Guarding Miranda (31 page)

Miranda opened the bait and skewered one of the short, plump silver minnows on her barbless hook. “Your wife doesn’t care for fishing much?”

“Nah, Milly’s busy making cinnamon buns.  The grandkids area coming over tomorrow.” He paused to cast his line back out into the water. “Gotta feed them something.  Fish for supper, at this rate.”

He glanced at Brian, who was struggling to unravel his lead weight from his line. “If’n you don’t mind me asking, sonny, who’re you?”

“I’m Brian, Miranda’s brother.”

“Australian, huh?”

“Good ear.” Brian grinned at the older man. 

Alex grinned back. “Funny thing is, Russ never mentioned having a nephew.  Spoke a whole lot about his daughter and Miranda here but...” He paused. “Why didn’t he bring you hunting with him?”

Brian finally untangled his line. “I was, er, overseas a lot.”

“Ah, I see.” Alex tugged on his line, teasing the fish below. “Milly went to Australia, when she was in University.  A work exchange program.  Said Australia was nice but that New Zealand was far prettier.  Any truth to that?”

“Depends on what part of home she saw.” Brian accepted a minnow from Miranda and baited his hook. “But she’s right, I think New Zealand’s a bit more lush, more green and pretty than sandy ol’ Australia. She’s more or less a rock.”

Miranda cast her rod easily, the hook and sinker landing far downstream of the boats.  She reeled in a few feet and waited for the fish to react. 

Brian stood and tried casting, nearly catching Miranda with his hook. 

The sinker end of the line landed in the floor of the boat.

Alex chuckled. Brian blushed. 

It was the first time Miranda had ever seen him blush...

And it wasn’t just a little bit of color to his cheeks.

From his collar bone to the tips of his ears and the top of his hairline, he was turning scarlet.

Miranda couldn’t stifle her giggle.

“Like I said,” Brian admitted sheepishly, “I haven’t fished since I was a lad.”

“I can see that.” Miranda laughed, securing her rod to get up and help him. “Here.” She took the rod from him and instructed him on the proper way to cast. “Like this...”

The line sailed gracefully out toward the spot where hers rested and splashed into the water.

“Thanks,” said Brian, taking the rod from her. 

His ears were still as red with embarrassment as his cheeks.

She smiled endearingly at him. “You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, Miranda felt a few tugs on her line and jostled it but no fish was to be had – they had nibbled away her bait though, she discovered upon reeling in. 

It was upon rebaiting her hook that she noticed Brian’s rod bowing over the edge of the boat.

“Uh, Brian, I think you have a fish.”

“Naw, that’s just a nibble.” He told her, holding the rod firmly in his hands.

The rod dipped and moved.

“That looks like a fish to me, son,” said Alex. “Reel it in.”

Brian reeled in and to his surprise, a fish was indeed caught on the end of his line.

A small fish but a fish just the same.

“Aw, that’s just a baby,” said Alex, disapprovingly. “Walleye, also known as a pickerel.  Great for eating, just not when they’re that size... Around here, we catch and release ones of that size.  Barely a pound...”

Brian reeled the fish in – it bounced and struggled against his persuasion but was affixed to the end of his line. 

Once it quit struggling, Miranda pulled Brian’s line into the boat and prepared to free the fish.

Miranda sought the glove and needle nose pliers from the tackle box and removed the hook from the fish’s mouth.

Gently as she could with the fish squirming in her hand, she tossed it back over the side, where it swam quickly away.

She smiled up at Brian. “Like I said, caveman: come zombie apocalypse, you’re gonna want me on your team.”

“I can always swing a club, love.” He grinned at her. “Get me a moose to go with your fish.”

“You’ll get a bigger one next time, m’boy,” said Alex. “Don’t you worry - lots of fish in this ol’ hole.”

Miranda was the next to catch a fish, while Brian was pouring himself a glass of ginger ale. 

Hers was far larger than his had been and she had a joy of a time trying to get it into the boat. 

Brian stood by with the dip net, ready to catch the fish.

“Looks like a monster, eh?” Alex commented, approval in his voice.

Once it was in the air, Miranda determined that it was a pickerel, the same species that Alex had on his stringer and little over a foot long.

“Feels like about three pounds,” she said gleefully as they got the fish into the boat.  She was upon it at once with the stringer and the pliers. “This one has supper written all over him.”

Brian was incredulous. 

He didn’t expect Miranda to be the type for eating anything she caught in the wild.  He had considered her a spoiled little rich girl, caught up in a life of manicures and caviar, not canoeing and pickerel. 

As much private information as he knew about her, she surprised him every time he turned around. 

It delighted him to know that there were so many sides to her...

“Nice fish, Miranda.”

“Thanks.” She winked at Brian as she put the secured fish over the side of the boat. “He sure put up a fight.”

