Guarding Miranda (23 page)

Oh, how he had!  He had given to her until she could take no more and taken of her until she’d had nothing left to give. A weak smile upon her lips, she lifted a coiled tendril of her long dark hair to her nose and inhaled the scent that had been left there, the aroma of their bodies, combined...

An almost inaudible moan escaped her lips and she dropped the lock of hair.

Yes, Miranda.  Make your sweet little love noises.  I want to hear them all...

“You can’t possess me this way,” she whispered in anger at the door. Behind that door, he was no doubt engrossed in study of some sparrow or chickadee.

“You’ve no right!” She swore under her breath.

Yet as she watched the steam rise from the tub, she remembered her own words, her plea for the comfort only he could give.

Brian, help me forget him.  Erase the memory of him from my body, my mind.  Help me remember only you, only tonight
.

And now, here she was, telling Brian, her lover, her bodyguard, that she wanted to forget that the night had ever happened. 

What a hypocrite that made her! 

A hypocrite and a liar!

She knew that she would never forget the union of their bodies, the merging of their flesh. 

Asking him to do what she herself could not was folly, pure and simple.

She climbed into the tub, filled a third of the way now and warmer than she had expected.  The water swirled to meet her, embracing her as an old friend would, lapping around her feet, her thighs, her most intimate curves and crevices, with all the fervor of a hungry lover.

She looked deeper inside of herself, for the truth that she could not yet name and feared but also held most closely to her heart. 

In a frighteningly short span of time, Brian had come to mean a lot to her. 

A lot. 

With merely a look, he could enrage or enthrall her, make her an upset adversary or willing companion. 

He could make her laugh. Mostly the sarcastic kind of laughter ridiculing his overbearing but still, they shared in certain amusements. 

On the other end of the spectrum, he could make her angry. 

Very angry.

He could be such a misogynist!

Yet she knew that he could be so tender and loving and was adeptly skilled at satisfying a woman’s most primitive needs… With generosity and patience and absolute sincerity…

What a walking contradiction he was! 

As bullheaded as he was agreeable, as arrogant as he was thoughtful, as ignorant as he was knowing. 

And sexy...

Dear Lord, was he attractive. 

Maybe not a perfect ten, being the size that he was and just a hint of Neanderthal to him – but definitely an eight.

Nine. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was so arrogant... so obnoxious!

Nine and a half, maybe. 

The water soon washed over her stomach, her breasts, swallowing her with each inch of water, until Miranda was covered in soothing warmth. 

Reaching forward to shut of the taps, she depressed the button that would activate the Jacuzzi jets and settled back into a hydrotherapy massage.

She closed her eyes, gingerly touched the scar in her shoulder, above her left breast and envisioned at once eyes of dark grey, as stormy as the ocean in the throes of a squall.

“Miranda...” She tested her own name, with his accent, upon her tongue. 

It wasn’t as annoying as she had once believed.

Miranda, oh sweet Miranda. What are we going to do about the intense attraction between us?

And what had her answer been?

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Well
nothing
had certainly turned into
something
only a few hours later.

The fantasies she hadn’t dared let herself imagine in the light of day had come true in the dark of night in such a plethora of sensations and wonders...

“Absolutely nothing, indeed,” she supposed aloud, a wry smile on her lips. 

The tub around her vibrated with the hum of the Jacuzzi motor, causing her skin to tingle. 

She had tingled all over, after Brian’s intimate attentions. 

Tingled and quivered and... 

Was it healthy to dwell on something as addictive as good sex? 

As addictive as Brian? 

She realized that she was beyond caring whether it was right or wrong to want him... 

Brian was obviously as interested in her as she was in him. 

Why not see where the exciting, intense attraction might lead? 

There couldn’t be any harm in it, could there? 

It wasn’t like she had room in her heart for anyone else.

Richard had done her irreparable harm. 

Richard. 

The bastard. 

She would no longer give him the satisfaction of her thoughts...

Men, they were all the same. 

After one thing and one thing only. 

Her money. 

That or a piece of her ass. 

Ass, assets, either way, she was no longer going to be a victim. 

She would not let her heart get involved, no matter how attractive the suitor or playmate may be. 

Playmate
. 

That’s how she would treat Brian. 

As a plaything. 

Wasn’t that how he regarded her? 

Any man that good looking would know that he was good looking and be biased as a result.

Brian Logan, player.

