CHAPTER IX

 

 

Emily’s eyes flew open.

At first the darkness was so intense she relied only on sound for orientation.  The tedious rustle of evergreen limbs brushed the wooden façade, an intimate stroke that soothed the aged planks.  In the dark, just beyond her reach, came the timbre respiration of a man.

For a moment Emily concentrated on that gentle rhythm, dipping her head into the musky scent of the pillow beside hers.  The motion clashed her forehead with Brian’s as the even pattern of his breath faltered with a soft groan.  A shift of his shoulder settled it back into a soft tempo.

Emily held her breath and waited, satisfied that he was once again deeply under.  She was startled to find her fingers entwined with his.  Had she sought his hand in slumber?

Never before had she even considered exposing that which was held so private.  Her pain was a living, breathing animal caged in her chest, each day gestating till she wanted to scream and pound her ribs for release.  And where did it come from?  Guilt.

Overshadowed for life by a unique young man with mental skills that defied imagination, Emily accepted her fate because she truly loved her brother.  It was impossible not to.  Maybe one might not consider her brilliant, or at least not in comparison, but she was an exemplary student with a smart head on her shoulders.  And her brother worshipped the ground she walked on.

When she was young, that adoration was embarrassing, especially when her friends witnessed the tow-headed kid tagging along after her.  He was a crafty shadow, always managing a fifty-foot distance between them, never narrowing it, never diminishing it.

As she grew older that adoration was tested when she went off to college.  It was during those years that Colin excelled in school and earned awards like they were candy.  When her parents came to visit her on campus, the conversation revolved around Colin’s most recent accomplishments—Colin’s college prospects, Colin’s uncanny skills, how Colin designed the new add-on to their Atlantic home.

Sometimes Emily wanted to scream.  Her thesis, which had earned her great acclaim, went unnoticed in the family.  Instead, that week Colin was in the local newspaper for winning the Connecticut Science Bowl.

Graduation.  The world seemed at her fingertips and Emily was ready to take it on.  A Marine Technology firm soliciting the university recruited her after only two meetings.  Her future was set.  George and Marie Brennan were on campus to herald their daughter’s triumphs.  Colin couldn’t make it.  The Science Bowl offered him the opportunity to partake in a research trip to analyze plankton in Long Island Sound.

As Emily stood in her dorm readying for the ceremony, her Father’s bulky cell phone rang.  Something about that shrill sound diminished the sun that filtered through her third story window.  It was an offshore call to inform the Brennans that their son had broken into the engine room of the research vessel and had damaged government property.  The firm that owned the ship was requesting their presence immediately or they would file criminal charges.

Emily placed her hand on the dorm window and felt the last traces of warmth from the sun.  If she knew her brother, he had found something unsound in the propulsion system and only wanted to point out the inadequacies of the engineer who designed it.

“We’re sorry baby, but Colin is probably in a panic right now.  You understand, don’t you?”

More likely Colin was spouting off to his patriotic comrade about the pros of nuclear versus diesel-powered engines.  Regardless, it was the catalyst of so many events in her life that had been underscored by Colin’s issues.

“No,” She pleaded resentfully.  “Grandpa Joe is only an hour away from Colin.  You’re at least six hours away.  Why can’t he go?

Her Father’s tolerant eyes regarded her affectionately.  “Because they need to speak to Colin’s parents, not his Grandfather.” He shifted those cerulean eyes towards his wife and added, “Immediately.”

“Oh George, but it’s Emily’s graduation.” Feathery fingers dusted across her watch.  “The ceremony is only a little over an hour from now.”

George Brennan cupped strong hands on Emily’s tense shoulders.  “Our daughter will treat us to many great wonders in her life.  I have no doubt about that.”  His fingers clenched.  “This is Colin, honey.  You know what can happen to him.”

Instead of letting the thoughts roil inside her head, for once Emily voiced them.  “Yeah, he’ll turn into a stark raving lunatic and probably scare the group of students into reconsidering their choice of careers.”

“Emily,” Her father’s voice was stern.

