Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) by Debbie Macomber
Brand’s fingers tightened as he rolled with her in his arms so that their positions were reversed. He kissed her deeply, urgently. They made love quickly; the explosive chemistry between them demanded as much.
Carly clung to him afterward, not wanting ever to let him go.
“Satisfied now?” he whispered against her ear.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied.”
“Me, either,” he said, holding her tightly at his side.
The next thing Carly knew, Brand was kissing her awake. “Are you hungry?”
“No, sleepy,” she said with a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Ten. We haven’t eaten dinner yet and I’m starved.”
Carly sat up and pulled the sheet over her bare breasts. She’d hardly eaten all day and recognized the ache in the pit of her stomach as hunger pangs.
Brand slipped out of bed and reached for his pants. “I packed us a picnic basket. Wait here and I’ll get it.”
A couple minutes later, Brand returned, carrying Carly’s suitcase and a basket with a bottle of champagne and two glasses resting on the top.
Carly slipped her white lace and silk gown over her head while Brand opened the champagne and poured them each a glass.
“To many years of happiness,” Brand said, as he touched his glass to hers.
“To us,” Carly added, and she took a sip of the sparkling liquid. The champagne tickled her throat. Laughing, she held her glass out for more. “What’s there to eat?”
After refilling her glass, Brand opened the basket and brought out a large jar of green olives, a thick bar of chocolate, and some fried chicken.
Carly was so pleased she wanted to cry. “Oh, Brand, you’re marvelous.”
“I know what you like.”
“You do?” she asked him seductively, locking her arms around his neck. “You may have to revise your list.”
He pulled her into his embrace and nuzzled her neck. “Gladly,” he whispered, just before his mouth claimed hers.
* * *
The only time they left the bedroom over the next two days was to make a quick run to Carly’s apartment for more food.
Sunday morning Carly phoned Diana and Barney.
Diana answered her cell. “Carly!” she exclaimed. “This is a surprise. How’s everything?”
“Great. But I thought you should know that I took your advice.”
“My advice?”
“Yup. Would you like to talk to my husband?”
“Carly, you did it? You actually married Brand. My goodness, you’re right, he is a fast worker! Why didn’t you let me know? Yes, yes, let me talk to Brand.”
Carly handed the phone to Brand and let him introduce himself to her friend. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head on his chest and was able to listen in on their conversation.
“No fair giving away all my childhood secrets.” Carly’s voice was playfully indignant when she took back the receiver.
“I wasn’t,” Diana denied, with a telltale laugh. “Well, not everything.”
“I like being married,” Carly admitted, with a catch in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me how great it is?”
“That’s the problem,” Diana said quickly. “You’ve got to be married to the right man.”
Carly couldn’t imagine sharing her life with anyone but Brand. “I’ve found him.”
“So have I,” Diana murmured. “Be happy, Carly.”
Diana sounded as though she was close to tears. “I will. You, too.”
When she replaced the receiver, Brand took her in his arms. “Shall we name our first daughter Diana?”
“Diana?” Carly feigned shock, and teased him lovingly. “I was thinking more along the lines of Brandy—after her father.”
Groaning, Brand shook his head. “I think I’ll pray for sons.”
“Brand.” She took his hand and batted her long lashes. “You want to try it in the shower here?”
“Are you crazy? You nearly drowned me the last time.”
“Yes, but it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Carly.” Brand brushed the hair from his forehead and sighed, attempting to hide a smile. “I’m too old for those kinds of tricks. I prefer a nice, soft mattress.”
“But I’m sure we must have done something wrong. Everyone makes love in the shower. At least they always do in the books I read.”
Brand rolled his eyes mockingly. “All right, if you insist.” He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her until she was breathless and clinging. “This is my punishment for marrying a younger woman,” he complained.
“No …” She giggled. “This is your punishment for marrying a virgin.”
* * *
Monday arrived all too quickly. Brand dropped her off at the apartment so she could drive her car to work.
“Do you want to meet back here this evening or at the house?”
Brand appeared to mull the question over. “The house. I’ll pick up something for dinner and we can start painting after we eat.”
Carly dreaded the job. Every room in the house needed a fresh coat. She wanted to do Shawn’s and Sara’s bedrooms herself. It seemed like a little thing, but it would help her to assimilate the fact that she was going to be a mother to those two. Having come into a similar situation, Carly was determined to make them feel loved and welcome from the beginning.
Brand met her at the house with hamburgers and two thick vanilla malts.
They sat at their hastily purchased kitchen table and Carly handed her malt back to Brand.
“I thought you liked vanilla.”
“I do, but I’m watching my weight.”
He arched one brow questioningly. “You’re almost too thin as it is.”
“That’s because you nearly starved me to death this weekend,” she tossed back.
He stood and came around to her side of the table. “Is that a fact?” he asked, as he took her in his arms.
Her hands slid over his chest as their eyes met and held. The look in his eyes trapped the oxygen in her lungs.
