choice in the matter."

"Oh?" He yawned. "Don't you have a choice in the matter? You should be able to tell now that this thing is big enough for two people to sleep in without having to come into contact with each other at all. If that's what you want," he added as an afterthought. "I think you'll also admit it's a lot more comfortable than that overstuffed sofa out there. One thing it's taught me is never to buy anything on looks anymore—from sofas to wives."

Brandy gritted her teeth. "If you must sleep in this bed, you don't have to insult me. Believe me, if there was anything I could do about it, we wouldn't both be in this bed right now."

"If that's how you feel about it," his voice was lazy over a long yawn, "then find somewhere else to sleep. I don't care."

"And where for heaven's sake?"

"Try the couch." He turned over, his back to her as if to put an end to their discussion.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? It'd give you an excuse to accuse me of being unfaithful—sleeping with your brother. Well, no thanks."

He yawned before he answered.

"Marcus isn't here."

"He isn't?" Brandy sat up in bed, dragging the covers with her. "Where is he? I thought I heard him in the bathroom."

"Must have been Eric," he mumbled.

"You mean, he's not spending the night here?"

"No. He thought he'd go to a hotel and give us a little newlywed privacy. He likes to write it off on his expense account, and a hotel gives him some privacy, too."

"But—but—"

"Yes?"

"Then why did you have me make up the couch for a bed?"

"Because," he turned back over and she could imagine him lying with his hand behind his head, watching her, even though he couldn't see her, in the dark, "I thought you probably wouldn't like the idea of sharing my bed, and I'm tired of sleeping out there."

She wanted to smother him with a pillow, but any move she made toward him would just have him laughing at her. She was tempted to stay in his bed to prove him wrong, but she knew that while he wouldn't touch her at that moment since he was taking such pleasure in making fun of her, she couldn't trust his aloofness to last through to morning. If she uttered another word, she might end up doing something she would regret.

"It's probably not half as lumpy as you think it is." She scrambled out of bed, dragging the coverlet with her.

"Oh, no." He grabbed at the covers. "My bedding stays with my bed, which, I'll say again, you're welcome to share."

"No, thank you," she said primly.