Southern Seduction (12 page)

Brooke really didn’t want to get into a sparring match with Travis tonight. She’d had a long day, as well, so she ignored his barb and asked, “Will you call Prosper in?”

For a change, Travis did as she requested.
When Prosper came through the door, he looked at Travis for instructions, “Sir?”

Travis swung his hand toward Brooke.
“I believe the lady would like to speak with you.”

Prosper glanced at her and executed a curt, but shallow bow.
“Mademoiselle.”

“I just wanted to tell you that was possibly the best meal I have ever had the pleasure to eat,” she said, placing her right hand on her heart.
“And from this day fourth, you have my undying devotion, Prosper. You must be the greatest chef alive.”

“Thank you,” he said with a confident smile and a slight nod.
“I believe there may be one, possibly two better than I.”

Brooke laughed.
“They would have to prove it to me.”

Prosper actually chuckled this time.
He turned to Travis. “Anything else, sir?”

“That will be all,” Travis said with a shake of his head.
After the cook had gone, he added, “I do believe you’ve won him over.”

Brooke stood.
Then she moved around the table to where Travis was sitting. “But not the master of the house?”

He drew back and peered at her.
“Do you want to win me over?”

Brooke thought for a long moment.
“I would like for us to be--“ she paused, “--friends.” She reached out to touch his arm. The instant she did, a cracking shock ran up her arm, and she snatched her hand back. She noted Travis’s puzzled look and knew he’d felt the same thing. In the same instant, she felt herself losing ground. She could sense he was drawing away from her, putting up that shield that he used so well. And his next words confirmed exactly that.

“I’m afraid it’s too soon, Brooke,” he said with what she could hope was a note of regret.
“You’ll have to give it time.”

Brooke didn’t respond.
Was he regretting that it would take time, or that he was beginning to want to know her? Or worse still, wishing she were completely out of his life? With something new to consider, Brooke turned and left the room, all the time thinking
but I don’t have the time. Don’t you understand?

Later that night, a thunderstorm rolled in off the Gulf, bringing with it blustery winds, torrential rain and brilliant flashes of light.
A bolt of lightning struck somewhere close by.

The crash was so loud it brought Brooke straight up in bed.
She clutched the covers in front of her as if they would protect her from her childhood fears. Her heart pounded in her chest. Wildly, her gaze darted around the darkened room as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Don’t be foolish,” she whispered to herself.
“It’s only a storm.”

It took several moments before she was able to make herself stop gasping for air.
She always told herself the same thing. It never did any good.

How foolish to be afraid of storms when they were nothing more than wind and rain.
But every time a storm came upon her, she was transported back to her childhood and many unpleasant memories.

Brooke’s mother had brought her to the boarding school during a thunderstorm, leaving her there without as much as a hug.
After that Brooke was pretty much on her own. She could remember huddling in bed many nights with her special blanket wrapped around her, praying the storms would go away. From that time on, storms always seemed to bring trouble in her life.

Of course, the other girls were not afraid and they’d teased her about being so silly.
Everyone but Jocelyn, who’d taken up for Brooke. But as much as she tried to convince herself that there was nothing to fear, Brooke had never gotten over them.

Even now, she wondered what terrible thing would happen to her next, though she knew that it was silly to think such nonsense.
The only thing that came to mind was the fiancée could return early. Of course, she’d already had that scare once tonight. Brooke looked upward. “Oh, please don’t let that happen. Give me a chance.”

She tossed back the covers and went to the hearth.
With trembling fingers, she took one of the wood splinters and placed one end to the hot coals. As soon as it caught fire, she took another splinter and lit the candle on the bedside table. The flame sputtered but finally sprang to life. Next, she removed the globe off the kerosene lamp and lit the wick. The soft glow made her feel a little better. Then the next rumble of thunder rolled in.

She knew she had to do something to distract her mind from the storm.
Perhaps, she should fetch a book from the library. There had been times when she’d been able to escape into another time and place when she had a good tome to read. It just might do the trick this time, she thought.

Brooke grabbed her pink satin wrapper and slipped it on, tying it snugly at her waist.
No one could possibly be up this time of night, so she wasn’t worried about her appearance. She shoved her long wavy hair over her shoulders, picked up the pewter, candle holder and stepped out into the hallway.

Carefully, she slipped down the stairs, her bare feet not making a sound.
Seeing that no one was up, she continued down the hallway to the library where she pushed open the door just as another lightning bolt struck a tree nearby. She jerked, causing hot wax to splatter on her finger, and the flame sputtered out.

“Damn,” she swore, then quickly placed her sore finger in her mouth, feeling the coating of wax that clung to her finger.

She hadn’t taken more than two more steps into the dark room when someone said, “Such language from a lady. I see you couldn’t sleep either.”

Brooke gasped, startled.
Between the storm and Travis to contend with, she was turning into a bag of nerves. “I--I didn’t realize you’d still be up. And I definitely didn’t expect to find you standing here in the dark.”

“It’s hard to sleep when one realizes that this bloody storm has brought the cane harvest to a halt.”
Travis turned back to the window where he’d been leaning against the sill.

She could see his hard physique in the window now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
“Come and see how the wind and rain is ruining our harvest,” he said.

“I--I--“

He glanced back at her. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

Hell, yes
, she wanted to cry, but she’d never let him see her weakness. As she stepped closer, she could smell the light scent of cherry from his pipe. “I just came down for a book,” she said. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Now there’s a first,” he said, his tongue was heavy with sarcasm.
“It’s your crop, too.”

