Can't Stop Loving You (6 page)

The last time he’d kissed her dominant toe
they’d been in the kitchen. Memories flooded through her mind...
the smell of oranges and grapes, the taste of sweet juice running
down his chest, the smooth, hard feel of the kitchen floor, the
warm, wet feel of his mouth, the sensation of falling off the edge
of the earth.

Heavy with memories, she sucked in a sharp
breath.

Brick’s black eyes held hers a moment longer,
then abruptly he let go. Helen didn’t know whether to feel relieved
or deprived.

“There will be no replays, Helen,” he
said.

“Replays?”

“Replays of love.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Your eyes always give you away.” He reached
onto her plate and helped himself to a bite of her salad. “Love
died the minute you walked out the door.”

She started to jump out of her chair, but he
caught her wrist and pulled her back down.

“Sit. You’ve deprived me of one meal tonight.
I see no need to eat this one alone.”

Sitting seemed easier than making another
scene.

“You didn’t come to dinner because of
me?”

“Isn’t the reason you didn’t come because of
me?” His thumb circled her wrist. “Well, Helen?”

“Yes. I was a coward.” She jerked her wrist
free, then picked up her fork. “It won’t happen again.”

“No. We’re both civilized adults. Not only
that, but we’re professionals. It’s time to act it.”

“Why didn’t you think of that sooner?”

“I apologize for my part in what happened at
the theater this afternoon. It was a bit of childish revenge.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Tomorrow will be different.”

“I agree one hundred percent. Tomorrow is
another day.”

“Yes ma’am, Miss Scarlett.” Brick’s grin was
wide.

“Oh, hush.”

Helen tried not to attach any significance to
the easy repartee between them, but she couldn’t help but compare
Brick to other men. He was a giant among men, full of energy and
fun and talent and passion.

She had fallen madly in love with him the
first time they’d met. It had been at a New Year’s Eve dance. She’d
gone at the insistence of Kat and B. J....

“You have to meet him, Helen,” Kat said.
“He’s gorgeous and talented and fun loving.”

“He’s an actor,” she said, as if that alone
disqualified him from consideration as a serious suitor.

“He’s a great dancer too,” Kat said, and the
ever practical B. J. had told her, “Come on, Helen. One night of
dancing. What do you have to lose?”

Her heart, for one thing. She was just
recovering from having lost her heart to a man who saw fit to stomp
on it and throw it away. Men always seemed to do that to her.

Kat and B. J. wouldn’t take no for an answer,
and in the end she’d gone.

The minute she spotted him waiting at the
table with her friends, she’d known she was in trouble. He had
exactly the kind of looks she admired in a man, poised and
polished, self-confident and powerful. But it was his eyes that
really got to her. Black as the pits of hell, they sparkled with
intelligence and wit and passion.

“Oh, help,” she said to herself. “I’m in
trouble.”

Her prediction was entirely right. One turn
on the dance floor was enough. It was not merely the way he danced,
nor the way he held her, both of which were wonderful. It was more,
ever so much more.

Their hands touched. Her fingers wove through
his. His thumb caressed her wrist. She drew slow, sensuous circles
in his palm.

“You’re a toucher,” she whispered, leaning
back to look up at him.

“Yes.”

And they both knew. They were exactly right.
Fate had brought them together. Every moment of every day of their
lives had been leading up to the magical moment when they would
finally find each other.

They slow danced... whether or not the music
was slow. At midnight when they kissed, they both knew it was
forever.

The next day headlines in the trade papers
screamed “The King of Theater Meets his Queen.”

She had found her king... found him and then
lost him.

A great sadness welled up inside her, and she
had to press her hands over her eyes to stop the tears.

“Headache, Helen?”

Brick leaned toward her, his black eyes
searching hers.

“Can I get you something?”

The wonderful thing about Brick was that his
concern was absolutely sincere. No matter what they had done to
each other, he would never stop caring for her as another human
being.

