Rose of Betrayal (56 page)

           
Thoughts
began plundering her like waves on a rocky shore.
 
If she loved Brad as much as Bernie did, she
would have stayed and demanded an explanation.
 
What she did was no different from what she had accused him of doing,
used him to satisfy her lust.
 
A hand
flying to her mouth claimed a denial.
 
Was it true or, was it because she was afraid one day he would return to
Candy, his child or to another of the many women he had known, maybe even
Bernie?
 

           
Sam
lacked the confidence she possessed the capabilities to hang on to such an
extraordinary man.
 
The sight of him
elicited sensations in her beyond all reason.
 
It would be easier to let him go today knowing, somewhere in the deepest
pit of her, she could never let him go tomorrow.

           
Thinking
he had lingered sufficiently Brad cornered Ted, congratulated him and wished
him luck.
 
They kissed on the cheek, hugged
and shook hands.
 
Now, he had to do
something else before leaving.
 
Sam
needed to know he understood, that he would always be her friend and would
always be there for her if she needed him.
 
Right now, he knew she didn't want anything to do with him, but maybe
someday.

           
Finding
Sam standing in solitude in a remote corner as if hiding like a scared kitten
Brad concluded she was nothing more than a petrified child in a woman's body
who knew nothing of the world around her, of life, of love.
 
She needed time to open all the doors to
life's experiences, and then maybe one day she would search for the door behind
which he would be waiting and he would until the day he died.

           
Surveying
Brad descending upon her, with elbows closed in her palms to steady her shaking
interior, Sam crept further into the corner praying it would swallow her.
 
“Dammit, Brad,” she murmured to herself,
“Don't make things worse than they already are.”

           
She
felt as terrified as a rabbit confronted by a hawk.
 
As her face went scarlet, her eyes like a
periscope explored an escape route. Finding there was nowhere to run; suddenly
trapped she was his body looming over her blocking out everything else.
 

           
Calming
herself, she decided it was best to face him one last time.
 
Get it over with, although there was a part
of her that knew it would never be.

           
Retrieving
the red rose from his lapel, Brad held the stem between fingers twisting it,
watching the movement mesmerize her.
 
They were the same fingers that traced her eyebrow, tucked her hair in
place, brushed the flour from her nose, and traced her skin and . . . Sam
slumped against the corner quivering lips belying her calm veneer.

           
Chin
lifted in defiance, she concluded moodily he must have sensed her feelings with
his sharp intuition and yet, managed to display a breezy efficient exterior.
Arrogance glowed in his intelligent eyes.

Holding her eyes, his own serious,
and intent, with barely a thread of sound, he asked softly, “Why?”

Detecting the steel
beneath the velvet tone, Sam swallowed a sharp retort.

           
He
waited for her reply before speaking without the least vestige of warmth.
 
His words like a diamond cutting glass.
 
“For heaven's sake, quit looking as though
you had been beaten.
 
I simply wanted to
wish you and Ted the best of what life holds in store.
 
Congratulations, Princess.”

           
Hissing
like a coiled snake ready to strike, “I'm certain your words are just brimming
with sincerity.
 
You may have everyone
else fooled, but not me.
 
Now get out of
here.
 
You got what you wanted.”

Brad's eyes crinkled with surprising
humor. “Touché' but isn't that the pot calling the kettle black,” he applauded
with infuriating condescension.

           
Sam
had every right to be angry, just like him.
 
Wanting to shake her to her senses, scream at her, kiss her, make love
to her, his hands stretched to touch her slender shoulders.
 

           
Recognizing
the truth in his words, she slapped irritably at his hands, bewilderment, and
confusion prompting her to resort to sarcasm.
 
“Don't!
 
Don't you ever touch
me?
 
I never want to see or hear from you
again, ever!
 
I hate you.”
 
Turning her face into the corner, she brushed
impatiently at damp eyes.

“You can do whatever it is you want
to do, say whatever you want to say, Princess, but I'm not going to lose you,
not now, not ever.”

“I bet you say that to all your
girls,” she snapped.

“Right, but with you I don't keep my
fingers crossed.”

           
Brad
moved closer.
  
Sam sensed the warmth of
him, smelled his compelling cologne, felt his hands like steel bars on her
shoulders, his thumbs moving slowly back and forth in a soothing rhythm.
  
Although he spoke quietly, she jumped at the
sound of his words.
 

“I'm sorry, very
sorry.
 
You are right I wanted to make
love to you.
 
I do right now.
 
Until I draw my last breath, I will always
want you.
 
There is a lot you do not
know, that you would never understand.
 
Someday, when you find it in your heart to listen, I'll try to explain.
 
Meanwhile, take good care of yourself.
 
Always remember if you ever need me I'll be
there.”
 

           
Uncoiling,
Sam spun around.
 