“Come on Dad.  Don’t you think he does it to get attention?  Look, this is the only event in my life that I’ve had just the two of you—you’re undivided attention, and bam, Colin turns up with yet another issue that has to be addressed by his parents.”

She tugged on the ribbon that locked her hair into a neat ponytail and felt the length cascade down her back.  “Of course he’s brilliant.  He can play everybody to suit his needs.  You know what?  Go.  Go ahead.  What is this ceremony all about anyway?”

Emily tore at the zipper of her crimson robe.  “Heck, I don’t even need to be here, it’s just formality right?”

Marie rushed forward to hoist the robe back up her daughter’s arm.  “Oh Em, we’re so sorry, please understand, and please go get your diploma, don’t let this stop you.”

“Of course I understand, Mom.  I always understand.”  She turned away from the sorrowful eyes and felt a surge of heat in her cheeks.  “Just go, okay.”

“George?” Marie Brennan pleaded.

In the mirror Emily watched her Father’s jaw tense, his arms crossing to rest in a posture she knew so well.  Resolve.

“Emily, I know you didn’t ask for a brother with—well with Colin’s skills, but you have one.” He took a step towards her. “You’re graduating college today.  I would have hoped that meant you were a woman now.”

She locked on the reflection of his slate blue eyes in the mirror, but she refused to turn around. “Would it matter if I were still a child?  I never had any choice.  I’ve been the grown up for as long as I can remember.”

“You’re being selfish, Emily.”  George nodded, and Marie quickly stooped to retrieve her purse.  “I wish we didn’t have to leave like this, but it’s the way it is.”

“So it is.” Emily said.

Now she refused to even lift her eyes to the mirror.  She waited out the interminable silence, and flinched when the door to her dorm clicked shut.

An hour later, with a flick of the wrist, Emily hiked up the tresses of her crimson robe and mounted the stairs to the stage, where before a record-setting audience she received the University’s ornate gold embossed diploma.  At the same time her parents boarded a prop plane bound for New London.

The plane never arrived.

George Brennan’s words had been prophetic.

That night Emily became a woman.

 

It had been nearly a decade since that fateful evening, and the emotions were still raw.  For ten years she had been the one they called every time Colin got into trouble.  She had been the one to look on in pride when he graduated at such a young age.  And she had been the one who wanted him close by, and introduced him to the Human Resources department at NMD.

If Emily recalled correctly, George Barcuda made an appearance during that meeting.  Wire-framed glasses clutched the narrow ridge of his nose as he stared with impassive gray eyes, and never spoke a word.

And now it was the pain of recollection that kept her awake in this old-fashioned house, watching the sleeping giant at her side and wishing she could nestle against him.  Wishing this virtual stranger could tell her that it was okay.  That she had done right by Colin. That her parents didn’t resent her.

A low groan rumbled from deep in Brian’s chest, the grimace of agony chiseling his face as he shifted in sleep.  Emily reached to soothe him, her hand a phantom caress across that muscular vista.  She meant to ease his pain, but the candid touch proved an avenue to exorcise her curiosity.  Inquisitive fingers dusted across expanding ribs, afraid that the pressure would only aggravate his wounds. Wounds that were encountered in pursuit of her.

Emily chanced a look at Brian’s face, but the golden eyes were locked away behind drawn lids and black lashes.  Even in repose he seemed tense.  In the hospital while he slept, she had used the tip of her finger as an eraser and traced the wrinkles across his forehead, making them dissipate.  But now the rock solid muscles of his abdomen bewitched her finger.  And the pattern she traced was a trek across dynamic terrain.

Encouraged by the giant’s rumbling breath, Emily explored further, her fingers reflexively kneading the musky fabric of his sweater.  She grew lethargic at the heady scent and nestled closer, a natural draw towards heat. Her eyes dropped closed, as she drew innocuous patterns on the masculine cloth with a feathery touch.

Without warning, a manacle ensnared her wrist, halting the motion of her fingers.  When Emily tugged for freedom, that grip remained implacable.

A single, dogged motion thrust her hand under the warm haven of Brian’s sweater to the erotic landscape of his bare chest.

