Sinful (3 page)

But Lita – who was smaller and rounder than most of the women who pranced by him at Swingers – dressed in a skirt that fell between her knees and her ankles, wearing a pretty, matching shirt that nonetheless buttoned up to her neck, intrigued him to no end. Mindful of his sister’s words, he didn’t pounce as he might have. Instead, he sat back and watched her as covertly as he could manage, and luckily, Marielle’s boys and husband, Tom, who was one of his best friends, made sure that the conversation around the dinner table was lively, and thus he was able to keep a relatively close eye on her with no one being the wiser.

Except, perhaps, Lita, who could feel those coal black eyes settling on her every single time, which only made her that much more nervous than she already was. Having been as cloistered as she was, she wasn’t used to going places by herself, or being in the company of unmarried men without the protective ranks of her older brothers – to say nothing of her overprotective parents – acting as a buffer and filter between them.

“You’re very quiet there, Lita,” Tom commented, making her blush and stare down at the tender pot roast on her plate.

But then Brandt watched her straighten her spine, lift her head and tease back, “Well, I can hardly get a word in edgewise, anyway.”

The surprise at her response was palpable until everyone laughed. Marielle’s eldest son patted Lita on the shoulder – which had an astonished Brandt wanting to reach across the table and deck the kid for some unknown reason – saying, “That’s it! We don’t bite, but we do tease, but we don’t mean anything by it. You gotta give as good as you get around here, or we’ll trample you.”

The kid was in love with Lita; Brandt could recognize the signs, having had a crush on his own mother’s friend years and years ago. Of course, Kent was much too young, but Brandt wasn’t, and the jealousy he felt at his nephew’s gestures had him chomping at the bit to spend more time with the fey, elusive Miss Lita Johnson.

That didn’t happen for some time. He was too busy trying to get his life rearranged and get back into the swing of things after coming home from his last tour, his divorce, and the loss of his job due to the closure of the plant where he had been working. He had decided to enroll in the Albuquerque Police Department, and his classes – and studying – kept him busy from dawn to dusk, to say nothing of exhausted. He was in pretty good physical shape, but he knew it could be better, so not only was he going through the physical rigors of training to become a police officer, but he was also challenging himself physically on his own, knowing that it could only help his chances to get on the force.

They finally had a three day weekend coming up, and he was determined to somehow wrangle a date with Lita. It took him two full days of near begging to get her phone number from his sister. He didn’t think she’d ever made him work so hard for any of her friends’ numbers over the years, and she had been exceedingly reluctant when she’d given him Lita’s. He’d had to endure long speeches that sounded like blatant lectures about how he should behave with her, and ended with the caveat that, if he hurt her, he would have her to deal with.

He had scoffed at her concerns. He wasn’t out to hurt the girl, just date her. But, once he got to know Lita, he realized that Marielle’s concerns were not at all unfounded. If he hadn’t been the man he was, he could easily have taken advantage of her babe in the woods innocence.

Their first date – which was
really
her first date, he was amazed to find out – was a simple one, at Marielle’s suggestion. It wasn’t at night or to a big fancy restaurant, it was, instead, to one of the bigger flea markets in the area, where they strolled through the booths – not even hand in hand because she seemed to be so blasted uncomfortable with him – and he bought her the first thing she showed any interest in, which was a beautiful old oil lamp done in soft pink glass.

She was so effusive in her thanks that he nearly became embarrassed himself, which seemed to be the state in which she lived. Her round cheeks were perpetually rosy around him, and he knew that he would love to have the chance to make her lower ones match, although he was smart enough not to say that to her yet.

They had luck at a nearby middle of the road type chain restaurant, and she seemed wide-eyed over everything about it, as if it was her first visit.

And he was thunderstruck to realize that it
was
her first visit.

Over the next few dates, all of which he kept carefully sexually neutral – not trying to kiss her goodnight or goodbye, not even catching her hand in his as they walked together or wrapping his arm casually around her shoulders as he might have with another woman – he learned just how cloistered she had been.