When she reached the window she could feel the breeze from the open window brush her face with a fine mist of water.
It felt good on her flushed skin.

Evidently, Travis had a different opinion of the storm than she did.
However, the window was protected by the veranda, she noticed as she peered out the window and no rain came inside. She felt a little safer as she watched the steady downpour. “Are all your storms like this?”

“Sometimes,” Travis said, leaning against the window frame.
He placed his pipe on the ledge and picked up a glass. She could detect the brandy on his breath before she noticed his glass. She wondered how long he’d been drinking.

Travis saw the direction of her gaze and held the brandy snifter up, offering it to her.
“It will warm you.”

To his surprised, Brooke took it from him and sipped the reddish-brown liquid.
She handed the snifter back to him and murmured her thanks.

A flash of light
ning provided enough light so he could see a glistening drop of brandy lingering on her bottom lip. Before he could reach out and remove it, Brandy flicked out her tongue and stole the temptation from him.

Outwardly, he remained expressionless.

Inwardly, his blood raced.

Travis hadn’t believed his eyes when he’d first turned and found her standing in
his study wearing nothing more than a wrapper covering her. A pink silk wrapper that was cut low in front provided him a good glimpse of creamy skin. The candlelight made her flesh appear white as alabaster as if she were a perfect statue instead of a thorn in his side.

Instead of squealing and tuning away from him like a virgin, she hadn’t seemed the least bit embarrassed about her lack of clothing.
Of course, Brooke was a widow, so she would know a man’s touch. But she should have some sense of modesty.

The question plaguing his mind was did she like a man’s touch?
Or did she lie there like a statue in bed and simply endure? Had she loved her husband?

Travis’s jaw tightened at the thought.
And of course, it irritated him that he’d care. He needed to get his mind on something other than the luscious body before him. He felt a prickle of uneasiness inside him, instead of the numb feeling he wanted so much to achieve.

“Did the brandy help?” He asked, detecting a strange tone in his voice.
He hoped Brooke did not notice.

“Yes,” she said, looking out the window instead of at him.
She was too damn close, Travis thought. He could smell her freshly-washed skin. Then she added, “It warmed me.”

Well, it sure wasn’t the brandy that was warming him, Travis thought ruefully.
He was on fire with desire that needed to be extinguished. “Would you care for more? I have several bottles.”

She laughed softly before looking at him.
“That would be one way to get through the storm,” she quipped and took another sip of brandy. “I’ve never thought of drinking as a solution.” Travis liked the sound of her silky, smooth voice, even though he detected that she was a little nervous.

Lightning struck somewhere close to the veranda.
Brooke jumped back, bumping into him. She gasped at the contact. “I’m so sorry,” she said and tried to move away.

Travis caught her and felt her tremble.
He placed the brandy snifter on the window ledge and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “You are shaking. You’re afraid, aren’t you?” he asked gently.

Brooke nodded as she pressed her face against his chest.
“Go ahead and tell me I’m a coward. And if a storm frightens me, how do I expect to run a plantation.”

“The storm can’t hurt you in here,” he murmured into her fragrant hair as he tried to reassure her.
“I like storms.”

“You would,” Brooke said with a half-laugh, and he smiled.

He hadn’t noticed until now that Brooke was the perfect height, fitting nicely into his arms. He also hadn’t noticed how delicate she was until he had her soft body pressed against him.

Thunder rumbled.
She clutched him tighter. Somehow, they were no longer enemies. They had become simply two people in need of comfort. And he had to admit she brought out a streak of tenderness and protectiveness within him that he’d never known existed.

“Shh,” he whispered.

After several moments she murmured, “I’m such a coward.”

Travis lifted her chin.
“I don’t think so. Tell me why you are afraid?”

“I don’t want to bother you,” she said, her face resting against his chest.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I considered it a bother.”

“I’m not really sur--“ Brooke paused as the thunder rumbled angrily through the sky.
“sure,” she continued. “But I think it started when I was young. My mother sent me to boarding school when I was five. She said it was the best thing for me. But I didn’t want to go. I was afraid and wanted to stay with her, however, she wouldn’t listen.”

“What about your father?”

“Remember I told you that we were a lot alike,” she reminded him of their conversation at the stables. “The difference being that you got to meet your father, I never did. He paid for my school and clothing, and I suppose I should be grateful for that.” She laughed, a bitter chuckle.

Travis tightened his arms.
A gust of wind whipped around them, bringing a sprinkling mist of rain and, for a moment there was silence. He felt as though he’d been slugged in the stomach. God help him, he knew exactly how she felt. “I’m sorry I interrupted,” he said in a whisper. “Finish your story about the storm.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

He had his cheek resting on the top of her head and he brushed his lips against her hair. “Yes,” he said simply.

“The first day she left me it was raining.
I think I forgot to say that earlier. Funny, nothing important ever seemed to happen when the sun is shining. Then later, when I was twelve, my mother returned to see how I was faring in school. Perhaps, she was curious. I’m not sure. But she did tell me things about herself, and when I asked if I could go with her she said no. At least, she seemed sad that she couldn’t take me. I do remember sadness in her face when she refused. It was stormy that day, too. She asked if I’d walk with her to the door, and I did. When we opened the heavy oak doors, a gust of wind blew in and got us both wet. She laughed, and I remember what a pretty sound it was.