Wildfire (13 page)

Amanda was still sitting in the Porsche when Brady pulled his Mustang up alongside a moment later. Darkness hid his worried expression from her as he hurried over to open her car door. By the time he leaned down to speak to her, his expression had resumed its customary amusement. “Were you waiting for valet service?”

Amanda recollected her wandering thoughts and accepted his helping hand.

“How about a nice glass of sherry to calm your nerves,” Brady suggested as soon as they were inside.

Belatedly recalling her duties as a hostess, Amanda removed her coat. “That’d be nice. And what would you like?”

“Besides you?”

His obvious attempt to cheer her up brought a half-smile to her lips. “I’m not on the menu.”

“Speaking of menus, how about if I make dinner for you tonight?”

“I don’t have much food in the house,” she warned.

“As long as you’ve got eggs. I make a mean omelet.”

“Okay. The kitchen’s all yours. I’ve never had a mean omelet before.” The words were teasing, but the delivery lacked enthusiasm.

Half an hour later they sat down to a simple, but tasty meal. Brady had refused to allow Amanda in her own kitchen and she hadn’t pushed it. He found a bottle of wine in the refrigerator, which they were lingering over now.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Brady asked.

“Thanksgiving,” she repeated with mild haziness. Her mouth had been incredibly dry, so she’d been partaking freely of the wine.

“Yes, Thanksgiving. You know, turkey, pumpkin pie, Pilgrims, and all that jazz.”

“Did you like that movie?” she threw him by asking.

“What movie?” His face was a study of masculine bewilderment.

“
All That Jazz.
”

Brady didn’t get the connection. “We were talking about Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t like holidays.”

“I’m getting that impression,” he ruefully acknowledged. “Why not?”

But Amanda just shook her head and refused to answer.

“Okay, if you won’t tell me, I’ll have to tell you what my plans are. Unfortunately I’m scheduled to work, otherwise I’d have invited you to our house for Thanksgiving. My mom always cooks enough for an army. In fact, when I was in the army she sent me a Care package full of canned cranberry relish and Oreo cookies.”

Brady went on to relate more funny anecdotes about previous Thanksgivings, including his younger sister’s first attempt at cooking a turkey. He talked about his family with a warm affection that she found surprising in a man.

“You never did tell me what your plans were for the holiday,” he reminded her during a lull in the conversation.

“Beth’s invited me over to her parents’ house. They’re nice people.”

“Unlike your own parents?” he astutely guessed.

The shock she’d experienced earlier at the party must have used up a lot of her reserves, because for a moment Amanda found herself wanting to confide in Brady, to tell him what it was like growing up with two people who were too wrapped up in their own lives to give a damn about a child. But she hesitated to reveal too much, to lay herself open for ridicule. So she glossed over her true feelings, said a few glib excuses, and moved on to another topic of conversation.

Brady followed her lead, noting the shadows of vulnerability in her eyes. She’d been through some type of ordeal already today and he didn’t intend to push her in any way. They talked until far into the night, sharing common outlooks on life.

When Brady noticed her drooping eyes and caught her yawning he took her by the hand and pulled her up from the couch. “Come on,” he instructed. “It’s time you were in bed.”

Amanda mistakenly thought that Brady was accompanying her to the foot of the stairs whereupon he would go one way, out the front door, and she another, upstairs to bed. Instead, he started guiding her drowsy body up the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” she stopped in her tracks to demand.

“I thought you might need some help undressing for bed.”

“I can undress myself, thank you,” she retorted.

“Then go on.” His hand nudged her along encouragingly. “I’ll bring you up a cup of hot cocoa in a few minutes.” Her words of protest were cut off by Brady’s “Consider it part of my catering service.”

Amanda was conservatively covered by a red velour robe when Brady knocked. “Room service,” he
announced, pushing the door open with his foot.

She took the proffered mug, sipping at it appreciatively. “Thanks.”

Brady thoughtfully eyed the top of her lowered head. Despite her tiredness there was still an air of brittle tension about her. Coming to a sudden decision, he
straightened his broad shoulders and put out a hand to take the empty mug from her grasp. “Good night, Mandy. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Brady. And thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mandy,” he promised.

