Skin Like Dawn (34 page)

“We need to make sure that we get this right.  I don’t want to come in here first thing in the morning and see errors.  Especially before my...Nat...?” 

Brandon looked up at her, eyebrows raised as though he weren’t sure which expression he intended to project.  “What are you...?”

“Working late, huh?” 

Narrow-Waisted Blond slid off of his desk quickly and came toward her, hand extended.  “You must be Brandon’s wife, Natalie.  He never shuts up about you!  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you...my name is...”

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t give a damn what your name is...”

“Natalie Greene! What the hell is your problem?” Her husband was loud and his voice was deep.  She was reminded of the contrast between his voice and...dear God, don’t think of his name.  

Brandon was at his feet.  

Natalie pursed her lips.  “Please accept my apologies.  I didn’t mean to interrupt. Have a nice evening.” 

And she walked out, strutting arrogantly, arms swinging carelessly at her sides.  She wasn’t really sure of what she’d done or why she’d said the things she’d said, or why she was even there.  But before she managed to get to the elevator, her dear husband snatched her by the arm, almost violently, swinging her around to face him as he backpedaled her to the nearest wall.  

He was angry.  An embarrassed, unadulterated anger.  She could feel it seething from him.  But his speechlessness was what caused her to gaze up at him as though she had not done a thing. 

“You have the audacity to look at me like that right now?” 

She began to wriggle against him.  “You’re hurting me.”

“What?” 

“You’re hurting me.  Let me go.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her.  “Who are you right now?” 

“I’m your wife.  And I’m letting you get back to...working...late. Now let me go, goddamn it.” 

“Is this one of your hormone things, Natalie?  Is that what this is?” 

“Don’t you dare patronize me.  I wanted to see you.  Apparently you didn’t want to see me.” 

He exhaled, loosening his grip on her arm. “That is not true, Natalie.”

“And with your history with slender, petite blonds...”

“Seriously, Natalie? Are you fucking serious?  Are we back there?  Are we doing this again?”

She only stared up at him. 

He closed his eyes, as though to ponder his next words carefully.  “I want you to leave.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Go home, Natalie.  Go home and pray to God that I give enough of a damn about you to come home too.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me.” 

“So you’re just going to sit here until I get done working?” 

“No.  First, I’m going to apologize to that blond for being rude.  I’m pregnant for Christ’s sake, I don’t know what’s going to come out of my mouth.  And then I’m going to sit here and learn what you do.  And I’ll be quiet.”

He scoffed.  “You’ll be quiet?” 

She nodded.  “We’re going to stop doing this, Brandon.” 

“Doing what exactly, my sweet wife?” 

“Dismissing each other every time we have a disagreement.  It’s getting old, don’t you think?” 

He grinned. “Yes, I would have to agree with you, baby.”

“Good.” 

“Can I get you anything while I’m working? Coffee? Tea? Hormone killer?” 

“You’re funny.  I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” 

She reached for his hand.  It was hard to look at him then.  Dear God, he loved her so much.  What had she done?

She nodded anyway.  

IT WAS STRANGE, REALLY; watching Brandon work.  There was some type of driven force behind his eyes now, taking charge of this project (a campaign regarding a new children’s cereal or toothpaste or flavored milk, or something), executing each task diligently.  

Why wasn’t he this enthused about planning our wedding, Natalie thought selfishly.  She gave him the responsibility of trying to find a decent DJ with the songs they’d picked out and he’d huffed and puffed at that task alone.  Now, he was setting shit straight, outlining the numbers at the figures, ensuring that they kept their audience in mind at all times.  

And Narrow-Waisted Blond (Penelope was her name, she thinks), is sitting in an appropriate chair in front of his desk, jotting down notes here and there.  Her sole purpose was to be Brandon Greene’s lapdog, or a secondhand.  She smiled sweetly, fulfilling her role perfectly.  

Brandon would periodically glance up at his wife; she’d catch his eye and grin.  He was making sure that she was okay.  Natalie laughed on the inside at that.  Still, she watched him, as though nothing had changed.  Physically, he looked the same to her in some aspects: that same thick, jet black hair that tickled at his ears and skirted around his neck in a shaggy way.  Now that he was damn near thirty and a professional, he took an extra moment or two to style his hair, like some ill-planned attempt at emulating a Bond character.  He often opted for facial hair along his jaw and around his chin, as he it made him look more “careless and youthful” and less like a “somebody’s daddy”.  She laughed, too, at this contradiction, but found something sexy in the way he’d aged.  He grew more handsome, Natalie had observed, and all of her mother’s musings about “men looking better with age” started to make sense.  

