Escalation Clause by Liz Crowe Page A

clean. “Why are you sorry?” She tugged him down when he returned. “I’m not. Not one bit.”
    “I know, it’s just…,” he ran a finger down her face, making her skin pebble. “Such a big step and I’m…honored. And a little panicked about the fact we did this here, right over your brother’s head.”
    She rolled onto her side, wincing at the ache between her legs, propped on her arm, and stared into his dark brown eyes. “I love you, Brandis Taylor. I know I’m only eighteen and whatever, and too young and blah, blah, but I don’t care.” She cradled his rough face with her hand. “I realize you have to leave, and I’m okay with that, but…I don’t know how long I can wait. Let’s get married.”
    He laughed, and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She straddled his hips. “Ow,” she gasped, but he tugged her down and kissed away the pain.
    “No, my sweet Maureen. That would likely end with your brother in jail for the murder of his friend. But…,” he touched her nose, ran the finger down her check, her neck, and across her newly hardened nipple. She shifted, loving how she reacted to his simple touch. His dark, handsome face got serious. He held her hips still. “Don’t. You aren’t ready for more, not yet.”
    “How do you know?” She leaned down and kissed him, used her lips and tongue on the delicious mocha skin of his neck, the deep brown of his nipple. She knew this was a trigger for him, and she sighed in delight when his cock started to twitch and come to life against her. “I think I am….” She worked her way back up and captured his lips.
    “Mmm….” He cupped her breasts, pushed her up so he could grab her nipples in his mouth, sending an erotic zing of pleasure to her core. She wiggled against him some more, then winced, when reality hit her nerve endings. He released her, plucked her up off his hips and down by his side, curving around her back, holding her close.
    She snuggled into his embrace. “This is perfect.” She meant it, but knew it was a temporary thing. She had many lonesome days and nights ahead of her. “He’s leaving, you know,” her brother’s voice pierced her satisfied, sleepy fog.
    “What?” Brandis tightened his arms around her, his lips soft against the back of her neck. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
    “Do you?” she sighed into his skin, loving the smell of him.
    “Always, my sweet Maureen.” His voice faded, then he was still and silent, his breathing evening out in sleep. “You should go.”
    “I know,” she sighed and drifted to sleep.
    Her dreams were a muddle of images—Brandis and her, a strange house, Jack, angry but dressed in a tuxedo for some reason, her long-dead mother softly drunk as usual, her father—her eyes flew open at the sound of a loud bang.
    “Yo, dickhead, rise and shine!” Jack’s voice broke through the dreams and became quickly real. “It’s time to clean…holy… shit.”
    She stiffened, rolled up and clutched the blanket to her naked chest. Her brother, tall and handsome, her friend and protector for her entire life, stood in the doorway of Brandis’ bedroom. He clutched the doorjamb, staring at her, then at Brandis who rolled over and sat. His blue eyes were dark, scary. She gulped and started to speak. He pointed to her but kept his eyes on Brandis.
    “Get dressed. Go to my car. Do not say a word.”
    She sat still, staring at him. Brandis rose, tugged on a pair of shorts, tossed her a shirt, and stood, arms crossed. “It’s okay,” he said slowly, softly, as if calming a rabid dog trapped in a corner. “Truly, Jack, it’s….”
    Jack moved so fast she screamed. He yanked Brandis’ arm, turned him and had him pinned on the floor in an instant, his knee to the man’s neck. “I warned you.” He growled. Mo jumped up, threw her clothes on and started pounding on Jack’s shoulders. “Get off me Mo.” He held her off with one hand. But it was just enough slack in his grip to allow