“Ever read anything in those novels you mentioned about making love on the top of a table?” he asked her in a low, husky tone, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Mr. St. Clair, you shock me.”
Brand straightened and began undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Surprised, Carly watched him with her mouth hanging open. “I thought you were teasing.”
“Nope.” He unbuckled his belt.
“What about dinner?”
“It can wait.” He reached over and unfastened the buttons of her blouse.
Holding her breath, Carly reached around and unzipped her skirt. “I thought you wanted to paint.”
“What I want should be evident.”
The skirt fell to the floor, leaving her standing in her teddy and stockings.
Brand was devouring her with his eyes. She undid his pants and dropped them to the floor.
Slowly, his hands shaking slightly, Brand removed the remainder of her clothes until they were both naked. Then he scooped her up and carried her down the hall.
Their lovemaking was urgent, explosive, and they clung to each other afterward.
“I thought you wanted to do it on top of the table.”
“The bedroom wasn’t that far away.”
She smiled and kissed the side of his neck. “Almost too far, as I recall.”
“I don’t think you fully understand yet what you do to me,” he whispered.
Carly rolled onto her stomach and hooked one bare leg over his. “If we keep this up we won’t be finished painting the house till Christmas.”
Brand wrapped his arms around her and breathed in deeply. “The thought of hiring painters is growing more appealing by the minute.”
Chapter Nine
The clock radio clicked and immediately soft music floated into the sunlit bedroom.
“Morning.” Brand pulled Carly close to his si
“Already?” she groaned. Her eyes refused to open as she snuggled deeper within Brand’s embrace. He was warm and gentle, and she felt too comfortable to move.
“Do you want me to make coffee this morning?”
Dark brown eyes flew open and she struggled to a sitting position. “No, I’ll do it.” Pausing at the side of the bed, Carly raised her hands high above her head, stretched, and yawned.
“Aren’t you ever going to let me get up first?” Brand teased with loving eyes.
“Nope.” She leaned over and lightly brushed her mouth over his.
Brand’s arms snaked around her waist, and he deepened the contact with hungry demand. “What time is it?” he growled in her ear.
“Late,” she teased, and kissed him back spiritedly. “Much too late for what you have in mind.” Giggling, she escaped from his embrace and grabbed her light cotton housecoat from the end of the bed before heading for the kitchen. Mornings were her favorite part of the day. Waking up with Brand was the culmination of every dream she’d ever hoped would come to pass.
When the coffee had finished perking, she carried a cup in to Brand. He generally left for work an hour earlier than she needed to be at Alaska Freight, but they woke together and Carly dutifully cooked his breakfast and got him out the door. Then she turned her efforts to preparing for her own day.
Brand strolled into the kitchen as she was laying strips of bacon into a hot skillet. The fat sizzled and filled the room with the aroma of cooking meat. Nuzzling the side of her neck, Brand wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You smell good.”
“That’s not me, silly. That’s the bacon.”
His hand slid from her waist to press against her smooth, flat abdomen. “We haven’t talked about this much, but I’d like it if you got pregnant soon.” He was so pensive and serious, a mood neither of them had had time for during these past few days.
Carly set down her fork and turned in his arms. “There’s no rush, is there? I’d like to adjust to one family before starting another.”
Brand pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. His hands hugged the coffee mug. “There won’t be two families, Carly, only one.”
Sighing, she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his neck. “That’s not what I meant. Even if I was to get pregnant tomorrow, there’d still be six years between the baby and Sara. It would be almost like raising two families.”
Brand nodded and placed his hand on hers. “I know. It’s just that I’ve been separated from Shawn and Sara for so long that I don’t want to put any more distance between us. I want us all to be one family, no matter how many children you and I may have.”
“We will be a family,” she promised, and returned to the stove. This weekend was the time they’d arranged to fly to Portland so Carly could meet the children and Brand’s mother.
The two eggs were overcooked when she set the plate in front of Brand. He didn’t say anything, but she knew he preferred his eggs sunny-side up. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“Don’t worry, the eggs are fine.”
Carly took a long swallow of her orange juice.
“Are you worried about this weekend?” Brand wanted to know.
She was terrified, but didn’t want Brand to guess. “I’m looking forward to meeting your family … our family,” she corrected.
Brand kissed her tenderly before heading out the door. “Have a good day, honey.”
The endearment rolled easily off his tongue, and again Carly had the feeling it was the same affectionate term he’d used with Sandra. She cringed. The pain was quick and sharp. She bit the inside her cheek as she pulled open a kitchen drawer and brought out a cookbook. For the sixth time in as many days, she read the recipe for chicken and dumplings. The meal was to be a surprise for Brand. This would be her first home-cooked dinner for her husband.
Before very long, cooking would be a part of her everyday life, and the sooner she mastered the skill, the better. Shawn and Sara wouldn’t be satisfied with green olives and chocolate. At least not after the first week.
