Betrayal (9 page)

Tamia stood her ground as he advanced on her, bringing their faces so close together that their breath mingled and their body heat electrified the air between them.

Tamia swallowed tightly. “You're causing a scene, Brandon.”

His eyes flashed. “You think I give a fuck?”

“You should. Everyone inside this building knows who you are. You have an image to uphold, a name to protect.”

“Fuck all that,” Brandon growled.

Tamia smiled bitterly. “We both know you don't have that luxury.”

He clenched his jaw, his pupils nearly black as he stared into her eyes.

She stared back, heart hammering violently. “Let me go, Brandon,” she whispered.

“I can't do that.”

“You have to.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, nostrils flaring. “I want you to stay the hell away from Dominic.”

“That's not your call to make anymore.”

“Damn it, Tamia—”

“Mr. Chambers?”

“
What?
” Brandon snapped, turning to glare at the parking attendant, who'd left his station and walked over to them.

The man gulped nervously. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we need to clear the driveway. If you'd like to have your car reparked—”

“No,” Brandon bit off tersely. “I'm leaving.”

As the relieved man backed away, Brandon gave Tamia a dark look that clearly said:
This ain't over.

Her heart thudding, she watched as he spun on his heel and stalked over to his car at the curb. After shooting her one last glare, he ducked behind the wheel, slammed the door, and roared off.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Tamia made her way back inside the restaurant on legs that felt like melted rubber.

Dominic stood as she returned to the table and sat down.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

Tamia nodded, taking a long sip of wine to calm her rattled nerves.

Dominic shook his head at her. “Your boy's losing it.”

Tamia said nothing.

“Didn't I tell you he'd go crazy when he saw us together?” Dominic's eyes gleamed with amused satisfaction. “You might get him back even sooner than we thought.”

Tamia calmly picked up her fork and cut into her mahi mahi. “Tell me more about the couple with the bed-and-breakfast. The Ehrlichs, right?”

Heeding her unspoken request to change the subject, Dominic began discussing her potential client. But as his deep voice droned on and on, all Tamia could think about was the dangerous look in Brandon's eyes before he'd left her.

She knew she hadn't seen the last of him.

And for the first time since their breakup, she didn't know whether that was good or bad.

The confrontation with Brandon haunted Tamia for the rest of the day.

As she showered and shampooed her hair that evening, she mentally replayed what had happened at the restaurant.

What gave Brandon Chambers the fucking right to be angry?
He
was the one who'd wasted no time hooking up with Cynthia after he and Tamia broke up.
He
was the one who'd been playing house with her while Tamia was behind bars, wondering if she'd ever taste freedom again.
He
was the one who'd been careless enough to get Cynthia pregnant. And
he
was the one who'd agreed to marry her!

Yet
he
had the nerve to be outraged when he saw her and Dominic together?

He had the audacity to tell
her
who to stay away from?

The more Tamia reflected on Brandon's behavior, the madder she became.

Lifting her face to the hot spray of water, she vigorously scrubbed her scalp. After rinsing the fragrant shampoo from her hair, she twisted off the water faucet and stepped out of the steamy glass stall. She toweled herself off, then stalked into the bedroom.

Suddenly the doorbell rang.

She froze, pulse thudding.

She wasn't expecting company.

So there was only one person who could be at her door at this hour of the night.

Heart hammering, she yanked on a terrycloth robe and marched to the front door, her bare feet leaving damp footprints on the wood floor.

She unlocked the front door and jerked it open.

Brandon stood there, his tie hanging crookedly around his neck and his shirttail tugged from his suit pants. His eyes were black with fury and torment.

“What the hell do you want?” Tamia demanded.

Without a word he barged inside, forcing her backward.

She slapped him across the face, needing to strike the first blow.

With a feral growl, he grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her hard, bruising her lips.

She shoved and clawed at his chest—half blind with rage, lust, and anguish.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Brandon wrapped his arms around her, pinning her hands against his chest so she couldn't move or escape.

Water dripped from her hair and slid into their joined mouths to make the kiss even wetter. Hotter.

She could feel her blood roaring in her ears, her heart thundering in her chest.

Roughly breaking the kiss, Brandon ripped the robe from her body and dropped to his knees. As he lifted her against the wall, she threw her legs around his neck, crying out as he crushed his mouth to her pussy.

He licked her slick folds, each scorching stroke of his tongue making her shiver and gasp his name. As he gently bit her clit, she mewled and grabbed the back of his head.