“Brian,” She whispered a plea, though his fingers now covered hers; containing them above the thunderous beat of his heart—a rhythm that was in time with her pulse.

Bolts of anticipation traveled up her arm, a current of stimulation that had her hand shaking beneath his grip.

From the dark came his gravelly voice.  “If you’re going to keep doing that, then I want you to touch me, not my shirt.”

A tiny whimper bubbled up in Emily’s throat.  She wasn’t even aware that Brian had released her and that her hand now nestled unrestricted against warm flesh and a light dusting of hair.

In the deepest hours of the night, darkness took on a palpable form.  Behind her, the filtered light cast beguiling glimpses of his long body, but what she couldn’t see, she could feel. Of their own volition, her fingers expanded, toying with that curly hair, drawing indolent patterns in the masculine texture.

Brian’s stillness emboldened her.  Her caress extended.  She crossed a plane of solid muscle, the iron surface a reminder of the strength inside this powerful man’s body.

Brian shifted, and Emily froze.

“Don’t stop, Em.” His voice was soft and husky, a tone that sent an erotic tickle down her spine.

“No, I’m not going to do this.  I was having nightmares—but I’m awake now.”

His hand reached from the dark to brush her lips and silence her.  “I want you awake.  I want you awake and coherent when you touch me.”  Coarse fingertips slid down her jaw to trace the arch of her throat.  “You touched me in the hospital.  You thought I was asleep, but I remember it all Emily.  I remember how your fingers felt.  So soft, so curious.  You made me heal because I wanted you so damn much.”

Emily leaned into his hand, which curved around the back of her neck.  It tugged ever so slightly till her lips felt the warmth of his breath.

But he didn’t kiss her.  He held her so close to temptation that she nearly sobbed with need.

Emily wanted that kiss.  She wanted it so bad her body quivered against the solid length of him.  Yet the tender restraint of his hand was just enough to prevent that union.

“You—you don’t want—?”

She felt rather than heard the low chuckle in his chest.  “Oh I want, believe me, I want.  But not like this.  You’re hurting, Em.” His grip gentled and his fingers delved into her hair, stroking the silken strands.  “I’m a light sleeper.  I know you’ve been up all night.  I know you’re worried about your brother.  And I know sex would be a great outlet for you right now.”

Brian’s hand dropped.  “What I don’t know is why I’m not taking advantage of that.”  Above his sweater he reached to cover her hand, and whispered roughly.  “Just keep touching me, Angel.  I’ll try to be strong.”

The exploration of warm male flesh left her in a state of rapture, a cocoon from the direness of her life.  Brian was offering her this comfort, he was offering her an avenue to heal, and in the dark Victorian room, a very feminine smile played across her lips.

Under her hand she felt the sinewy muscles contract as Brian stretched and settled back against the pillow.  She roamed his rugged physique, massaging hills of muscles and valleys of taught warm flesh. This terrain was a feat of nature.  God had to have been smiling the day he produced Brian Morrison.

Heat began to pool low in her body, a sensual bath.  Outside, the trees rustled in the crisp winter wind, but inside the warmth enveloped her in its sultry veil.

Brian.  Make the night go away.

 

God help him.  He wanted to be strong.  He knew that Emily’s ardor was based on emotional exhaustion.  Perhaps he could have stayed in control.  Perhaps he could have ignored the soft feminine figure splayed against him, or the roaming fingers that erotically toyed with his chest.  Maybe he could have even disregarded the whispered breath against his throat, so close that he only had to tip his head to possess her mouth.

But there was no defense against the searing wrench of passion that was his name.

Brian.

In one word Emily tortured him with promises of emotions he had never before permitted himself.

“Emily,” His voice was hoarse, “honey, if those fingers of yours go any lower,”

His warning jolted her and her hand snapped back as if she had sliced it on glass.

Light from the porch seeped through the moth holes of the yellowed shades, tiny shards of silver scoring the divine goddess beside him.  She was trembling again, literally rocking back and forth on the bed in an attempt to soothe herself, her hands now wrapped around her knees.