Nola (8 page)

And yet, knowing
what she thought about marriage and men, he still let the situation pressure
her into marrying him. He'd known she wouldn't run, that she wouldn't tell him
"no" when he'd asked from one knee, flashing both his mother's huge ten carat
diamond and also his grandmother' smaller, more demure one carat. He'd given
her both when she said yes. She'd worn his mother's as her engagement ring, but
she'd never taken his grandmother's off her right ring finger since then,
either.

He'd wanted her.
He still did, rabidly. Like an addicted who was constantly low on heroine or
morphine. She was his drug. He never tired of her. Hadn't yet, anyway, and he
was constantly at her. If she wasn't already pregnant, it wasn't for lack of
trying in the least.

He'd never been
addicted to anything but making money, and he supposed that wanting and needing
her all the time made him harder on her than he should be. He didn't mind
needing to make money - there was much more of a concrete result there, and his
innate business acumen had never let him down. Figures and numbers and balance
sheets didn't lie, didn't play games, and didn't cry at certain times of the
month.

But need a
woman? No Sir. That just wasn't right. He'd never needed much of anyone in his
life, and he certainly didn't want to need this little annoying chit.

She was
wandering around the room as if she'd lost her last friend, and it was almost
painful to watch. Finally, she came to stand in front of him.
"So.
Since I definitely disobeyed you about not arguing with
our dinner guest," She made it more than obvious by her tone that she was using
the term "guest" generously, "I wish you would just spank me and get it over
with. I'm tired and I'd like to go to sleep." It was then that he noticed that
she was holding one of his belts in her hands - even as they shook slightly. It
was one of the ones he'd used most often on her bottom. She would know. If he
wasn't already wearing one when he spanked her, and just took it out of his
pants loops, then he made her go to his closet and fetch one.

Brandon did his
best to hide his surprise. No one had ever - on their own - brought him a belt
with which to beat them. It was an interesting feeling. He took the belt from
her and inspected it casually, while she began to bunch her skirts up around
her waist - like they'd been before he'd brought her down to meet her doom -
and lower her bloomers to her ankles.

He stood up, the
belt still in his hand, just as she was leaning forward over the edge of the
bed, her body tense, obviously waiting for the first blow.

But instead of
feeling that first, God awful line of fire across her bottom, she instead felt
and hear the coil of the belt hit the bed, then felt him lift her into his arms
and carry her into the huge bathroom. When she'd first explored where she'd be
sleeping for the rest of her life, Nola had been amazed by the size of the
bathroom - it was easily the size of her whole bedroom at home. The fixtures
were all gold, and the tub was extra large - it would have to be to accommodate
her husband. That was where he put her, into the tub, drawing soothing warm
water into it as he sprinkled some of her favorite bath salts in, and settled
down next to the tub to dip his big hand, covered with a soft cloth, into the
slippery water, and begin to wash her, more gently than he'd ever touched her
before.

Brandon didn't
really know what he was doing. He didn't have a plan. He was just working
purely on instinct. He didn't want to spank her right now, although she'd
certainly earned it. She looked to unhappy to let him add to it, and he wanted
to have the wife he'd known over these short months back. Her acquiescence in
bringing him the belt, her downcast eyes and almost frighteningly blank face
had put an edge of fear into his heart that he didn't like in the least.

She seemed to
have shut down, and that was the last thing he wanted, and he found it was
tugging at his heart much more than he would have ever thought anything could.

He washed her
most thoroughly, but in a completely unhurried manner, as if they had all of
the time in the world. He added hot water when it started to chill, and
wouldn't let her get away with denying him access to her more interesting
areas, although his touch wasn't in the least sexual or demanding in any way.

In the end, it
was the gentlest, most tender exchange they'd ever had, but Nola only found
herself that much more confused by his sudden about face. She'd thoroughly
expected to end up sore but satisfied before she fell asleep, and it ended up
that she was neither. Brandon gathered her up in to an obscenely large, fluffy
bath sheet, drying her off as carefully and with as much attention to detail as
he had washed her, not leaving any crooks or crevices even the slightest bit
damp, using the lavender powder she favored and applying it liberally all over.

Then, she knew
she was dreaming, because he left her for just a second - not even warning her
not to move, but trusting she knew what he expected, she supposed - and
returned with her last remaining nightgown, the one she'd thought she'd hidden
from him, and wore sometimes if she felt poorly during the day when he wasn't
around, slipping it over her head, dressing her as if she was a child.

He lifted her
again, carrying her to their bed, and tucked her under the covers, following
her under them to hold her tight, and settling down as if he was going to go to
sleep.

"Uh, I'm not
getting spanked then?" she asked, tentatively, not really willing to believe
it. He'd never gone back on a punishment before.

"Not tonight,
anyway," he answered, kissing her lightly.

"Oh." Nola
fidgeted within his arms, trying to feel sleepy, but not quite achieving it
yet. Instead, she fussed with the sheet and comforter, and changed positions,
and scratched her nose, and accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

"I take it
you're not tired?" he asked wryly, his breath warm at her temple.

"No, I'm tired.
I'm just... well... I don't know. You didn't spank me... you're not going to...
um...uh... do the other either?"

It took him a
long moment to realize what "the other" was. "You mean make love to you?"

He knew even in
the darkness that her face was bright red. "Yes." Brandon heard her gulp hard,
and had to smile.

"No, I don't
think so tonight. I think you need some sleep."