He sucked the swollen lips of her labia, then stabbed his tongue hotly into her pussy.

She screamed as she erupted, her toes curling until they cramped.

Brandon lapped up her creamy come, bringing her to another hard, shuddering orgasm that nearly reduced her to tears.

She'd barely unwrapped her shaky legs from around his neck when he surged to his feet and lifted her higher against the wall, knocking a painting loose. It crashed to the floor, a casualty that went unnoticed as Brandon seized her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“You bastard,” Tamia hissed at him. “Let me g—”

His mouth slammed down on hers, smothering the rest of her demand.

She bit his lip hard, drawing blood.

Swearing hoarsely, he reached down with one hand and impatiently unzipped his pants. His dick sprang free, outrageously long and thick, the curved head glistening wetly with pre-come.

Brandon fisted himself, stroking upward then down.

Tamia whimpered, clit throbbing.

“Still want me to go?”

He knew she didn't. “
Fuck you!
”

His eyes flashed. “I intend to.”

As he pinned her against the wall, she locked her legs around his waist. Cupping the underside of her butt cheeks, he guided his shaft between the saturated folds of her sex and plunged into her.

Tamia wailed with pleasure as her pussy clenched around his dick, gripping him so tightly that he groaned, the sound both tortured and erotic.

Staring into her eyes, he began rocking against her, the muscles of his ass flexing furiously.

There was no finesse. No gentle thrusting or stroking. The way he fucked her was raw and primal, as if his very salvation depended on how far and deep he could lose himself inside her.

Gazing into her eyes like he could see into her wounded soul, he whispered fiercely, “You belong to me.”

“No—”

“
YES, YOU DO
,” he thundered. “You belong to me, Tamia. And you always will—
no matter fucking what!
”

She squeezed her eyes shut as tears coursed down her face. Tears of denial that bled into tears of defeat. He was right. She would always love him, would always want him. Knowing she could never have him was unbearable.

She moaned and sobbed helplessly as he rammed his dick in and out of her, making her completely his.

Seconds later they exploded, one right after the other.

They screamed each other's names as Brandon's cock pumped furiously, his come scalding her insides. Her body clenched tightly as he shot his load, groaning harshly as he emptied every ounce of semen into her.

When it was over he collapsed against her and dropped his head, panting heavily against her neck.

Caught somewhere between anguish and euphoria, Tamia began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder and longer as hysteria took hold.

Brandon lifted his head and stared at her like she'd gone crazy. “Baby?”

As her manic laughter dissolved into tears, Brandon drew his arms around her, gathering her close.

“I hate you,” she sobbed against his chest. “
I fucking hate you!
”

“Come on, baby. Don't say that,” he pleaded raggedly.

“It's true! Why'd you have to come here? What the hell do you
want
from me?”

He didn't respond, tenderly rubbing his cheek back and forth against her damp hair.

She wanted to cling to him, wanted them to stay locked together with his thick shaft entombed deep inside her. But she knew that would only be prolonging the inevitable.

So she dug deep within herself to find the strength to say: “Put me down, Brandon.”

“Tamia—”

“
PUT ME DOWN!
”

He reluctantly eased out of her, then lowered her legs to the floor and stepped back. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling instantly bereft without the heat of his body.

He zipped up his pants, then knelt down to pick up her robe. She watched as he brought it slowly to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed deep.

The look on his face . . . it was almost too much for her.

After an agonizing moment, he got up and gently helped her into the robe, covering her nudity. She knotted the sash tightly and swiped the tears from her cheeks.

Brandon was silent, but his tortured expression spoke volumes.

Summoning the tattered remnants of her composure, Tamia walked to the door and opened it. “It's time for you to leave.”

Brandon stared at her, nostrils flaring with emotion.

She held her ground.

He started forward slowly, as if he were trudging through wet cement.

Reaching the door, he looked deeply and sorrowfully into her eyes. “I love you, Tamia.”

“Then do something about it,” she spat coldly. “Until then, leave me the fuck alone.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and walked out.

She slammed the door and leaned against it, hearing his footsteps retreat down the hall . . . taking the broken pieces of her heart with him.

When Brandon arrived home, Cynthia was waiting for him by the front door, her arms folded across her heaving chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded accusingly. “This is the second day in a row you've come home late.”

Barely sparing her a glance, Brandon closed and locked the door. “Not tonight, Cynthia,” he mumbled.