She had difficulty admitting (even to herself) that it wasn’t Brandon’s charm or his loyalty to her or his humor that drew her to him.  It was the way he looked: all tall, dark and intimidating.  She wasn’t in the least bit prepared of how he’d react if she ever told him that she’d had habitual fantasies of what it would feel like to fuck him long before they ever tried to.  Maybe that’s why she lets him fasten her wrists down while they’re doing it. Yes, complete and total submission.  

My body is yours.  It’s always been yours.  You know that, Brandy.

Yes, making love to Brandon Greene was something that made her blush even when their friendship was in its infancy.  He just had that arrogance about him; that, “yes, my dick is huge and I know what to do with it if you’ll let me” smirk.  

She’d saved herself for him...truly so.  Even if their relationship had not come to fruition in the way that it had, she would’ve allowed for one drunken night of something...fondling, caressing, grinding, tongue-wrestling.  

She shuddered out of her own head and gazed up.  Brandon was staring at her again - he could read her face.  He winked and pursed his lips.  

“Tal,” he prompted.  

She erected her back and cleared her throat.  “Mr. Greene?” 

“You okay?” 

“I’m managing, thank you.” 

“Can I get you something?” 

Yes, your body.  Your lips on my body.  That glorious thing hanging from your body in my...

She cleared her throat again.  “Nope.  You’ve been more than accommodating.” 

“I see.” He shuffles some papers on his desk, then turns to look at Penelope.  “Hey, Penny, get on out of here.  We can finish this in the morning.  Feel free to take your time coming in.  Good work today.” 

Penelope looks perplexed.  Natalie is staring at her husband...well, actually at his belt buckle.  It was far too tight.  

Damn, these pregnant hormones. 

Penelope stands to her feet and reaches for her purse.  “You’re sure, Mr. Greene?” 

Brandon nods and looks at his wife again.  Natalie bites her lip. 

“Yea. See you tomorrow.  Drive safely out there.” 

“Will do.” Penelope is at the door in seconds.  “Mrs. Greene, it was a pleasure meeting you.  I sure hope to see you around the office more often.” 

Natalie smiles grandly, but her thoughts have escaped her.  “Sure thing.  Nice meeting you as well.” 

Penelope shuts the office door behind her and Brandon watches her amble down the narrow corridor between cubes before she disappears completely.  

Natalie, clenching the chair in which she sits, looks up at her husband bashfully. 

“Mrs. Greene.” 

“Mr. Greene.” 

His eyes are arched, narrow, almost sinister.  “Would you mind drawing those blinds closed for me?” 

“Which ones?  The ones by the window behind you or the ones that keep people in the cubicles outside from seeing what you’re doing in here?”

“Whichever ones suit you better.” 

Raising herself slowly, she closes the blinds furthest from Brandon’s desk, and the cubicles outside disappear.  

“Wow, those are some pretty discreet blinds...” 

But her words are cut off by Brandon’s hands around her waist and his lips tickling her ear.  She closes her eyes.  

Her husband’s breathing heavily. “God, you smell good.” 

Her lips are parted, she rocks her head backward against his shoulder.  “Why...why thank you...Mr. Greene.” 

He kissing her neck, tongue trails and such, and she doesn’t deserve this.  She doesn’t deserve this at all.  

“Brandy...Brandy...”

He’s lost somewhere as he turns her around to face him.  She’s pressed against an office wall, his hand is clamping around her upper thigh, eyes unfocused.  He’s insatiable.  “Yes...?”

“Do you know how much I love you...?” 

Now, she’s on his desk.  Papers (important papers, surely) are scattered all over the floor.  She’s spread eagle, leaning back at an angle, and he’s grabbing at the button that holds her pants together to unfasten it.  “Then show me.” 

“I’m obsessed with you.” 

He doesn’t answer.  

“I’d walk to hell and back for you.” 

Her pants are off and somewhere on the floor amongst the paper rubble.  He’s kissing her passionately as his finger lines the inside of her panties.  She can’t breathe.  

