Touch the Wind (3 page)

“Is that you, darling?” came her mother’s questioning voice from the bedroom beyond.

“It depends which darling you mean—me or Dad?” Sheila laughed.

“I was referring to your father.” Constance Rogers appeared in the connecting doorway, belting the long, desert-sand robe she wore. “We are hosting that political dinner this evening and I asked him to be home early. But you are equally welcome, Sheila, although I did expect you home sooner.”

Constance Rogers was an older, more elegant version of her daughter. Her blonde hair was styled in a shorter, more sophisticated cut, its shade lightened by the invasion of strands of white. Her figure, too, was slender and firm, but it lacked the ripeness of Sheila’s curves.

“I stayed for a while after my last class,” Sheila explained.

Shrewd, almond-brown eyes swept over her, missing nothing. “Your lipstick needs freshening. You also saw Brad before you came home,” her mother concluded with a hint of displeasure in her voice.

Sheila moved farther into the room, avoiding for the moment her mother’s astute gaze. She never made the mistake of underestimating her mother. While seeming to stand in her husband’s shadow, Constance Rogers was a power in her own right. It was her intelligence and social acumen, as well as her flair for public relations, that had enabled her husband to become so successful and powerful.

“Yes, I saw Brad,” Sheila acknowledged, sitting down on the velvet-covered loveseat. “I’d like you to talk to Dad about him.”

“Why?” her mother countered with a beguilingly curious smile that didn’t fool Sheila for an instant.

“To persuade him to give up the idea that Brad and I have to wait a year before we get married,” she answered smoothly.

“But I see nothing wrong with the idea.” Constance Rogers walked to the wing-backed chair near the loveseat, spreading out the long skirt of her robe as she sat down.

Crossing her legs, Sheila challenged, “Are you against my marrying Brad, too?”

“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of driving you into that
man’s arms by forbidding you to marry him,” her mother declared with a throaty laugh. “For the life of me, I can’t understand what it is that you see in him. There are so many men in Texas who could offer you much more and would be much more suitable. And you could have any one of them you wanted.”

“I don’t want them. I want Brad,” she insisted. Her fingers impatiently plucked at the corner of a throw pillow.

“Why, when there are so many others, do you want him?” Constance sighed, the corners of her perfectly outlined mouth turning upward in a sad smile.

“Because he’s a challenge to me.” Sheila blurted out the truth without thinking.

She was never entirely sure of him. He would not indulge her every whim, nor treat her with the adoration she was accustomed to receiving almost from birth. Their relationship had been a constant struggle between two equally strong personalities with either the certain winner. This provided the spice, but it wasn’t the reason Sheila wanted to marry him.

“What I don’t understand,” Sheila continued, “is what you and Father have against Brad.”

Her mother hesitated, then answered with equal frankness. “He is overbearing and abrasive.”

Sheila relaxed against the cushions, a gleam in her cat-gold eyes. “Isn’t that what your parents said about Dad before you eloped with him? He lacked culture, social refinement, and political insight, and look what influence you have had on him. You made Dad the man he is today.”

“You can’t compare the two,” her mother insisted.

“Why?” Sheila argued. “Brad is ambitious.”

“I think the correct adjective is money-hungry.” Just then Sheila’s father entered the room, pausing beside his wife’s chair to kiss her upturned cheek.

Recovering from her momentary surprise at his appearance, Sheila flashed a reply. “I don’t believe that is a bad trait. After all, Dad, aren’t you always looking for a means to turn a profit?”

“The difference is that I’m willing to work for it. Your boyfriend prefers to get it the easy way,” he responded calmly.

“How can you say that?” Sheila smouldered indignantly. “Look at how he’s worked and struggled to obtain his degree.”

The character lines in her father’s sun-tanned face crinkled in an absent smile. “Yes, I’ve often wondered why a political science major would be working in a hotel. Since he lives here in the state capital, it’s always seemed to me that if he were truly interested in his proposed profession he would be working in a government office.”

“An excellent point, E.J.” Constance Rogers patted her husband’s hand that rested affectionately on her shoulder.

“Brad has worked in government offices before, but the hours conflicted with his classes,” Sheila defended.