She had grown up homeschooled, with no television at all and even very little radio, with no access to the Internet at all. Until she’d broken with her parents’ sect, she had never cut her hair, never been alone in a room with an unmarried man, rarely been alone in a room at all, considering the size of her ten sibling family. Her entire goal in life, as her parents would pound into her, was to keep sweet – swallow down any negative emotions; marry – forever, of course, since divorce was forbidden; and have as many soldiers for Christ as she could produce before menopause hit.

Brandt was agog; not just at the isolation, but also at how ruthlessly she was expected to suppress any need or want she had that ran counter to the party line. Women did not get angry, or cry, and were definitely not moody. She was expected to have a smile on her face and be a ‘willing servant’ to pretty much anyone – especially any man – at all times.

And – weak vessel that she was – she hadn’t even been able to choose her own husband.

They had been dating for several months, and every time they got together, she spent the majority of the time talking to him about what her life had been like. He seemed to be fascinated and repelled by it at the same time, although she worried she was boring him to tears.

“You were so brave to have left. Good on you, Lita.” Brandt reached out and covered her hand, where it lay on the table, with his, squeezing gently then letting go. He should have been used to that beautiful blush by now, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“Stop laughing at me – I can’t help it!” she said, putting her hands to her hot cheeks.

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you, I hope. I don’t mean anything bad by it. Your blushes are refreshing and enchanting.”

She knew he was shining her on, but it was thoughtful of him to say so, anyway.

“I’m sure that would describe all of your dates.”

Brandt nearly choked on his water at that idea. “No, not really. They’re all... well, they know the score and are a bit jaded, I suppose is the best word to describe it.” It was his turn to blush. “I really haven’t been dating so much as sleeping around.”

“Oh.” She tried not to sound disapproving, but wasn’t sure she was able to pull it off. Although she really didn’t feel judgmental towards him or the girls he’d slept with, especially since she’d begun to realize that, somewhere along the way, she had begun wishing that she were one of them.

She’d tried to assimilate as best she could, and she thought that she’d done pretty well, considering. But she really hadn’t gone on many dates at all, and none that had ended satisfactorily, as far as she was concerned. She knew first hand that some of the men were put out that she wouldn’t... put out, as one of them had phrased it.

As careful as she had tried to be, she’d ended up with men who expected her to be just like all the others they had ever dated – which seemed to equate to ‘slept with’, to her horror. She would never be the type to go to bed with a man on the first date. Heck, she wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to sleep with a man she wasn’t married to at all, much less barely an hour or two after having met him. But that seemed to be the rule rather than the exception nowadays, and she knew she was the one who was woefully out of step.

She had pretty much resigned herself to living alone – which was a novelty in and of itself considering that she was the eldest of such a large brood – when Marielle had mentioned to Lita that Brandt was interested in going out on a date with her. Lita was so surprised that her mouth literally gaped open and sounds like stifled squawks emanated from her, nothing intelligible in the least able to work its way past the severe, terrified constriction in her throat.

Marielle, of course, was chuckling. She and her brother – and all the rest of the family – laughed a lot, and Lita loved that about them. They were so casual and easy with each other – it was so different from the tense, critical atmosphere in which she had grown up. She loved being around them, and spent a shameful amount of time over at her friend’s house just sopping it up.

“But he’s – he’s—” gorgeous, she wanted to say, but couldn’t quite. Sexy, too, but that word was probably never going to pass her lips. “He’s much too...” She couldn’t even finish that sentence, but then realized it was an answer in and of itself.

“Too what?” her friend had asked, confused.

“Just ‘too’. That about says it all. He’s too smart for me, too good looking...” too vital and vibrant and full of life. He was sure to become bored with her in a matter of seconds, and if she was going to be rejected by someone, she knew she didn’t want it to be him. That would leave her the infinite pleasure of daydreaming about him, safely knowing that what she was fantasizing about would never, ever happen. But not because he’d tried her on and didn’t like her, but because they were just too different.

“Mellita Georgiana Johnson, don’t you ever let me hear you talk like that!”

For a moment, it sounded uncomfortably like Marielle was channeling her mother – the same words, almost, and definitely the same scolding tone of voice.