“I thought it was to the moon and back?” 

His voice is husky, almost unrecognizable.  He’s salivating from somewhere deep.  She stifles the urge to cry.

“What?” 

“I thought it was ‘to the moon and back’?” 

“It is.” 

Her shirt is lifted from her and her bra is unhooked.  The surface of his mahogany desk feels cool against her skin.  She recoils initially.  

“I’m yours.” 

“You’re mine. Yes. You’re mine, baby.” 

He’s looming over her, invading the space between her thighs.  He’s nearly naked, gazing down at her, blue eyes exposing every bit of her.  Dear God, he’s beautiful.  How did she deserve such a thing?  

He was ready to be inside of her again...she could feel it.  She felt the familiarity of him, she felt his love, she felt how much he commanded her.  

Shit.  

Suddenly, they were in the throws of something...was it passion?  They were moving together, against each other, and so forth, and Brandon was breathing heavily, and she was whimpering weakly under the weight of it all.  The sensation and the smell of him, and the familiarity of his movements, caused a shuddering that she’s sure her husband did not feel.  His eyes were closed, his movements were fluid, passionate.  He was claiming her.  She gazed up at his face, glossy with sweat and labor, and she winced.  She did not deserve this.  

He leaned down to kiss along her ear.  He did his best to go slow, make a leisure of it, become the type of lover that he’d never really been: softened, tender, patient.  The brutish lover that once was Brandon Greene had disappeared.  He was now making love to the woman that he adored.  

She whimpered louder this time and her husband bucked fervently in response.  Heights were being reached as she dug her nails into the meat of his back, feeling his muscles flex against her touch.  She parted her lips but no air escaped them.  She only whimpered again. 

“That’s right,” her husband murmured against her ear.  “That’s right, baby.” 

He bucked again.  

“Hurt me.” She whispered it ever so gently, as though such a request did not make since, brushing outward from her lips.  Brandon opened his eyes and gazed at her quizzically.  

“Hurt me, please. Harder.” His eyes invaded hers.  She licked her lips, melting into his body, flexing her hips against his. 

“Please, baby.” 

And so, he did. 

EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Natalie awoke to find her side of the bed empty.  Befuddled and cold, she leapt up from the bed, calling her husband’s name like an abandoned child.  She’d had a dream, a relatively scary one, and she’d anticipated waking up next to him to hold her.  

“In here!” 

She followed the sound of his voice to the guest bedroom, which now had large, scattered pieces of wood leaning against its walls. 

Phone pressed to his ear, he stood in the middle of the room in his gray suit and a screwdriver in one hand and a few sheets of paper in another. 

“Right, right,” he said.  “I just want to make sure that we get the color right.  Got it.  Thanks.  Bye.” 

Gazing quizzically at her husband, she approaches him cautiously.  “Brandon...”

“Hey baby.” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” 

“I’m headed there in a few, just wanted to get a few things started.” 

“Oh...like what?” 

“Like...this crib.”

“Crib? When did we buy a crib?” 

“Oh. I did.” 

“When?” 

“About six this morning.” 

“I thought we were going to pick one out together, baby?” 

He bounced his shoulders up and down.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I just couldn’t wait.  It’s the top-of-the-line, though.  It was in some magazine as number one.” 

“Who were you just on the phone with?” 

“Joanna.  She recommended some things that would really make the baby’s room editorial-worthy.”

“You spoke with Joanna?” 

“Yes.” 

“And she didn’t want to speak to me?” 

“I don’t know, Tallie.  Mark had some shaving cream emergency and she had to get off the phone.  She’s going to email us some paint ideas.” 

“Brandon.” 

“What?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” 

“What do you mean? I thought we were having a baby?” 

“We are. But...”

“So, I’m getting started on the baby’s bedroom.  We’ve just neglected so much in the past few months, Natalie.  Haven’t you noticed it?” 

She refrained from telling him that there were days she woke up and forgot that she was actually with child.  Those terrifying moments were reserved to staring at Bellamy, strolling casually down the hospital wing as all of the other nurses fanned themselves dramatically in his presence.  They only locked eyes in some idling blip in time, she’d say something sarcastic to void off his advances, and he’d go about his way.   It would only occur to her in the middle of the following night, of what she and Brandon had created, causing her to clutch her belly for stability and mutter “Harper” under her breath in desperation.