Chasing the Fall (Naughty and Spice)

Eleven

Twiggy

Sunlight filtering through the slatted window blinds brings me to wakefulness by degrees. First, there’s the awareness of a bed other than my own.

Then, remembrance of where I am, and why.

Finally, there’s the recollection of last night’s events, the ones that started sometime in the evening and lasted until I collapsed, exhausted, well after midnight. Delicious aches in every part of my body remind me of Bran’s devastating mastery as he took my body time after time, sweet brutality present in his every touch. My core pulses at the memory.

If I thought I could move, I’d want more.

Hell…I want more even if I can’t move.

Eyes closed, I slide my hand slowly across the cool percale of the sheet, my fingers searching for Bran’s warmth. I come up empty, though, and pop my eyes open to find the stretch of mattress beside me empty.

Well, damn.

Shoving aside my immediate inclination to be hurt, I get up and take a few minutes to brush my teeth and restore some semblance of order to my hair. The scratch on my arm is healing well, faded to a tender scratch that I decide to leave unbandaged today.

I dress in one of Bran’s huge T-shirts that I find in the dresser, tug a pair of his socks up to my knees, and leave the room.

Bran stands at the island, what looks to be an empty glass of whiskey beside him. Raw steak is on a platter in front of him, and he pauses in the act of brushing it with olive oil to let his gaze travel the length of my legs. His eyes flare with heat before returning to his task. “Morning.” His voice is gruff.

“Good morning,” I murmur, walking around him to reach the refrigerator.

Be normal. So you had sex last night; doesn’t have to mean anything more than you were both horny.

Maybe I should tell him that…set his mind at ease. Maybe he’s thinking that I expect a ring since I was a virgin, and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t in bed this morning…

And the thing is, I don’t want or need a ring. I’m not some fainting maiden, distressed that I’ve been ruined. I’m capable of handling this situation like an adult.

I gnaw on my lip as I search the contents of the fridge, my nipples pebbling my T-shirt in response to the cold air. Tension stretches between us, and finally I break it.

“You don’t have to worry about me being a nuisance.”

“I want you to know last night wasn’t just a one-off for me.”

We speak at the same time, so it takes me a second for Bran’s statement to catch up. “What?” I turn around to find him glaring at me, a dark frown slashing through the dimples on his cheeks.

A little sigh escapes me. Freaking dimples.

Then: wait. He looks mad.

“A nuisance? Are you daft, woman?”

I open and close my mouth. “I didn’t mean…I didn’t want you to think…” The words trail off, my focus intent on his expression which is growing blacker by the second.

“Didn’t want me to think what?”

“That I expected anything. You know. Because we had sex.”

Without replying, Bran sets down the jar of seasoning he had been using. He walks to the sink, where he washes his hands and then dries them on the dish towel. Coming to stand in front of me, he takes the bottle of juice I had just removed from the refrigerator and sets it behind me, on the counter.

Then he takes my face between his two big hands, tips it up to his, and kisses me silly. When he finishes I’m dizzy and struggling to breathe normally.

“Does that feel like I think you’re a nuisance?” He asks softly.

I shake my head, because no…it really didn’t.

“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t. And Tallulah? Expect something.” My brow wrinkles, my earlier words already forgotten. “When a man takes you to bed,” Bran continues, “you better damn well expect the fucking moon and stars. Otherwise, he has no business in your bed.”

Oh.

A warm glow suffuses me, heating everything from my chest up to my ears.

“Now go sit—all the way over there, so I’m not tempted—and let me get these steaks cooked.”

Hiding a smile, I do as he says and sit on the sofa. “Steak for breakfast…that’s different.”

“Not really. It’s healthier to eat a savory breakfast than one full of carbs and sugars.”

Well, don’t I feel attacked. “What if I don’t care about eating healthy?”

He lays the steaks in a cast iron pan, and the sound of sizzling fills the room. “Then I’ll care about it for you. You eat too much sugar. And it is close to noon, anyway, so there’s that.”

