Violet Fire Page 15

  Chapter 6

  Shannon tugged the lavender ribbon at the end of her braid and threaded her fingers through her hair to loosen it. When she was finished she leaned back on her elbows and gave her head a little toss, lifting her face to the sun as her hair fanned her shoulders and back. Water lapped at the foot of the grassy incline where she lay. She thought about inching forward down the bank and dipping her bare feet in the river, then lazily dismissed it as not worth the effort. A bead of perspiration trickled between her breasts. Another fell down her back, tracing the length of her spine. Shannon closed her eyes. She felt as if her entire body were defined by the heavy, humid air around it. If she lived in Virginia a lifetime, she didn’t think she would ever get used to the summer heat.

  She moved restlessly and then lay back. The sun seemed to burn through her closed lids. Red-orange lights danced in front of her until she flung a forearm across her eyes to shield them.

  Shannon was glad Martha had suggested taking her midday meal to the riverbank. Even though the heat was oppressive, being outdoors was a relief after spending two days nursing Clara’s summer cold.

  Shannon was exhausted from her efforts to amuse her charge. Clara’s even-tempered, playful disposition had vanished with the onset of the cold and the slight fever that accompanied it. She was cranky, miserable, and nothing satisfied her. Shannon held her patience with Clara but had none for anyone else. She snapped at Cody when he interrupted Clara’s nap and at Addie when she was late with Clara’s meal. She even found the courage to glare at Brandon when he warned his recalcitrant daughter in no uncertain terms that being sick was no excuse for bad manners. That was when Martha had intervened, sensing that Shannon was about to take exception to Brandon’s remarks, and practically escorted Shannon out of the nursery and pointed her in the direction of the river.

  Shannon’s food lay untouched at the edge of her blanket. She fingered the edge of the basket, entertained the idea of eating, and then realized the only hunger she had was for uninterrupted sleep. Turning on her side, she gave in to her simple desire.

  Brandon sat beneath the sweeping canopy of a willow, his back against the trunk, his three cornered hat pulled at an angle over his forehead. He gave the appearance of sleep, but the reality was far different. The hat shaded watchful eyes. In his stillness he was alert to the very cadence of Shannon’s breathing.

  He was a self-appointed sentinel, guarding Shannon’s privacy from any invasion but his own. For nearly thirty minutes he had been watching her, and while she was undisturbed, the same could not be said of Brandon. His dark eyes had traced the slender curve of her arm, relearned the shape of her shoulder. He could have closed his eyes and formed from memory the arch of her cheekbones and the delicately pared line of her nose. Her bare throat was dewy from the heat, and a damp tendril of hair lay near her slightly parted lips. In sleep her posture was abandoned, bearing no resemblance to the shy hesitancy or correctness of manner that was part of her waking expression. One arm cushioned her cheek; the other was flung wide, palm up, a certain vulnerability in the unconscious gesture. One leg was nudged upward, taking the hem of her dove gray skirt with it and revealing the naked, finely curved line of the other. The spine she tried to keep ramrod stiff when he approached was relaxed, and her body had taken on a suppleness that Brandon wanted to explore with his palms and mold to his liking.

  He shifted uncomfortably and looked away from Shannon, resting his gaze on the river. What he wanted was becoming more urgent by the minute, but he refused to let desire control him. He did not like the idea of anyone, least of all Shannon, to suspect how much he wanted her. It was torture having her at the folly, but he had learned to live with the dull pain of screws turning daily. It was nothing less than he had expected when he discovered she was not Aurora. But living, really living, without her? That was another matter entirely.

  There was a stirring in the stillness of the air, and Brandon, his thoughtful gaze elsewhere, knew the slight disturbance was Shannon waking. He turned his head slowly, and then remained unmoving, waiting for her to see him first.