“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t I get a bottle of wine? Meals are
always more civilized with wine, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

She watched him prowl through the cabinets
until he found wine and a corkscrew. He was giving her an
opportunity to pull herself together. At that moment, she almost
fell in love with him all over again.

She closed her eyes, letting the feelings
wash over her. They felt so good, so very good.

o0o

Brick could hardly keep his eyes off her.
Under the guise of getting the wine, he watched Helen. In her white
silk gown and robe, she looked like a fragile, long-stemmed
rose.

She was exquisitely beautiful. In the two
years they had been apart he had not forgotten one single
detail—the way her hair fell forward over her right eye, the blue
vein that pulsed in the side of her throat when she was upset, the
way she moistened her lower lip when she thought about making love,
her walk, her voice, her throaty laughter, the soft, satiny feel of
her skin, the tiny curve of her waist, the long, shapely legs.

His hands trembled on the wine bottle. Helen
had no head for wine, and here he was in the kitchen pouring her a
generous glass of chardonnay.

He was courting danger.

“Here you are.” He set the glass in front of
her, then watched her eyes sparkle when she glanced up at him. It
was gone as quickly as it had come. Still, he’d seen the glow, felt
the heat.

“Drink up,” he said, straddling his
chair.

“Thanks.”

The blue vein pulsed in the side of her
throat when she lifted her glass. He had to ball his hands into
fists to keep from reaching out and caressing the fragile, creamy
skin.

“Aren’t you drinking?” she asked.

“In a while.”

Her eyes sought his over the top of her
glass.

Why did she look at him with such intensity?
What was she thinking?

“So... tell me how you met Barb.”

“Barb?”

“Barb Gladly... your fiancee.”

“Oh, that Barb.”

Helen narrowed her eyes at him. He reached
for the bottle and filled her glass to the rim. Maybe if she had
enough to drink, in the morning she wouldn’t remember that he
hadn’t even known his fiancee’s name.

“Where does any man meet the love of his
life?” he asked, trying for nonchalance and missing. “At a
dance.”

“A dance?”

“New Year’s Eve,” he said, watching to see if
his remark hit home.

Helen flinched. Brick was immediately
contrite, but he didn’t do a thing about it. He sat in his chair
feeling a bit of self-righteous triumph at having caused her to
remember
their
New Year’s Eve dance.

“Friends introduced us,” he said. “We knew
right away that we were meant for each other.”

Stony-faced, Helen slugged back her wine and
held out her glass for more. He filled it to the brim, then watched
her take another long swig. Already her face was flushed and her
hand unsteady.

He guessed he should be ashamed of himself,
but he wasn’t. A man who had suffered hell for two years deserved a
little revenge.

Especially since he felt himself falling in
love all over again with the woman who had betrayed him.

Helen knew she had no business drinking so
much wine. She’d never been able to hold more than half a glass
without losing control.

Brick sat across the table from her looking
dangerously delicious. Who needed control? What she needed was
anesthesia.

She lifted the glass to her lips and took
another swig. A drop of golden liquid sloshed over the edge of her
glass and onto her chin.

“You should be careful there, Helen.”

Brick’s touch was exquisitely tender as he
reached across the table and wiped her chin with his thumb—tender
and addictive. She leaned toward him and closed her eyes. His thumb
moved up the side of her face, drew slow circles on her chin.

Helen sighed.

Brick’s chair toppled as he scraped it back
and stood up. Bereft, she looked up at him. His eyes were the color
of the ocean right before a storm.

Helen knew she looked a mess, bright with
wine and expectation. She drew her silky robe and the tatters of
her dignity around her.

“I don’t need your tender solicitations.” To
her horror, she slurred her words.
Well, great
. She’d just
have to make the best of a bad situation.

“Those were not tender solicitations, my
dear. I was merely wiping wine from your chin.”

Brick never called her
my dear
unless he was furious with her. She could tell by his face that he
was absolutely furious. And she knew why.