The rolling, drumbeat of a Fleetwood Mac song abruptly interrupted a nightmare Amanda was having about Guy. Her eyes flew open to check the time, her hand automatically reaching out to press the snooze bar of the clock radio. Seven thirty! Why had she set the alarm for seven thirty on a Saturday? Her sleep-ridden mind was unable to come up with a suitable explanation. Amanda turned over with a groan. She hadn’t had a good night; her sleep had been constantly broken by dreams that left her on edge. Her head was still thick and her tongue felt like an army had marched over it. Realizing that she hadn’t brushed her teeth after drinking the cocoa last night, Amanda shoved off the bed covers and silently padded across the hall to the bathroom. Since she was alone she didn’t bother with a robe.

Standing barefoot before the sink, Amanda groggily shoved her hair out of her eyes and stared at the mirror. But her thoughts weren’t on its reflection, they were on Brady and how nice he’d been last night. She squeezed toothpaste onto her brush with mechanical disinterest. Eyes forward, she stuck her toothbrush into her mouth and brushed. Still not paying attention, she turned on the tap and filled the water glass without looking down. It wasn’t until she’d lifted the glass to her lips that she caught the glimmer of something moving.

Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she saw a huge black spider only a bare inch away from her lips! It was rapidly pulling itself out of the water and crawling up over the rim of her glass. Amanda’s scream shattered the air as surely as the dropped glass shattered on the floor. The spider landed safely in the sink.

There was a pounding of footsteps on the stairs and then Brady literally burst onto the scene, the splinters of glass crunching under his leather boots. “Mandy! What’s going on?”

Her trembling finger pointed to the spider malevolently staring at her from the edge of the sink. Amanda scrunched her eyes closed while Brady swiftly dispatched it down the drain. Her eyes flew open again as she felt herself lifted and her flailing hands came in contact with his bare shoulders.

Realizing for the first time the reality of his presence, she squirmed indignantly. “What are you doing here?”

“You scared the hell out of me,” he gruffly accused her, carrying her across the hallway to her room and depositing her on the bed.

“Well, what do you think that spider did to me?”

“I can’t imagine,” he mocked dryly. “Did you hurt yourself on the broken glass?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Let’s check, shall we?” Instead of kneeling before her in a gallant pose, Brady sat on the bed beside her and hooked his fingers around her ankle, lifting it so high that she was thrown back onto the mattress.

Her muttered references to his high-handed bedside manner were ignored as he probed the sole of her bare foot for glass splinters.

“What are you doing here this early?” she demanded, wriggling her toes at the tickling sensations running up her leg. Was Brady doing that intentionally? She lifted her head to check, but could discern no answer from his deliberately deadpan expression.

“I never left.” His stark reply knocked all thoughts of teasing out of her mind.

“You mean you spent the night…”

“…downstairs on your sofa. Yes.”

“But why?”

“I didn’t think you’d let me share your bed.”

She dismissed his mocking humility. “I meant why did you stay.”

“Because you were upset.”

“You needn’t have bothered. And you don’t have to hold my foot that high just to look at it,” she protested, leaning forward to frantically grab the bottom hem of her negligee.

Her new pose revealed a generous amount of creamy curvature to Brady’s more than appreciative gaze. “You look good in blue, Mandy. And pink,” he added as her cheeks reddened.

That
’
s a flush of
anger,
she assured herself,
not embarrassment. Don
’
t let him get away with this
.

“What’s your mother going to think, since you didn’t go home last night?” Her haughty words were meant to make Brady feel like a teenage boy who’d missed curfew. “Doesn’t she call you every night?”

“I imagine she’ll come after you and demand that you make an honest man out of me,” he returned easily, refusing to rise to the bait.

“You never take anything seriously,” she accused, jerking her unharmed feet away from him.

“I’d like to take you, Mandy. Seriously, or any other way I could get you.”