  Shannon stretched sleepily, arching as she rolled onto her back. Her arms reached backward, above her head, and her fingers curled and uncurled. Sensation shuddered through her from the tips of her tapered fingers to the tender soles of her feet. Sitting up, she lifted her hair and rolled her neck from side to side. At last she opened her eyes. And closed them immediately.

  No! She told herself she had imagined him. He was merely an apparition, and she had encouraged his existence by neglecting to eat. The solution presented itself that simply. Reaching blindly for the basket, Shannon fingered its contents and came out with a peach. She bit into it, laughing as sweet juice trickled over her lips. She licked it away unself-consciously and opened her eyes defiantly.

  He was still there, smiling in that amused way of his, one corner of his mouth lifted enigmatically. She hoped her groan was not audible.

  “Is it Clara?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Brandon stood, shook out the stiffness in his legs, and walked to the edge of Shannon’s blanket. “Clara is fine. You know, you’d be more comfortable in the shade,” he said solicitously. “Especially since you’re not used to this heat.” He leaned down and picked up her basket and started toward the willow, giving Shannon no choice but to follow if she wanted her lunch. Stunned into silence by his high-handedness, Shannon gathered her shoes, stockings, and the blanket. Brandon set the basket down and took the blanket from her hands, snapping it smoothly to the ground. Not waiting for an invitation, he sat down tailor fashion. “Do you know,” he said conversationally as Shannon knelt carefully on the edge of the blanket, “that you are like a bear with one of her cubs when it comes to protecting Clara?”

  Shannon gave a little sniff, uncertain if she had been insulted. She took another bite of her peach, then wished she hadn’t because it drew Brandon’s attention to her mouth.

  “It wasn’t a criticism,” he said. “Merely an observation.” He began investigating the contents of the basket. As if suddenly remembering his manners, he looked sheepishly at Shannon. “Do you mind?” At her negative reply he withdrew a chicken leg and began eating. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice to her.”

  “I’ve never found it necessary.” As an afterthought she added a shade defensively, “I’m not spoiling her.”

  “If I thought you were, I’d put a stop to it. No, you deal with her admirably; still, I want you to know that your position here is not in danger if you should choose to correct her.”

  “I do correct her.” She hesitated. “But I could never—”

  “Slap her?”

  “Yes. I could never slap her.” Shannon studied the remains of her uneaten peach. “It would be wrong. She couldn’t defend herself.”

  Brandon reached for the peach and took it from Shannon’s unresisting hands, pulling her attention toward him again. He tossed the fruit into the river. “Did you think that’s what I threatened her with when I cautioned her about her saucy manners?”

  “Yes. Wasn’t it what you meant?”

  “No.” He sighed, pitching a chicken bone behind him. “I’ve never struck Clara. That was…someone else’s way of handling her. Never mine. Clara knows I meant that she would not be allowed to join Cody and me at the table if she continued on her present course.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Shannon said slowly.

  “I know. That’s why I came to see you.” It was a half-truth at best. “I wanted to talk to you about it. You were already sleeping when I got here. You looked…serene.” And lovely. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Shannon looked away. “Thank you. I was tired. I didn’t know caring for a sick child could be so wearing on one’s nerves.” She tugged at the hem of her dress, covering her bare feet. “I should be going. Martha will be wondering what’s become of me.”

  Brandon stilled her hand by placing his on top. Her skin was warm. His
fingers felt the pulse in her wrist.

  “No. Stay.” There was no command in his voice. He was giving her a choice and at the same time asserting his own desire to have her remain. “Please.”

  “All right.” She slipped her hand from beneath his, and to keep herself busy, she gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and brought it over her shoulder. She concentrated on braiding it.

  Brandon took off his hat and set it aside. Strands of gold and silver mingled damply at his temples. He watched Shannon’s beautifully slender hands thread deftly through her hair. To keep his thoughts from straying to what it would be like to feel those hands in his own hair, Brandon asked, “How do you do that?” His voice was thick. Had she noticed?