“Really?” her father drawled in dry disbelief. “I pride myself on my ability to judge people, and you are seeing qualities in this man that simply don’t exist. I don’t like the idea of my little girl being hurt.”

Elliot John Rogers was a strong-willed man, and Sheila was in every way his daughter. Standing, she faced the pair without flinching.

“Neither of you understands Brad,” she accused. “You simply don’t know him the way I do. Furthermore, you don’t want to know him, in case I prove that you are wrong.”

“Sheila, that is not true,” her mother protested, but Sheila was already leaving the sitting room.

There wasn’t any point in continuing the discussion, not with her father present. Sheila could reason with her mother, but her father was positively rigid in his opinions, listening to no one, with the exception of his wife. Sheila retreated to her room to think. Obtaining her parents’ approval was not going to be easy.

The problem was at the back of her mind all evening, through the meal she ate alone and the textbook pages of her reading. She waited for Brad to phone, almost
needing the reassurance of his voice. When she slipped between her silk sheets around midnight, he still had not called. Sheila closed her eyes, hoping sleep would provide an answer.

Something was trying to awaken her. Her head moved against the pillow in protest, but the sensation persisted. Drowsily, Sheila opened her eyes, fighting through the waves of sleep trying to drag her back.

The bedroom was pitch-black. The only item her eyes could focus on was the luminous dial of the travel clock next to her bed. The glowing hands pointed to a few minutes past three o’clock, which drew a groan of tiredness from Sheila as she snuggled deeper beneath the covers.

A light rapping disturbed the silence. It sounded like someone tapping on glass. Propping herself up on an elbow, Sheila listened, every sense alert, uncertain whether she had heard the sound or simply imagined it.

It came again. Someone was tapping on the sliding glass door leading from her bedroom onto the backyard patio. No criminal would knock before entering. Sheila tossed back the covers and slid from the bed, knowing it had to be Brad. No one else would be knocking on her door at that hour of the night.

Barefoot, Sheila padded to the glass door and pulled the cord to open the floor-to-ceiling drapes of jade-green. Moonlight bathed the tall figure standing outside, blond hair gilded in the silvery light. Snapping off the lock, Sheila slid the door open to admit Brad.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered as he entered. “It’s three in the morning.”

The same moonlight that had outlined his masculine form now streamed through the glass door to illuminate Sheila. Her bare legs gleamed with a silken sheen, the red material of her mock nightshirt ending just above her knees. Brad’s gaze made a sweeping inspection, drawing Sheila’s attention to her ample, if suggestive, attire and the gaping, unbuttoned front of the shirt-gown. Her fingers moved immediately to clutch the front.

“I know what time it is,” Brad answered, smiling as he moved toward her. “I just got off work and I had to see you.”

“You could have phoned.”

His hands settled on her shoulders and Sheila tensed. It didn’t seem right for Brad to be in her bedroom at this hour, even if she was planning to marry him.

“You can’t do this over the telephone.” His mouth claimed hers in a long, sweet kiss, but he didn’t attempt to draw her into his arms. “Do you still love me, honey?”

“You don’t think I would stop loving you so soon, do you?”

It suddenly seemed romantic that Brad had come halfway across Austin on his motorbike to see her and assure himself she still loved him.

“Have you?” Brad persisted, wanting to hear her speak the words.

“No,” Sheila answered with a small shake of her head. “I still love you.”

He swept her into his arms, holding her tightly, his chin resting atop her dark gold hair. The embrace made her feel cherished and safe. There was no demand for passionate kisses. He seemed to want only to have her in his arms.

With her head resting at the base of his throat, Sheila fingered the lapel of his blazer. A bliss-filled sigh slid through her lips while her lashes fluttered down in contentment.

“You took such a risk coming here at this hour,” she murmured as his chin rubbed the top of her head. “My father doesn’t trust you as it is. You really should have called, instead.”

“It’s worth it just to hold you in my arms and know you still want to marry me. You do, don’t you?” His mouth moved against her tousled hair.

“Yes, I want to marry you. Or do you think I make a habit of admitting men into my bedroom in the middle of the night?”