With defiance oozing
from every pore, her hand inscribing an arc through the air exploded like a
firecracker going off struck Brad's cheek with all her force, “With what,
money?
 
Like you were there for Candy,
for your child, for Bernie, for the other whores you have bedded.
 
I do not need your money.
 
I do not need you.
 
Go to hell, Brad Johnson.”

           
The
print of her hand blossoming on his cheek erupted an incredible urge within her
to rub it gently away the idea bringing telltale color to her skin.

           
Brad's
hands snaking out cuffing both of her wrists lowered them.
 
Bringing them behind her back his body
pressed her into the corner.
 
With a deep
voice full of authority, “That was not very wise of you, Princess.
 
You found out once the consequences of
inducing my anger.
 
You are a child that
has much growing up to do.
 
You took some
facts, half-facts, and suppositions and made them into a case to suit you.
 
If what you say were true, then I would haul
you out of here right now, throw you onto the back seat of a car, lift your
lovely pristine wedding gown, and take you until I had my fill, remind you of
how good it felt, but, little one, I'm not the whoremonger you think I am.

           
 
You don't know me.
 
You probably never will.
 
You wouldn't know love if it slapped you in
the face.
 
If you did then you would know
I've loved you from the moment I saw you.
 
I'm crazy in love with you, so damn much so it scares me - really scares
me.
 
I'd die for you and if you ever
opened those baby blues of yours you'd realize you're in love with me.
 
You would have to be or you wouldn't have
given yourself the way you did.
 
I saw it
in your eyes when you looked at me or I wouldn't have . . .

           
I've
never known anyone quite like you. I know I never will again.
 
I can wait for the day when you figure it all
out.
 
When you do, send me the rose and I
will come to you. You see, my darling Samantha, I'm not a man who falls too
easily so, I think it’s only fair to let you know forever is as far as I'll
go.”

           
The
scooped neck of Sam's gown exposed the shadowed valley between her breasts, the
jut of her collarbone.
  
Brad's eyes
dropped and she knew what he was seeing.
 
Transferring both wrists into one hand, the other slipped the rose
between her breasts pushing it with two fingers deep between her breasts.
 
Retracting his hand slowly, deliberately he
laid his hot palm upon the swell.
 
Immediately,
she felt her nipple's erupt and press against the fabric of the gown.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” he
said huskily, stroking her breast from base to tip, his fingers lingering on
the protruding button.

           
The
warmth of his palm against her breast caused sweetness to flood her body making
her aware she desired him with a shameful fervor.
 
She knew his eyes were darkening, she felt
them do so and strove to remain immune, but his eyes ranging over her made her
annoyingly aware of her body's response to his touch.
  

“If I had my way I'd kiss you right
now as you've never been kissed before, in fact, on second thought. . .”

           
Sam's
eyes searched Brad's as he lowered his face.
 
There was a blur, a groan when his mouth found hers, the kiss proper at
first then with slow expertise he coaxed her response.
 
When he sensed her acquiescence, when her
mouth clung to his, he used it against her.
 
The maestro was playing his mouth on hers tantalizing her with the heat
from the space between them, the complete immobility of his body more sensuous
than any movement could have been while lapping at her spurred emotions.
 

           
When
he released her, there were points of fire in his eyes, his voice as dry as
desert sand.
 
Behind every word he spoke,
a ruthless purpose, “You will not find it easy to forget me, or what we shared.
 
Burning us alive can't deny it.”
 

           
Freeing
her hands, his right hand flattened against her ribs just under her breast
where her heart jogged maddeningly.
 
His
left hand elevated one of her trembling, sweaty palms to place it against his
heart running the same race.
 
His voice
became as thin as a child’s, his mouth an uncompromising line.
 
“Love is the rhythm of two hearts beating
pounding out a melody steady and true.
 
It would have been wiser never to experience intimacy, but it's a little
too late to do the right thing now.
 
The
memory of our night together will always be inside them until ripped from our
bodies.
 
Although you will not believe me
today, tomorrow will surely come and you'll realize in all the world there is
no love as true as mine.”
           
Before
the moist passion of his mouth dried, before a protest slipped across her lips,
he spun on his heels and strolled away.
 

           
Sam
could still feel the sensation of his mouth moving on hers and was unable to
resist the impulse to place her fingers on her lips as if to recapture the
moment.
 
Tears pricked her eyes still
shaded by bewilderment and skepticism.
 
A
sudden rawness came to her throat.
 
The
devil had cursed her, her marriage.
 
Never did she suspect his disciple would have such a soft touch tempered
with steel.
 
           
She stared at Brad's proud form slipping away trying to
imprint him on her memory knowing unless she sent for him she would never see
him again and wondering why that hurt unbearably.

           
A
shadow in another dark corner witnessed the proceedings.
 
Clutched in hand was a glass of champagne
splashing over its rim and dribbling onto the floor from a nasty, niggling
jealousy.