Amanda didn’t pause to think; she reacted instinctively. Grabbing her pillow, she thumped him with it. She heard the whoosh of oxygen exit from his lungs as the pillow struck him right across the ribs. Amanda’s spurt of anger was overcome by a wave of concern. “Did I hurt you?” she questioned anxiously.

Distracted by her concern, she didn’t realize Brady’s intention until he’d tugged the pillow out of her hands and swiped her with it.

“That’s not fair!”

“All’s fair…”

“…in love and war, I know.” She stopped her struggles long enough to ask, “Which is this, Brady?”

“You tell me,” he challenged.

“Right now I think it’s a pillow fight!” She grabbed another pillow from behind her and threw it, but Brady was no longer sitting where he’d been a moment ago.

“Shame, shame. You’ve jettisoned all your ammunition, Mandy. Not very bright,” he chided her while advancing toward her, holding his feathery weapon ready to throw. Mandy retreated until she was backed up against the headboard. She turned to flee from the bed, but in that moment Brady caught her, successfully pinning her to the mattress.

Remembering that the best defense is a good offense, Amanda regally demanded, “Well? Do you give up yet?”

She could feel the laughter rippling through the bare chest hovering above her. “You’re the only woman I know who, in the face of defeat, would demand my surrender.”

“I didn’t demand anything. I was merely asking a question.”

“Then, no, I don’t give up. I’m never giving up on you.” His expressive look took warm nibbles out of her poise, making her feel warm and shivery inside. “How about it, Mandy? Is the war over?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Sometimes you make me so mad I could hit you.

“I noticed.”

“Then there are other times when I…”

“When you what?” he prompted, stroking her face with the palm of his hand.

“Never mind.”

“Ve have ways of making you talk!” Brady’s warning was delivered in a stormtrooper’s voice.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that?”

Brady lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “I know I get to you, the same way you get to me.”

Her ensuing fit of giggles made him draw away. “That wasn’t meant to be funny,” he informed her with rueful indignation.

“I can’t help it. I’m ticklish,” she tried to explain.

“You are?” Brady exclaimed with fiendish glee. “Where?”

His exploring hands boldly went in search of her funnybone, their magical touch barely registered in one location before moving on to another. Her fingers chased after his, but he was faster than she and eluded her.

“I told you I was ambidextrous,” he reminded her.

“I’m not ticklish in any of those places!” she gasped. “I’m ticklish when you whisper in my ear.”

“That’s a pity. Then I won’t be able to whisper sweet nothings to you. After all, I wouldn’t want a fit of laughter, or, even worse, hiccups, interrupting our lovemaking. And speaking of sweet nothings, I think that’s a very good description of what you’re wearing. What’s it made of’?” The question may have been conversational, but the intonation most definitely was not.

Concentrating with difficulty, she replied, “I don’t know.”

“Feels good,” he told her.

Her strangled yes wasn’t referring to the material but to the way his hands felt as they glided across the topography of her body. While those hands inaugurated the fun and games, his wandering lips did the follow-up work, mapping the planes of her face with sensual detail and intermittently returning to the inviting delectability of her mouth.
I
’
ll stop this in a minute,
she assured herself. Amanda’s fingers fanned out into his dark curls, her palms molded to the shape of his head. Their tongues were soon engaged in a languid tangle that stoked the liquid flames consuming her.

By carefully sliding the spaghetti straps of her nightgown out of the way, Brady opened new territory to his sensuous survey. His teasing tongue brushed across the bare canvas of her shoulder, the potent stimulation inducing a rush of dizzy euphoria. Without the support of the straps, the lace bodice slid provocatively lower, displaying more than it concealed. Amanda’s breath was now coming in short gasps, which further threatened the tenuous position of her neckline.

Emulating Brady by exploring his body the way he was exploring hers, she was unprepared for the elemental enjoyment she derived from touching him. His groan of pleasure at the touch of her hands brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips, and her eyes glowed with the knowledge that she excited him. Amanda became bolder, her tantalizing fingers loitering around the warm flesh of his waist. His bare skin was smooth yet rough, soft yet firm. Her provocative fingers dipped to slide over the taut denim covering his thighs, setting up a chain reaction of thermal warmth that threatened a complete meltdown.