Nola had thought
that she could not have been more surprised at his behavior, until the next
day, when he spanked her, but much more mildly than usual.

Brandon actually
took the entire day off to be with her. He'd never done such a thing in his
life, much less for his new wife. But his father thought it was a wonderful
idea, and sent them up to his cottage in the Hamptons for a long weekend, and
he spent the entire time with her. They rode - well, he began to teach her to
ride - and walked in the gardens and talked and he taught her how to play
chess, but then she taught him how to play Whist, and then the finally hit on
playing poker, and drafted several of their neighbors to do just that - penny
ante, of course, but it was still a riotously good time.

Brandon had
begun to think that they might have the beginnings of a reasonably good
relationship after that weekend. He was still at her every chance he could get
- he thought that they had probably christened nearly every bedroom in the
forty three room "cottage" - well before the weekend was over. And what was
even more interesting to him, though, was the fact that he was finding out that
he liked his wife.

She hadn't spent
much time around horses, and yet she didn't seem to be particularly afraid of
them or learning how to ride either. In fact, when he'd told her that he was
going to teach her to ride the next day, she'd gotten up early and gone down to
the kitchen to pester Cook for some apples and carrots, with which she
proceeded to bribe his carefully selected horseflesh. And she didn't just want
to learn how to
ride,
she wanted to learn how to care
for them, too. Usually, he called down to the stables and had his favorite
stallion waiting for him. But he certainly knew how to do anything necessary,
including mucking out a stable. When he misbehaved, that was one of his
father's favorite punishments for him - sending him down to the stables to
spotlessly clean out each and every one of the more than twenty stalls.

She was a lot
like him in that. If she was interested in something, she wanted to know
everything about it. Unfortunately, she was dressed in a blue velvet habit,
which weren't conducive to bending over and cleaning out hooves. He ended up
having the housekeeper alter a pair of his own Levi jeans, which everyone in
the family thought were disreputable on him, and would think were scandalous on
her. But he didn't care.

The next day, he
showed her the entire routine, let her help him groom their mounts, always
watching out for her safety, and then showing her how to put the saddle and
bridle on. He used a western saddle himself, since they weren't going to be
jumping, so he gave her the one that had been his when he was a child, and it
fit just about perfectly. She seemed to enjoy what she was doing, even though
when they finally returned to the house, they both pretty much stank of horse
and barn.

So they took a
bath.
Together.

He liked introducing
her to new things, and this was one of the best as far as Brandon was
concerned. The tub in the master bedroom suite at the cottage was easily big
enough for the two of them. He'd made sure that it was going to be hot for them
when they got there by sending one of the stable hands ahead of them once they
were almost done at the barn, to warn the staff to have everything ready for
them.

He hadn't had
many friends in his life. He wasn't the personable type. Most people didn't
find him very easy to be around - he was too intense. He was very smart in
school, but disliked jumping through the hoops necessary to get
himself
very good grades. He attended Harvard and graduated,
but didn't do very well academically there, either. He was too much of an
original, and didn't like to be told what to do under any circumstances.

Roger was
probably the only person on the planet that he could call more than a business
acquaintance. His father and his grandfather were more thorns in his side - and
if he was feeling very generous mentors - than anything else. It was nice to
have someone to talk to.

As he let his
hands roam over her soapy body - with no cloth between his inquisitive fingers
and her slick flesh - he wondered what she'd be like in a boardroom, and
figured she could be nothing but an asset. He had her tucked in front of him,
so that she was sitting in the cradle of his big body, her back to his front as
she leaned back. He knew she thought that this was completely opulent and
outrageous, and he supposed to a wide eyed recently deflowered virgin, he knew
it must seem that way.

But Brandon was
used to getting what he wanted - no matter how different it might seem - and he
wanted to bathe with his wife tonight, so that was exactly what he did.

She was the absolutely
perfect size for him. All in all, he thought, as he leaned his head back on the
edge of the tub, but kept his hands very busy and full of various parts of her,
he had done a pretty good job in picking her as his wife. He knew he had chosen
someone who was going to be a challenge, but that was fine with him. He'd
rather have someone interesting, with a mind and a will of her own - as long as
she realized that his will trumped hers - than a doormat without an original
thought of her own.

And she was absolutely
perfect for him physically. She was tiny where he was tall, she was soft and
round where he was angled and muscular. His hands naturally drifted up to cup
her breasts, massaging them gently, rolling and just slightly pinching her
already proud nipples just the way he'd learned she liked, and was rewarded
with a squirming woman who sighed and arched and did everything but what she
knew would get her into trouble - moving his hands.

His face was
right behind hers, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

He was treating
her so differently from what he had before that Nola was just the slightest bit
suspicious of him, as if she expected the other shoe to drop any time now. But
he was right. It felt damned good, and that's exactly what she told him.

He laughed at
her language use. She didn't sound like a proper lady, but then he'd married
her because that was exactly what she wasn't. A thought struck him, and it was
out of his lips before he had a chance to stop it. "Why did you marry me?" He
wasn't at all sure that he wanted to hear her answer, but then he couldn't
really retract the question once it was out.

Nola was frankly
amazed that he'd asked - as amazed as she could be considering how befuddled
she was by the things he was doing with his hands. But she answered him
truthfully. He wouldn't buy the idea that she was in love with him, anyway. It
was absurd. They'd barely known each other when they got married, and she
refused to lie to him, regardless. "I married you because you asked."

He didn't say
anything, but somehow she sensed that he was a mite disappointed, even though
he must've recognized the truth of it.