“I hope not,” Brad answered with mock gruffness,
then continued in a more serious tone. “I probably should have called you, but your parents would undoubtedly have heard the telephone ring and picked it up to see who was calling. I couldn’t take the chance that they might overhear our conversation.”

Her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled crease. “Why?”

Brad didn’t answer immediately as he lifted a hand to cradle the side of her face in his large palm.

“You are very beautiful, do you know that? Having you for my wife isn’t going to be so bad after I teach you a few things.”

“Mmm, and you might make a fairly decent husband,” Sheila said, countering his jesting comment, “but you’re getting off the subject. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Maybe I should have phoned.” There was a flash of white teeth as he smiled. “It’s too difficult concentrating when I’m holding you in my arms. I keep getting sidetracked by the soft shoulders and dangerous curves.” His hands glided over the silky material of her long sleeves to grasp her hands. “Come on. Let’s go over and sit down where we can talk.”

Retaining a light grip on her left hand, he led her to the bed. Sheila sat near the foot, curving her legs beneath her. Brad released her hand to switch on the small lamp on the bedside table. Its soft glow cast a small pool of light over the bed.

“You’re making this all seem very mysterious.” Sheila masked her bewilderment in a teasing murmur as Brad sat on the edge of the bed an arm’s length from her.

“I don’t meant to.” A rueful smile curved the firm line of his lips. “It’s just that ever since you left this afternoon, I’ve been thinking about what we said. Sheila, I can’t wait a year to marry you.”

“It seems like forever,” she agreed with a wistful sigh.

Brad leaned forward, transmitting a sense of urgency. “We don’t have to wait to be married. You’re twenty years old. You don’t need your parents’ consent.”

“I know I don’t, but—”

“What will waiting a year accomplish?” he argued in a persuasive tone. “We don’t have to prove anything to your parents—and definitely not that we love each other. As for their blessing, I wish we could have it, but if they choose to withhold it or attach conditions to it, like this year’s wait, then we can do without it. Once we’re married, they’ll have to accept me.”

“Are you suggesting that we should elope?” She nibbled at her lower lip.

“Yes. I don’t want to wait a year, six months, or even a week,” he declared.

“But what about college, your job? Where will we live?” Sheila found herself arguing.

“I know it isn’t practical or logical to get married now,” Brad admitted, raking his fingers through his thick blond hair. “We should at least wait until summer, when I get my degree, but when was love ever practical or logical? It’s a physical and emotional need.” He breathed in deeply. “I don’t know.” He released the breath in a long sigh. “Maybe it’s not the same for a woman as it is for a man. Maybe you don’t feel these needs as strongly as I do.”

“That’s not true,” she denied quickly. “I do feel them.”

He searched her face for a silent span of seconds. “Do you know how much I want to proclaim to the world that the beautiful woman at my side is my wife, Mrs. Sheila Townsend?”

“As much as I want to hear you say it.” She never guessed that Brad was so romantic, masterful—yes, and even possessive, but she had not glimpsed this traditionally romantic side of him before tonight. It seemed out of character.

“Then let’s run away and get married tomorrow, or no later than the day after. We can drive to Mexico and be married in a matter of hours.”

“I want to, yes—” The upward lilt of uncertainty in her voice kept it from being a total agreement.

“But what?” He spoke the qualifying word that she had only implied.

“I—I need time to think.” Elopement was the obvious solution, but Sheila wasn’t positive it was the only alternative, although it had been the one her mother had chosen.

He captured the hands twisting together in her lap and held them firmly. “If you are worrying about your parents, honey, you are going to have to choose. You either hurt your parents, or you hurt me. They have each other, but I have only you.”

When he put it that way, there was really only one choice she could make. He pulled her forward onto her knees, then slipped his hands around her waist. Sheila’s fingers curled over the muscles of his broad shoulders as she gazed at him.

“Elope with me, Sheila,” he ordered, reverting to the commanding Brad she knew best.

“Yes.” Her acceptance needed no elaboration.

The hands on her spine exerted pressure to draw her down. His mouth closed moistly over hers, tasting the sweetness of her surrender in a tenderly passionate kiss. Sheila warmed to the loving ardor of his caress, its glow spreading through her veins. Never had she dated anyone who was so adept at arousing her desire as Brad was.