Well, he had certainly played her to get what he wanted.

Brian Logan, plaything. 

It had a nice ring to it.

But she had scruples. 

Was she going to be capable of something so …immoral? So scandalous?

She supposed she would soon find out. 

Opening eyes that had been closed for countless minutes, Miranda rose from the tub, shut off the Jacuzzi’s motor and unplugged the drain. 

Closing the shower doors, she turned the shower on and lathered her hair with shampoo. 

A large dollop of soap slid down her back, making her shiver with the memory of how Brian’s hands had done the same to her, in the room upstairs. 

Rinsing all trace of soap from her body though seemingly not all traces of him, she shut the shower off and stepped out to briskly towel herself dry.

In the act of wrapping her head with the towel to speed the drying of her hair she felt as though she were also putting her thoughts in order, setting her plan to stone.  

She donned the green silk robe and left the bathroom. 

Brian was at the stove, weighing a small white egg in one large bronzed hand. 

His steel grey eyes seemed troubled but his smile was friendly enough.

“How do you like your eggs?” He asked.

“Over easy,” she replied. “Making me breakfast again?”

“Yup.”

“So who died and made you Chef Boyardee?” she teased.

“No one special...  I just thought it was time I put some grub in that lovely stomach of yours.” Grey eyes resting for a moment on the swell of her breasts in the robe, he gestured at the barstool before the island kitchen. “Have a seat, love – I won’t bite.”

“Not unless I want you to, right?”

He seemed surprised by her flirtatious tone. “I imagine not.”

“Can I help?”

“Nah – the toast is already made.  I hope you like dry rye. There wasn’t any butter ‘n we should remedy that with a trip to that grocery store.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

He cracked the first egg into the frying pan. “Miranda, there ain’t nothin’ I can’t do.”

“Confidence becomes you,” she said, pulling the towel from her hair.

“Was that a compliment?” He arched two surprised eyebrows as he cracked the second egg.  For a long moment, the sizzling hiss of the eggs cooking was the only sound between them. “A real, genuine compliment?”

“Why?” She asked finally, breaking the uneasy silence. “Are you shocked?”

“Quite frankly, yes.” A third egg went into the pan. “I was beginning to think that you couldn’t tolerate the sight of me this morning.  You rushed off to the shower first thing this morning.”

Without company,
he wanted to add but lacked the courage to speak that part of his mind.

Confidence becomes you
, she had said.

That
he found laughable.

Around her, he felt as awkward as a pimply-faced teenager at his first boy-girl dance. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it, when to do it. Ask her to dance, or wait for her to beckon?

He tried not to let his frustration show in the breath that he had been holding.

He loosed it slowly: “Three eggs good enough?”

“Plenty.” A slight frown touched her lips as she considered her next words. “Brian, I was meaning to clear the air between us. What I said, about last night?”

He set down his flipper a little harder than he intended, making her start.

He found he couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Don’t sweat it, love,” he said finally. “Happens to me all the time.”

Happens to me all the time
? 

All the time?
She thought to herself bitterly.
What does that mean, that he is a playboy or something?

“I was wrong, Brian.” She tried again, wanting to clear the air between them but wondering now if there was any point to it.

Again, he was surprised by her change of tone.

“You were wrong?” He asked, his confusion sincere.

“To ask you to forget about it.  I don’t regret it. Any of it. I appreciate what you did for me.”

“Regular public service, that,” he said, scathingly. “Pro bono, so remind me not to charge your Uncle the overnight rate.”

“Touché, Brian.” Why did it hurt her so much, to hear him say that? “What I mean to say is thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For making me feel human again. For being here.
For everything
.”

For a long moment, he watched her, his slate grey eyes betraying nothing of his emotions. 

She felt that he could read her with the ease he had read
Birds of Manitoba.
 

A flicker of amusement danced through his eyes and was gone. 

After a long uneasy silence, a forgiving smile appeared on his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

                                                            *          *          *

“Canoeing?” Brian wasn’t sure he had heard her right. “You want to go canoeing?”

“Yes.” Miranda replied, covering her legs with bug repellent, from the edge of her socks to the seam of her shorts. “Are you going to join me or does your bodyguard duty not apply to small co-manned watercraft?”

He glowered at her, disapproving. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you got a cramp in your shoulder and had to stop swimming?”

And get rescued by a certain sexy Aussie bodyguard?
He wanted to add but left out, for the sake of winning the argument.