  Shannon paused and looked at him oddly, not sure she had understood his question. “This?” She raised the braid.

  “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “How do you do it?”

  “It’s not hard.” She spread her fingers, showing him how she had separated three strands. “It’s a matter of lapping one over the other.”

  “May I try?”

  She laughed a little uneasily at the request, the boyish eagerness he could not quite hide. “With my hair, you mean?”

  “Yes. May I?”

  “I don’t—” She was about to refuse him. Even while her mouth was forming the words, her thoughts were moving ahead, tangling her tongue, making it difficult to express herself. Her eyes strayed to his hands. Hard hands. Work-roughened hands. But they would be gentle. She knew they would be gentle and her soul opened up, craving the touch of those hands. “All right,” she heard herself say, and it sounded loud to her own ears even though Brandon had to lean forward to catch it.

  Brandon uncrossed his legs and moved across the blanket, sensing it was too much to ask Shannon to join him. She started to turn, intending to give him her back, but he stopped her. “No. Stay as you are. I’ll work from the front, over your shoulder. You can watch me.”

  Feeling his hands in her hair was one thing, seeing them, something else again. Her head tilted to one side as Brandon caught her hair in his fingers. The back of his hand touched the slope of her breast. Shannon glanced at Brandon’s face. Except for the concentration he accorded his task, it was impassive.

  “Am I doing it right?” he asked.

  Shannon had no idea. She had been unable to look away from his profile. Her eyes dropped downward. “Yes. That’s right.” She steadied her breathing, afraid her breast would fill his hand if she drew air too deeply. He finished plaiting. His hands hovered near the tip of her braid. “I have a ribbon somewhere,” she said. He began to unwind his work. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m loosening your braid. I like it better that way.”

  “Oh.”

  He chuckled softly. “Do you ever argue with anyone?”

  Shannon blinked. Brandon’s face was very close. There were tiny flecks of gold at the edge of his eyes, and she was vaguely surprised she had never noticed them before. “I don’t like to argue.”

  “That could be good.” He reached around her with one hand and spread her hair across her back. “It could also be bad.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His hand cupped the side of her face. “Have you ever wanted anyone to kiss you?”

  The question startled Shannon, but the only indication she gave of it was in the widening of her eyes.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Her breath touched his face, soft, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. “I want to kiss you, Shannon.”

  “You do?”

  “Mm.” He made no effort to come nearer. “Would you let me?”

  “Yes.”

  Brandon’s hand slipped from her cheek to the fragile curve of her neck. The tip of one finger brushed her earlobe. His eyes darkened, searching her face. “Why?” He continued to maintain the taut distance that separated them.

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “Yes. Why would you let me?”

  “Because you are the master here and I could not stop you,” she said simply.

  Brandon sighed and withdrew his hand. He leaned back, bracing himself on his hands, and crossed his feet at the ankles. “I thought that might be the way of it.”

  Shannon gaped slightly at Brandon’s easy acceptance of the situation. His responses were outside the realm of her experience. “I don’t think I understand. You didn’t want to kiss me at all, did you? It was only a flirtation.”

  “Do you remember the day we first met?” he asked lightly. “You ran like a frightened doe and promptly lost all your berries and a measure of your pride in the brook.” His eyes brightened at the memory. “I helped you from the water, teased a smile out of you, and carried you home on my mount. That was a flirtation.”

  “I see.”

  “I wonder if you do. I wanted to kiss you then, you know. But it wouldn’t have been right to take something not freely given, so I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

  “But the night I ran away from the folly—”

  “I know. That was unfair of me. I should not have touched you then. It won’t happen again. It’s why I left you on the verandah the other evening. I did not want to shame myself.”

  Shannon gave Brandon a considering look. “Then it would truly be my choice? The kiss, I mean. I can say yea or nay and you would accept it?”

  “Yea or nay,” he repeated softly.

