Anne McAllister: Blood Brothers

“You’ve got shaving cream on your cheek,” she interrupted him.

It wouldn’t do to let Randall suspect how she’d pored over the pages of that catalogue, trying to find just the dress that he might admire: how she’d paid an extra charge to be sure it arrived on time, how she’d agonized in case it didn’t fit.

But it had got there in good time, the fit was perfect and Randall was smiling at her in a way that made her tremble.

“You look beautiful, Claire,” he said softly. “Really beautiful.”

“Do I look like those fashionable ladies you know back home?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“Not a bit,” he replied. “Thank goodness.”

The late February dance was the big event in the locality, a kind of promise that spring wasn’t far away. Everybody went, including Susan, and there wasn’t a vehicle left on the MBbar.

Frank called with his family, to collect Dave. North drove Susan and Olly in an old sedan that was kept for emergencies. Randall and Claire went in the truck.

“What’s that book North keeps hiding under the cushions?” she asked when they were out on the road.

“Leave a man his secrets,” Randall said with a grin.

“But it’s in a brown wrapper. North isn’t reading porn, is he?”

At this Randall shouted with laughter.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Randall, what is it?”

“I can’t tell you-I promised-” He went off into another paroxysm of mirth, and the next second he’d lost control of the truck.

For a few hairy moments they spun on the icy road. He heard Claire gasp, and he prayed frantically, wrestling with the wheel. But it was more luck than driving that brought them to rest against a tree with a jolt that sent her sprawling against him.

“Claire?” he said in fear. “Are you all right?” His arms were tight about her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “What’s a little bump?”

He clasped her more firmly. “I thought we were both goners then.”

“Mmm.” She knew she should move, but it was so comfortable here in his arms, and instead of releasing herself, she rested her head on Randall’s shoulders.

“Claire?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you really want to go to this dance?”

“No,” she said dreamily. “I don’t.”

“Neither do I.”

They sat in silence for some moments, letting the alarm of the moment before die down, just enjoying themselves.

“Shall we go back?” he said, so softly that he wondered if she heard him. She didn’t answer in words, but she lifted her head, and nodded.

They drove back in silence. The house, too, was silent when they reached it, and growing chilly as the fire burned low. Randall piled on some logs and the flames flickered up, throwing dancing shadows over Claire’s face, for they hadn’t put the lights on.

Randall put his arms right around her and drew her close.

“Claire,” he said thickly. “Claire, I-”

“Don’t talk,” she whispered. “We’ve both said too much, and it only makes problems.”

“But are you sure-?”

“Hush,” she silenced him with the touch of her mouth.

They kissed feverishly, but it was only a brief prelude to what was to come. They both knew now that they couldn’t stop at kissing. The feeling of their mouths in contact only increased the need to touch each other everywhere.

They chose her room, the place where he had first seen her half-naked, first wanted her with a crazy longing that had given him no peace ever since. It had been physical then. Just physical. Wanting to touch the soft hills and valleys of her contours, wanting to caress her intimately, to claim and conquer.

But somewhere along the line it had become more. When had it begun to be so important to win her stubborn, contrary heart? And would he win it like this?

He would know in the morning. But that was a long way off.

The lovely dress, so carefully chosen, slipped to the floor. Claire barely noticed. It had done all she asked of it. Every inch of her was fevered with longing. She must have him, and soon. Only the feel of his body united with hers could ease the ache of need that had been growing in her for weeks. She wanted to touch him everywhere, with her hands, her lips, her breasts, her thighs.

At some point Randall had removed his shirt, and when he drew her against him and she felt the silky hair of his chest, it excited her still more.

His hands moved up until he could cup her breasts in his palms, letting his thumbs drift slowly across their fullness again and again. The sensation was so good that Claire drew a long shuddering breath. Her nipples were peaked and hard with anticipation, and the pleasure radiated out from the rasping movements.

She was aware of his body tensed against hers, the stomach hard and flat, the thighs steely with power. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of that power. He was her first man, but she was no ignorant girl. The sheer force of her feelings for Randall had taught her what it was like to be caught up in desire, possessed by it, altered beyond recognition by it.

His lips burned her shoulders and she let out a long breath. Randall heard it and thought he understood.

“Claire-do you want me?” he murmured.

“Yes-” she said raggedly. She could hardly speak the word for the roaring in her ears.

“Let me hear you say it,” he commanded.

“I want you-”

She wasn’t sure whether she’d said the words aloud, for her whole body seemed to be saying them in its clamorous response. She wanted him. She wanted him now.

Her arms seemed to find their way about his neck of their own accord, and she was kissing him frantically, trying to drive him on to the thing she craved with all her being.

“Randall,” she whispered, “Randall-”

Some new note he heard in her voice seemed to decide him. He began to toss aside the rest of his clothes, and she quickly did the same. When they were both free he drew her down onto the bed. After his earlier urgency he seemed content now to take his time, enjoying her with his eyes and his hands.

He rested his face between her breasts, pressing his mouth against the silky skin, bestowing light kisses and exploring until his lips touched one proud nipple and began to tease it. She thought she would go out of her mind with that sensation. Her breath came in long, slow gasps that shaded into groans, and she wove her fingers in his hair, pleading, yearning, demanding.

His response was to insert his knee between her legs which fell apart for him. She gasped as she felt his movements become more purposeful.

Slowly, with a fierce, controlled power, he entered her. As she felt him drive in deeply Claire knew that this had been inevitable from the first moment, and that it was right. She arched against him, wanting more. He was triumphant, but so was she as they did the thing for which they’d both been born. She held him close, wrapping her thighs about him, imprisoning him for her delight.

He watched her out of dark brooding eyes, her hair spread out over the pillow, her face wild with ecstasy. Her soft moans of pleasure excited him further. “Claire-”

His thrusts became deeper, harder. All his power was now concentrated on being one with her. She was lost to everything but this, driving back against him in mindless delirium, asking and giving. They were two halves of a whole, perfectly attuned to each other, finding completion together. The moment, when it came, was shattering, a long, ecstatic climax in mounting waves of pleasure that peaked and crashed, fading away and leaving them trembling. Claire cried out and clung to him, hearing his voice in her ear, saying her name over and over.

As they parted he held her more tightly than ever, not wanting the moment to pass. And she clung to him, as though she needed him to hold her hand to the end of the journey. Randall knew she’d given him what she’d offered no other man. Gabe might have been her first love, but he’d been too dumb to value her. So she’d turned to Randall, who did, pouring out lavish gifts of beauty and passion that awed and humbled him. He wondered if she had any regrets, but soon she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him.