They fished for the rest of the evening, keeping only three of the dozen fish they caught. 

Miranda filleted the fish on the dock, while Brian watched, awestruck. 

She sure was some breed of woman. 

Full of surprises. 

And he had thought he’d known her so well...

By ten o’clock, back in the cabin, her sunburn had begun to ache. 

Brian touched her shoulder gingerly.

Even through her Windbreaker, he could feel the heat emanating from the sunburn.

“Poor love,” he purred, as she removed the light jacket. “You really should let me put some aloe vera gel on that for you.”

“Would you?” She asked softly, delighting in the possibility of his hands upon her body.

“Gladly,” he replied, brushing his fingertips over her red skin. “Since I probably won’t be able to make wild, passionate love to you until well after this burn begins to fade.”

Indeed, she was in poor position to do anything about her arousal. Her sunburn ached so badly.

She returned from the bathroom with the aloe and a smile. 

She was wearing the sarong and nothing else besides her grin.

“I believe you said something about removing my sarong?”

“How naughty you are, teasing me when I can’t possibly have you...” He got up from the arm chair and kissed her roughly, showing her his frustration. All the kiss did was excite them both... “Damn that hot summer sun!”

Gently, Brian untied the knot of her sarong. 

With slow sensuality, he unwrapped the sarong from her long, superb body and indrew a great swallow of air.

“Was that a lustful gasp I heard?” She asked, coyly.

“No,” he replied honestly.

His own skin prickled empathetically as he viewed the stark contrast between her burned and unburned skin.  He felt so badly for her. 

She was going to suffer from the burn.

It was quite bad. 

Triangles of white at her breasts and pubic mound was all that was left of her ivory skin.

“It isn’t all that bad, is it?” She asked, pained.

“Oh but it is.” He replied though in taking the aloe gel from her, was unsure where to begin. 

Consciously struggling with sensual thoughts, he squirted some of the cool gel into his hands and spread it over her reddened shoulders. 

Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

Quite the opposite had occurred.

Initially shocking, his cooling touch was heavenly, the gel relieving some of the burning sensation.

“That’s wonderful, Brian. Don’t stop.”

As carefully and gently as he was able he worked the gel across her hot flesh, mindful of the burn, hoping that he was not causing her any discomfort, for that was unthinkable. 

Hurting her was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

He finished smoothing the gel into her back.

It was time now to consider her front...

The tantalizing scent of her perfume brought him back to thoughts full of adult notions.  He silently groaned as he felt the rush of blood to his loins, at the sight of her full, rounded breasts and the enticing V of her long, sexy legs.

“See something you like?” She purred, licking her luscious lips.

Hiding his trembling hands, Brian cursed his lack of control. 

What was it about her that weakened him so, reduced him to quivering man flesh, ready and willing to do her bidding? 

She had his heart in the palm of his hand, whether she knew it or not, he belonged now to her. 

All other women pale in comparison, he thought and in looking back at her sunburned flesh, realized how true that was.  

“Yes,” he replied, fully aware of his weakness. “This really is torture, you know, touching you but not having you.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can do the rest myself,” she offered, aware of his arousal.

“No, I can finish.” He stammered, squeezing more of the aloe into his palms. “I’ll finish your legs first...”

When at long last the torture was over, Miranda rewarded Brian with a long, passionate kiss. 

He wasn’t sure whether to consider it further torture or a test of his self control, what with her standing so lovely and naked before him. 

Only her sunburn kept him from ravaging her sweet, sexy body.

“Oh, Miranda, the things you do to me...”

“You know, Brian, there are…things I can do for you that don’t necessarily constitute intercourse.” She crooned, kissing his neck, her hands on that part of him that was most sensitive and ever alert to her nudity.

“Oh?” He asked, wondering if what he was hearing was too good to be true.

Taking him by the hand, she lead him to the couch and urged him out of his clothing.

Once he was sitting naked before her, she smiled and took him in her hand.

“Consider this a return of the many naughty little favors you’ve granted me.”

“Oh Miranda!”

Chapter Fourteen:

Sunday morning, in nothing short of a miracle, Miranda woke before Brian.

Her sunburn had woken her up – according to the clock in the kitchen, it was barely six o’clock in the morning. 

Brian would no doubt be up soon...

He had mentioned that he went for his driveway runs around six thirty. 

Wearing nothing but her green silk robe, she had a go at the creation of scrambled eggs and cooked bacon in another frying pan. 

By twenty after six, breakfast was ready.

Miranda walked up the stairs, to the door of the guest bedroom where Brian was sleeping. 

Involuntarily, her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the white door. 

Fanciful images flashed through her mind – images of what Brian might look like, at this moment, on the other side of this door.

She felt only the slightest twinge of shame for thinking about him in a purely sexual way but the shame was soon overwhelmed by interest.