  There was one more thing she wanted to know, but she was afraid and, if the truth be known, too selfish to ask. If he wanted to kiss her because she reminded him of Aurora, then she would accept it. She could not bear to bring his wife’s name into the conversation. She was not brazen enough to announce that she remembered he was married and that she was a sinner because more than anything she wanted the brush of his mouth against hers. For once she wanted to put her needs first and damn the consequences.

  “Then I say yea.”

  For a long moment Brandon did not move. He held her gaze, clear and guileless, and saw that she spoke from her heart. It was more than he had asked for; much more than he deserved. One hand reached for her slowly. His fingers whispered across her temple, her cheek. When she would have looked away, he raised her face and sifted through her thick hair, binding her to his hand. He edged closer, lowering his mouth to hers.

  Shannon was not sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t what Brandon gave her. The kiss was an airy thing, a tickling pressure that traced the shape of her mouth, then was done.

  Brandon grinned. “Your eyes were open.”

  “I was watching you.”

  He nodded. “And I was watching you,” he said gravely. “We could try it again, this time with eyes closed.”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “Though I liked that kiss well enough.”

  “All right.” Shannon closed her eyes and waited.

  Sweet innocence, Brandon thought, and the smile that was tugging at his lips was pressed against the corner of Shannon’s mouth. He touched her lightly, paused, then his mouth slid across her lips. He increased the pressure. When he felt her tremble, he withdrew.

  Shannon lifted her eyes to Brandon slowly. She touched the tips of her fingers to her mouth. “That was not so bad,” she said.

  He feigned an injured expression. “Damned with faint praise.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know what you meant.”

  That was interesting, because Shannon herself wasn’t sure what she meant. “Could you…that is, could we…you know…try it again?”

  Brandon was solemn. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” Not for anything would she admit she rather liked it.

  Brandon knew he should leave, but as he stared at Shannon’s upturned face, the faint trembling of her lips, reason was abandoned in favor of the powerful urge of his body. The kiss he placed on her mouth was insistent this time, gently demanding in the pressure it a
pplied. Her lips remained closed to him and Brandon switched tactics, brushing his mouth across her cheek, her chin, against her closed eyes. Her lashes fluttered, tickling his lower lip. The sensation was exquisite.

  Brandon traced the long, slender cord in Shannon’s neck. Her throat arched and he placed his mouth against the pulse at the base. One of his hands slipped to her waist while the other continued to cradle her head. Slowly he eased her down on the blanket and lay beside her, careful not to touch her with more than his hands or his mouth. If she felt his arousal, it was a certainty that she would run from him.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said, fanning it across the blanket. “As soft and dark as midnight.”

  Shannon could not reply. She could not recall ever being complimented before. She simply stared mutely at the taut planes of Brandon’s face. Sensation, as pleasant as it was alien, shivered down her spine as his fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

  “Open your mouth.”

  The huskiness of his command caught Shannon off guard and she complied without thinking. Her lips parted on a little gasp as Brandon lowered his head once again. His tongue flicked over the line of her upper lip, teased the corner of her mouth, and traced the full curve of her bottom lip. Her teeth came together, presenting Brandon with a temporary barrier to the sweetness of her mouth. He ran his tongue along their edge until she parted them of her own accord. He tasted her mouth, the full, heady softness of her, and engaged her tongue in a gentle battle, playful and teasing.

  Brandon groaned softly as Shannon’s hands slid up his arms and came to rest on his shoulders. He deepened the kiss until it became a thing of hunger and wanting that shook him, then her, leaving them both breathless.

  He drew back, searching her face for some sign of repugnance or fear. What he saw were wide violet eyes, faintly dazed but trusting. Twin coins of color stood out in her cheeks, but she did not turn away from his gaze. Her mouth was moist from his kiss, yet it appealed for more. Brandon was not proof against these things. He felt desire flare through him. He whispered her name and then placed his mouth against the curve of her neck and shoulder.