The chicken was simmering on the stove as Carly dressed for work. The aroma of the bacon had made her feel weak with hunger. The small glass of orange juice had constituted her entire breakfast, and dumplings were out. To be on the safe side, she stepped on the scale. Two pounds. She’d been starving herself for ten miserable days and was only down two pounds. Some women were naturally svelte and others had to work at it. There wasn’t any justice left in the world anymore, she grumbled on her way out the front door.
* * *
On her lunch break, Carly savored an apple, cutting it into thirty pieces in an effort to take her mind off how hungry she was. As part of her lunch break, Carly drove into town and bought Sara a doll, and Shawn a book on Mount McKinley. She knew so little about these two who were destined to be a major part of her life. Her nerves were crying out with vague apprehension at the coming meeting. Fleetingly, she wondered how they felt about meeting her.
Before returning to the office, Carly stopped off at the apartment and checked on the dinner. She reread the cookbook instructions, confident that she had done everything properly.
On the way out she stopped at the mailbox and collected the mail. Another letter from Jutta had arrived, and she ripped it open eagerly. Jutta sent her congratulations and claimed to be working on another oil painting that she thought Carly would like. She said she’d sell this one cheap.
Carly smiled, folded the letter, and placed it back inside the envelope. Jutta seemed to think the only interest Carly had in her was because of her artwork. As their friendship grew, she was certain that Jutta would feel differently.
Because she wanted Brand to be pleasantly surprised with her dinner, Carly left the office early. George was being a dear about everything, including the extra days off she needed. Carly felt like giving him a peck on the cheek as she rushed out the door, but hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t know how to react to her display of affection.
Brand got home a half hour after she did. “I’m home,” he called cheerfully.
“Hi.” She stepped from the kitchen. The corners of her mouth trembled with the effort to hold back her tears.
He stopped in the middle of the living room and sniffed the air. “Something smells bad.”
“I know.” She swallowed tightly. “I tried to cook you a special dinner. It … it didn’t work out.” She gestured with one hand in angry bewilderment. “I … I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“Let me see,” Brand offered as he headed for the kitchen.
“No!” she cried theatrically. “Don’t go in there!”
“Carly.” He gave her a look she felt he must reserve for misbehaving children.
Bristling, she cradled her stomach with her arms and shouted at him, “Go ahead, then, have a good laugh.”
Brand’s eyes softened. “I’m not going to laugh at you.”
“Why not? It’s hilarious. How many husbands do you know who come home to be greeted with the news that their dinner’s on the ceiling?”
Brand did a poor job of disguising his amusement.
Anger swelled like a flood tide in Carly until she wanted to scream. “I’m sorry I can’t be as perfect as Sandra. I tried.” Sobs took control of her voice. “I really tried.”
“Carly.” He went pale and reached for her.
She broke from his grasp and gave way to huge hiccupping sobs, warding him off with her arm. “Don’t you dare touch me.” Each word was enunciated clearly.
Brand looked as if she’d struck him physically. He moved to the sofa and sat down. “I wondered.” His voice was husky and raw. “But I didn’t want to believe what was right in front of me.”
The tears welled up and spilled down her face as she held her breath in an effort to stop crying.
“You did all this because of Sandra?” Brand asked flatly.
Carly nodded.
“And this insa
“She was svelte.”
“She was gaunt. Cancer does that to people.” He rubbed his hand over his face. He was upset and didn’t bother to conceal it. His mouth was pinched and his eyes narrow. “What do I have to do to make you understand that I don’t want another Sandra?”
“I thought …”
“I know what you thought.” He paced the floor. “For two years I grieved for Sandra. The ache inside me was so bad I ran from my children and separated myself from the world.”
She kept her face averted, burying her chin in her shoulder. A dark curtain of hair fell forward.
“I love you, Carly. Your love has given me back my children and a reason to go on with my life. I don’t want to bury myself in the past again. With you at my side, I want to look ahead at the good life we can share.” He turned and walked over to her. “I want you. None other.” Holding her, he wove his fingers in her hair and forced her to look up at him. She couldn’t bear it and closed her eyes. Fresh tears squeezed through her lashes. Every breath was a sob.
“What I feel for you is entirely different from my love for Sandra,” he continued. “She was an only child, pampered and loved all her life. Even as a little girl she was sickly. Her family protected her, and when we married I took over that role.”
Carly made an effort to strain away from his hands, but her attempt did little good She didn’t want to hear any more about Brand’s first wife. Every word was like a knife wound.
“With Sandra, I felt protective and gentle,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “But with you I’m challenged and inspired. My love for you is deeper than anything I’d ever hoped to find on this earth. Don’t compete with a dead woman, Carly.”
She groaned with the knowledge that he was right. There was no winning if she set herself up as a replacement for Sandra. Trying desperately to stop crying, she put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she wept. “So sorry.”