“My brother’s just a guy, like any other guy. He’s nice looking, but he’s no Brad Pitt.” Marielle often forgot that Lita had no frame of reference about pop culture, and this was one of those times. “But he’s not egotistical about his looks, either, which is a point in his favor. And you’re far from dumb, girlie girl. You’re taking classes at the community college, and hell, his degree is from the same place, so he has no cause to be looking down his nose about that.” Marielle leaned her elbow on the table and shook her fork at her friend. “You could date any man you wanted to, and I’d be honored if one of them was Brandt. He already knows about you and your special situation, you’ve met him, and I’ll make damned sure he’s on his best behavior or I’ll have his balls on a platter the next day.”

She must’ve put the fear of God into him, because he was more circumspect than any other man she’d dated had been. Heck, he didn’t even take her out at night until their third date. And he’d never really touched her at all, which was very different from her previous experiences. The others she’d dated seemed quite familiar, always touching here and there, but even the most non-threatening physical overtures were foreign to her, and she tended to tense up immediately, which put the majority of them off.

Some of them, however, weren’t quite that easily dissuaded.

Recognizing that she was uncomfortable with the subject, and that it was improper to discuss other women with the one he was currently with, anyway, he asked, “How many dates have you been on since you left your family?”

One thing he had to say for her, she ate well. None of the usual “I’ll just have a salad” for her. She ate her full meal, practically even the garnish. Between bites of what had become her favorite – teriyaki steak – she thought. “Eight or so? Maybe? Six? Somewhere in there.”

He knew he was going to hate himself for asking, but he did it anyway, “And did you sleep with any of them?”

The question had her coughing – practically choking – until she took a long swig of ice water with lemon. The bright red hue was back again with a vengeance, and her answer startled him. “I don’t know if that’s any of your business, Mr. Striker.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Oh, so I’m back to Mr. Striker, now, am I, because of that question?”

“It was an impertinent question,” she said by way of explanation.

“And I am an impertinent man, Miss Johnson,” he replied quickly, an unrepentant grin on his face. She’d returned to eating when he continued, “Regardless, I want an answer to my question.”

First his sister became her mother, now he was sounding exactly like her father. Only her father would have been much louder – but not quite yelling – by now. He was a man who was used to being instantly obeyed – especially by his daughters, and she was beginning to think that the man in front of her wasn’t all that far off. There was no mistaking his air of command.

But, unlike her father, Brandt didn’t even look somewhat ruffled that she hadn’t instantly complied with his demand. Determined, yes, but calm and steady at the same time, as if he knew he would get his answer one way or the other.

In the not too distant past, she would already have been out the door and halfway home at such an intimate question from a man who was still a relative stranger. But she was learning – mostly from Marielle’s example – not to back down so easily. “What do you feel entitles you to such sensitive information, Mr. Striker?” she asked, popping the last pieces of wonderfully tender fillet, as well as a pile of grilled peppers and a bit of rice into her mouth, chewing it while she watched him.

His grin had broadened into a smile, but he didn’t necessarily look happy, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Brandt figured he didn’t have much to lose, so he told her exactly why he expected her to answer his question. “Because I intend to make love to you myself, Miss Johnson.”

He ended up having to get out of his chair and slap her – hard on the back between her shoulder blades – so that she wouldn’t choke to death. As he sat down, he urged her to take her water glass that he was offering and told her to take several sips, which she did automatically, both because she needed to and in response to the tone of his voice.

“I can elaborate, if you like,” he offered, watching her carefully. He couldn’t tell if her red face was because she’d choked or he’d outraged her sensibilities.

“No, please. I get the idea.”

“Knowing what I know about you, I doubt you do, but I’ll let it go for now.” The waitress – who only had eyes for him – came and took their plates while Brandt waved her away, saying, “Don’t come back until I call for you.”

Then he leaned forward and took both of her hands in his, no more than that, not letting her reclaim her fingers no matter how hard she tugged. “Stop struggling. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to molest you here, in front of a crowd. The first time I touch you, I want you to be as relaxed as I can possibly manage, so it won’t be in public.”