She had left him. It was the ultimate insult
to a man. Not only that, but she had left him without telling him
why.

As he stalked around the kitchen, slamming
drawers open and shut, she thought about explaining everything to
him. But it was far too late for explanations. It was too late for
anything except trying to get through this charade with a little
dignity.

“Stop slamming things,” she said. “It makes
my head hurt.”

“Good.” He slammed another drawer, then
plopped back at the kitchen table with an enormous knife. The blade
gleamed in the overhead light.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I thought I would cut a little piece of that
cake you dragged out of the refrigerator.” Holding the knife aloft,
he watched her over the edge of the blade. “That is, unless you
plan to eat it all yourself.”

“Well...” Why did everything he say make her
think he was saying something entirely different? She wet her lips
with her tongue. “I like eating the whole thing.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a
starving man, Helen. Especially in the kitchen at this time of
night.”

The kitchen. Fraught with memories. All of
them delicious.

“Don’t you threaten me, Brick Sullivan.”
Helen’s legs were unsteady as she stood up.

“That’s not a threat; it’s a fact.”

“Well, you should get your facts straight.”
She took the knife from his hand and leaned toward the cake. Her
silk robe whispered against his thigh. His hand snaked around her
wrist.

“What are the facts, Helen?”

Her skin burned where his fingers touched.
She felt as if her entire body were about to go up in flames.

“The fact is, I’m the one who stole this
cake. I deserve the biggest piece.”

Their eyes locked, blazing. She was the first
to look away.

“By all means, my dear.” He towered beside
her, then leaned so close, their bodies were fitted together like
bookends. “Have the biggest piece.”

She tried to twist free, but it was useless.
She might match him line for line onstage or off, but she was no
match for his strength.

The knife blade sank into the thick chocolate
icing, then deeper, into the moist, tender layers of cake. A huge
slice of the succulent dessert toppled sideways onto the
platter.

They both watched it fall, their breaths
sawing through their lungs. She made a move to break free. It only
served to meld their bodies closer. She could feel the tension in
him, the hard muscles in his legs pressed against hers, his heart
thudding hard in his chest.

He held her wrist in a viselike grip. She
could no more free herself than a bird could escape the jaws of a
cat.

Helen swallowed her panic.

“I’m not sure I can eat that much.”

“I’m sure you can, Helen. As a matter of
fact, I’ll help you.”

Brick finally loosened his grip on her wrist,
but before she could break free, his big hand closed around her
waist.

“Brick. What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you. You always did have that
fragile, helpless look that brought out the gentleman in me.”

“Where is that gentleman now?”

“Right beside you.”

“You’re no gentleman: You’re a beast.”

His chuckle was wicked. Shivers skittered
over her skin.

“You were always good at taming beasts,
Helen.” With one flick of his wrist he turned her so they were face
to face, nose to nose, chest to breast, groin to thigh. “Tame me,
Helen.”

“Let me go.”

“Afraid?”

“No. I’m not scared of the devil.”

“You should be.”

She might have been really alarmed if she
hadn’t been so hot and bothered... and so thoroughly anesthetized
with wine.

In one swift motion he captured her lips. He
was Sherman sweeping through Atlanta, Hannibal crossing the Alps,
Tarzan swinging through the jungle with Jane, King Kong beating his
chest in triumph.

And she was totally swept off her feet.

As soon as she could get her breath she was
going to protest. Loudly. As soon as she found the energy she was
going to clamp down on his lips with her teeth. Hard. As soon as
the moon turned to green cheese she was going to stop kissing him
back. Fast.

But for now, she was in meltdown. Her bones
were liquid, her skin was on fire, her heart and soul and spirit
were in flames. She wound her arms around his neck, leaned hard
against his chest, and pressed her thighs between his. He was all
the things she remembered... and more. Ever so much more.

He was gentle and fiery, poetic and
passionate, slave and master. What had started out to be a
punishment turned into exquisite torture. Pressed together, fully
clothed, they were making love as only true lovers can.