To Touch the Wind

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Come on, Brad!

A voice called out, low and impatient. Cold reality washed over Sheila like ice water as Brad abruptly ended the kiss, lifting his head. Call me if you need help. The footsteps faded behind them. Yet the weakness from the overwhelming passion he had ignited moved her only a foot away. Her back was turned to him as he stepped after her, his hands settling familiarly on her waist. The warmth of his breath stirred her hair. Sheila stiffened in spite of the unsatisfied ache in the pit of her stomach. The light touch of his hands seemed to burn through the material of her clothes to her skin.

Brad immediately took advantage of the gesture to bury his mouth in the silken tangle of her hair along the outer curve of her neck.


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Her senses leaped in answer to the caress as his hands spread across her stomach, drawing her back against his muscular chest. What I do to you? Brad laughed shortly and paused to push the hair away from her ear. You are nothing but a tease, Sheila Rogers, he accused roughly, his arms tightening around her waist until she could no longer ignore the burning imprint of his male need pressing against her flesh. I should drag you into one of the hotel rooms and take you now.

His hand cupped the swell of her breast. Brad turned her around to face him, his expression hard and slightly frightening. An angry flush filled her cheeks. His arrogant confidence that he could take her whenever it suited him irritated Sheila, because she was all too aware that it was probably true. Of all the— Sheila sputtered at his arrogant presumption that, in time, she would beg him. Brad laughed and covered her defiant lips with his mouth. Sheila resisted for a few minutes before his kiss worked its magic and she was clinging to him again, momentarily forsaking her pride. Finally he lifted his head, a complacent gleam in his brown eyes as he gazed at the bemused expression on her upturned face.

He flashed her one of his devastating smiles. Her mouth opened to respond to his command, but the beaming light faded from her eyes as she remembered the discussion with her parents. Brad had noticed her hesitation and the slight change in her expression. He drew his head back to study her, his gaze narrowing. He released her abruptly and stepped away, his volatile temper surfacing.

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Am I too poor for their darling daughter? Brad, please. Sheila tried to stop his bitter tirade. It is nothing like that.

Touch the Water, Touch the Wind

Sheila was painfully aware that talk of money struck a raw nerve with Brad. They think we should wait a year before getting married so you can finish your degree and get a job without the responsibility of a wife. His dark gaze pinned her. Tell me honestly, Sheila, do your parents approve of me as your future husband? Unwillingly, she hesitated.

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Her father had made his disapproval of Brad obvious. Sheila knew her father had agreed in the hope that she and Brad would part before the year was up. Besides, they still think of me as their little girl. His hands were on his hips, pushing the jacket open. Sheila lifted her hand in exasperation, bracelets jingling. What do you want me to do?

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Beat my chest and wail? My parents accused you of nothing. Sheila controlled her rising temper with effort. What would you have done if they had told you not to marry me?


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A bitter sound, only faintly resembling laughter, came from his throat. She pivoted to walk away. This was a side of Brad she despised.

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He caught her arm and spun her back around, tightening his grip when Sheila strained to break free. His fingers were nearly digging into the bone as he forced her to face him. Sheila met the rage blazing in his expression without flinching. A strange light glazed his eyes. A shaft of cold fear plunged into her stomach. She tried not to let the panic creep into her voice.

Let go of my arm. He relaxed his hold slightly, the glazed look leaving his brown eyes. Sheila accused. I am not going to spend the rest of my life apologizing for the fact that my parents are wealthy. I had no control over it whatsoever. He breathed tightly. Nobody has ever given me anything. Brad mocked bitterly. Wait and see. I suppose they are as pure and lily white as you are. Scorn was etched in the line of his mouth, contemptuous and vaguely savage.

What do you want, Tom? Sheila was glad for the interruption. She felt sick at heart and wanted only to get away and sort things out for herself. He held her fast and placed a hand on her other shoulder to turn her back to him. She continued to avoid his gaze. There is nothing left to say. He seemed to search desperately for a reason, then laughed shortly. She could find none of the twisted humor that Brad had in the discovery. Releasing her arm, he started to stroke her cheek in a soothing caress, but Sheila drew away from his touch, unable to make the same sudden transition from anger to affection.

I never meant for us to quarrel like this, Brad murmured apologetically. Sheila, look at me. His handsome, golden features pleaded for her forgiveness.

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