“
Excuse me?
Are you out of your damn mind? You have the nerve to come waltzing in here at this late hour and all you have to say for—” She broke off abruptly, staring at his mouth. “What the hell happened to you?”

Brandon reached up, absently touching his split lower lip. “Nothing.”

“
Nothing?
” Cynthia echoed incredulously. “Sure as hell doesn't look like
nothing
to me.”

“Well, it is.”

As Brandon moved to stalk past her, she grabbed his arm. “I want the tru—”

He rounded furiously on her. “Damn it, woman!” he shouted into her face. “Leave it the fuck alone!”

She recoiled, staring up at him as if she'd never seen him before. “Look at your eyes, Brandon. I don't even know who or what you are anymore. You're possessed, that's what you are. You need a fucking exorcism, and I know just how to give you one!”

With that she spun on her heel and stomped into the sunken living room. As Brandon watched, she grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and clicked on the television.

The huge screen was filled with a high-def image of Tamia having sex with two men. She was kneeling on the floor, her mouth wrapped around one brotha's dick while the other fucked her from behind.

Hot bile rushed up Brandon's throat and filled his mouth. As the room spun, he slammed his eyes shut and whispered hoarsely, “Turn it off.”

“No!” Cynthia stubbornly refused. “You need to see the
real
Tamia Luke. Watching this should cure your obsession once and for all. God knows nothing else has worked.”

A sudden black rage swept over Brandon, obliterating all thought, reason, and restraint. Charging toward Cynthia, he roared at the top of his lungs, “TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF RIGHT NOW!”

Cynthia's eyes widened with terror.

Frantically she fumbled with the remote control, but Brandon was already upon her. He snatched the remote out of her hand and viciously threw it at the television, destroying the plasma screen.

But it wasn't enough for him.

Heart pounding violently, he stormed across the room, ripped the mounted TV off the wall, and hurled it to the floor. The loud crash drowned out Cynthia's startled cry.

Blood roaring in his ears, Brandon turned and swept an arm across the coffee table, sending the stack of porn videos flying through the air.

As he savagely upended the table, Cynthia screamed, “Stop it! Are you crazy?”

As Brandon whirled on her, she whimpered fearfully and stumbled backward, retreating from him as he stalked her step for step.

“Are you satisfied?” he snarled ferociously. “Is this the reaction you were hoping for?”

She jerked her head from side to side.

Brandon shoved his face into hers. “Don't you
ever
pull a stunt like that again, or so help me God—”

With a strangled sob, Cynthia turned and fled the room, her bare feet slapping against the wood floor. Moments later, the bedroom door slammed shut.

Having spent his fury, Brandon sank down on the sofa, dropped his pounding head into his hands, and closed his eyes.

He could still taste Tamia, could smell her on his clothes and skin. He'd been going out of his fucking mind ever since he saw her at the restaurant with Dominic. The sight of them together—the mere thought of them reuniting—had pushed him over the edge. When he'd left the office that night, he'd had only one destination in mind, and he couldn't get there fast enough.

If he'd had his way, he would have spent the entire night making love to Tamia, burying himself inside her . . . over and over and over again.

But he'd had to go home and face the music.

Lifting his head from his hands, Brandon grimly surveyed his trashed living room. When his gaze landed on one of the DVDs strewn across the floor, his gut tightened with fresh anger.

He got up and headed to his bedroom, where he found Cynthia curled up on her side beneath the covers. Though her eyes were closed, he knew she wasn't asleep.

He walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his legs and began in a low voice, “I'm sorry you were frightened by my behavior. I didn't mean to upset you, but you were dead wrong for coming at me like that.”

She whispered, “I did it because I love you.”

“That wasn't love, Cynthia. Love isn't petty or vindictive. You deliberately tried to hurt me by playing that video. You wanted me to watch it and become so disgusted with Tamia that I'd never want to see her again. But it doesn't work that way. My feelings for Tamia can't be cured with shock therapy, or whatever the hell it is you thought you were doing.”

Cynthia was silent.

“I'm trying like hell to make this relationship work, sweetheart, but you have to help me out. Harassing Tamia, digging up her Mystique videos, snooping through my phone—all that's gonna do is push me away. And once you push me too far, there's no bringing me back.”

A single tear rolled down Cynthia's face.

Brandon rose to his feet, then leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “Have a good night.”

She eyed him anxiously. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep in the guest room.”

Where he could be alone with his thoughts and fears . . . and his secret hopes for tomorrow . . .