“Thanks, I think.” She was just learning sarcasm, and thought she got just the right inflection. He was a bounder – he’d already decided that he was going to make love to her, and that was that. Lita hadn’t left a patriarchal society where women had very little choice just to join one man’s fiefdom and assume the role of serf to his lord, and she told him as much.

But that had just made him laugh, and she still didn’t have possession of her own hands. “Honey, when we get to that point, I promise you, you will have
all
of the power. Every single bit of it. You already do, although you’re so wrapped up in the quirks of your upbringing that you can’t see it.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like a bunch of nonsense to her, and she shifted in her chair, still tugging at her captive fingers. Of course if she allowed herself to become submissive to him she would be powerless. That was how it worked, in her experience.

“Now be a good girl and answer my question and maybe I’ll let you have your hands back. Have you slept with any of the men you’ve dated since you left your family?” Still calm, still almost mild, but with a core of steel she was only just beginning to realize she was going to come up against.

She sensed that he would sit there with her all night, if necessary, to get her to comply with his wishes. Sighing impatiently, she said, “No, all right? Are you happy?”

He brought the backs of her fingers to his mouth and kissed each of them lightly, then released them. She felt almost bereft without his warmth, and promptly crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him angrily.

“Infinitely.”

A mere flick of his fingers had the waitress producing the dessert menu, and he insisted that Lita join him in ordering something. But she fussed and fidgeted, citing weight concerns. With that, Brandt reached over and plucked the menu from her hands, saying to the over eager girl that hovered at his elbow, “My lady will have the mud pie, and I’ll have the chocolate cake. And would you bring us two cups of coffee to go with that, please?” He turned a full watt smile on the girl, and she just about melted in front of them before scurrying away to do his bidding.

Lita, who had been unimpressed with the mostly female wait staff’s fawning attentions to her date, had resumed her position with her arms crossed over her chest.

When they had been served their enormous desserts and coffee, he took a spoonful of his own and offered it to her, asking, “So, did you not sleep with them because they didn’t offer, or because you weren’t turned on by any of them?”

The Mile High Chocolate Cake here was rumored to be heaven on a spoon, and, since she’d always had a weakness for sweets, she was unable to keep herself from reaching out to grab for the spoon he was offering. But he wouldn’t give it to her, intending to feed her from it himself.

As much as she wanted it, she almost balked; then leaned down and snatched it into her mouth, feeling sinfully decadent in doing so, knowing she was headed straight to hell for her indulgence on both levels.

The next thing she knew, right when she was trying to resume her angry stance, he was leaning towards her with his mouth open, wanting her to feed him some of her own dessert. How could she refuse a face like that? It was entirely beyond her to do so, and she fed a man from her own plate – her own spoon – for the first time in her life. And she loved it. So much so that she found she could no longer act as annoyed as she was. He had charmed her out of it, somehow, blast him.

He issued a softly scolding, “Lita,” to remind her that he had asked her a question that she was obviously trying to avoid answering.

And he was trying to avoid watching her diligently licking her spoon like a cat with a particularly luscious bowl of cream.

Instead of pressing her about his first question, he introduced another. “Were you spanked as a child?”

It threw her off guard, so she answered automatically, “Yes.”

He had suspected as much. “Good. Then you’ll be at least somewhat familiar with what I mean when I say that, if you don’t answer me – truthfully – by the time I count to five then when we get back to my truck, I’m going to take you over my knee and spank you.”

Her eyes went round, and he saw her breath catch, and he knew she was trying to judge whether or not he was serious about the threat. “One.”

Wider still, so that she looked as if he had confessed that he was a vampire.

“Two.”

“No – you – I – you can’t do this – that – to me!”

Almost tantalizingly softly, “Who’s going to stop me? Are you telling me that – bare bottomed – you’d flag a stranger in the parking lot to come over and help you? Because I can tell you that is the only way I’ll ever discipline you. It’s the only way that works.”

Her mouth snapped shut as she glared at him.

“Three.”

“Brandt!” Her outrage was palpable, but he was merciless.

“I can promise you, Lita, that if you let me get to five, you
will
find yourself over my lap getting spanked when we’re finished with dinner. I am dead serious.”