My heart takes a hard tumble in my chest. “Good enough.” I pluck at the hem of his T-shirt. “Thank you.”

“For?” Reaching into a cabinet, he pulls down a couple of plates.

I shrug and keep my gaze fastened on my knees. “For caring. I haven’t had anyone do that since Mom died, so…thanks.”

A moment later his shadow falls across me, and I look up to find my vision filled with him as he lowers his face to mine. He presses another brief, achingly tender kiss to my lips before straightening and returning to the kitchen. “You’ve got me now.”

After eating, Bran makes a check of the cabin’s perimeter while I wash the few dishes we dirtied. Finished, I look around, trying to find something to occupy myself with.

The answer comes in the form of a cabinet filled with board games, books, and cards. I pull out a Scrabble board and rub my hands in anticipation. Bran doesn’t know it, but he’s about to get his ass spanked.

I give him my best puppy dog eyes when he comes back inside and show him the board, already set up. “Can we play? Please?”

Surprising me, Bran doesn’t hesitate. He sits down at the table and draws his tiles. “Sure.”

I sit and draw my own tiles. “I didn’t expect you to agree,” I say. “I figured you wouldn’t be interested in board games.”

“Why? This is my house,” he answers. “My games, my furniture, my clothing…”

“Fair.”

“But I do think we should make things more interesting.” He gestures for me to go first, and I start laying a word down in the center of the board.

ZEPHYR. I grin over at Bran. “Sure. Not bad, huh?”

“Very nice.” He studies his rack. “The loser of each round loses an article of clothing each time.”

“So if my points for this word are twenty-seven, and you play a thirty-five point word, I lose an article of clothing?”

“Correct.”

“But I’m only wearing four things.”

His eyes travel over me lazily, and he stretches out a bare foot. “I’m only wearing three. Jeans, T-shirt, boxers. Scared?”

I narrow my eyes. “When you put it like that…do your worst.”

Bran rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, a smirk lurking at the corners of his lips. Straightening in his chair, he lays his tiles.

CAZIQUE.

My jaw drops. “What the—that can’t be a word.”

A huff of laughter escapes him. “Definitely a word. It’s a Native American tribal leader. Or a local politician in Latin America.”

Well, damn. I stare at the board unhappily and pull a sock off. “My foot’s gonna get cold.”

Reaching beneath the table, he tugs my naked foot into his lap. His fingers grip it loosely, lightly stroking the arch and toes. “I’ll keep it warm.”

“T-thanks.” I study my rack and the board, searching for something—

Oh.

Ohhh.

That would be bad. But he kind of deserves it.

I place the letter S at the end of cazique and then peer up at him. He shakes his head. “You know it’s just face value, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Several moves later, Bran has beaten me soundly. I’ve removed both socks and my panties, and the only thing remaining is his oversized T-shirt.

The only thing Bran has removed is his own T-shirt.

“This isn’t fair,” I stall, standing up from the table. “How are you so good at this game? No one ever beats me!”

Bran twirls his finger in a ‘get on with it’ gesture, his eyes hot. “I’m not an idiot. Even though as an institution it’s not the end all and be all, I did go to college, you know. I have a master’s in history.”

My eyes widen. “What? I didn’t know that. Why history?” I play with the shirt’s hem.

“I was going to teach, but I decided I don’t have the temperament for it. Remove the shirt, Tallulah.”

I’m still struggling to reconcile the idea of Bran with the teachers I had. His growled command refocuses me, and slowly I begin to drag the hem up my thighs.

The tip of his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and a feeling like power rushes through me, zipping through my veins and flushing me with boldness. My gaze fixed on him, I pull the shirt over my head and stand before him naked, the cool air of the cabin brushing against every bit of me.

Bran’s pupils dilate, his jaw tightens, and his fingers flex on the denim covering his legs. Turning, I stroll toward the bedroom. “Coming?”

Bran may have won Scrabble, but I’m definitely the winner in this other game between us.