Can't Stop Loving You (13 page)

o0o

Someone was tapping at his door. Brick opened
first one eye, then the other. Where were the sheets? And what was
that hard lump in the middle of his back?

The soft tapping sounded once more. Then he
remembered. He didn’t have covers, he was not in his bed, he was
not even in his room. He was in the library on the couch. And a
darned uncomfortable contraption it had turned out to be.

He rubbed his eyes and started to sit up.

“What will I possibly tell him?”

Helen’s voice
. Brick froze.

In the faint light coming from the narrow
opening in the draperies he could see her long, lean body sheathed
in a shimmery silk that reflected the moonlight.

Like a starving man suddenly confronted with
a banquet, he feasted, letting his eyes roam up and down her
delicious curves, curves he had memorized, curves he knew
intimately. Careful not to make a sound, he leaned back against the
sofa, trying to make himself completely invisible.

She held the heavy draperies back with one
hand. Moonlight glimmered over her face, her hair. She had the pure
untouched look of an angel.

“I should never have come to New
Hampshire.”

She sounded the way he felt—morose. And those
were his sentiments, exactly. He should never have come to New
Hampshire, for he’d known from the beginning where it would lead
him.

To Helen.

They could not be in the same town, let alone
the same room without coming together—magnets drawn irresistibly
toward each other, pressure fronts meeting over the ocean, comets
colliding in the sky.

Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, he
measured the length to the door. It was too far. He’d never make it
without detection. There was nothing to do but wait Helen out.

In the long silence, Brick kept waiting for
the crackle and hiss of logs in the fireplace, but it held a
gas-burning fire. There would be no noise, only shadows on the wall
and heat.

The sliver of moonlight faded as Helen
released the drapery. As she walked across the room, firelight
reflected off the sheen of her gown. Back and forth she paced.

From his lair of darkness, Brick watched.
Should he say something? He was torn between revealing his presence
and hiding it. He didn’t want to scare her, but at the same time he
didn’t want to intrude on her solitude.

Finally she stopped pacing and stood with her
back to him, facing the fireplace.

“I know this is going to sound funny,” she
said. One hand came up to brush her long hair back from her face.
“Good grief. I sound like a simpleton.”

She made a half-turn to the right and held
out her right hand, palm up. “I should have said something this
afternoon when you told me about Barb... Oh, help. That sounds
so... uncertain.”

Shivers ran down Brick’s spine. Helen was
rehearsing a speech to
him.
Wild elephants couldn’t have
dragged him from where he sat. He held his breath, afraid even that
small sound would give him away.

“What in the world am I going to do?”

Helen walked to the window once more, pulled
back the curtain, and stood looking out at the snow. He could hear
her sigh, even from the sofa.

She stood there so long that he thought she
might have changed her mind about rehearsing whatever it was that
she planned to tell him. Finally she was on the move again, this
time pacing between the bookshelves and the big square desk that
sat in the corner of the room opposite the sofa.

Light from the fire caught the determined
lift of her chin as she braced herself against the edge of the
desk.

“I should never have come to New Hampshire,”
she said. “But now that I’m here I might as well tell you that I
never stopped loving you, Brick, even when I saw you in the arms of
Barb Gladly. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t
told me the truth about her. I don’t know whether I would have
tried to win you back or not.”

Her delivery was strong and sure. She was
every inch the actress. In her famous gesture of impatience, she
shook back her hair.

“In spite of the fact that you told me you
would never have come after me—”

“I lied.”

Gasping, Helen pressed her hand over her
heart.

“Brick. What are you doing?”

Brick rose from the sofa and stood towering
in the darkness.

“I couldn’t sleep. You were heavy on my
mind.”

“And you came down here and hid...”

“I wasn’t hiding. I was sleeping... until you
came into the room.”

“Then you hid while I was carrying on like a
demented woman.”

“I heard everything you said, if that’s what
you want to know.” His footsteps were slow and measured as he made
his way across the room. “And I don’t think you’re demented at all,
Helen. I think you are the most wonderful woman in the world.”

Only a small distance separated them now. He
stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch, close
enough to feel her body heat.

She stood tall and regal, her eyes riveted on
his. Brick hadn’t lived most his life in the theater not to
understand when he was in the middle of a climactic moment.

Now was the time to speak the full truth. If
he let this moment go by, there might never be another.

“Sooner or later I would have come after you,
Helen. You are my heart, my soul, my life. Nothing can keep us
apart, not time nor distance nor circumstances.

“I love you, Helen. I never stopped. Not for
one moment, not even that horrible moment when I woke up and found
you gone. I love you and want you as I’ve never wanted another
woman. You never stopped being my wife, not in my mind.”

“And you never stopped being my husband.”

He didn’t know who reached out first. It
didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were in each other’s
arms, kissing as if they’d invented it, clinging so close together
that it was impossible to tell where one of them left off and the
other began.

He wove his hands in her hair and held her
face in the glow of firelight.

“You are so beautiful,” he said.

“You make me feel beautiful. No man can make
me feel as beautiful as you.”

“Have there been others, Helen?”

“No.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m scared to ask...”

“No. There has been no one since you, Helen.
You spoiled me for all other women.”

“I’m glad.”

“That makes two happy people.” Brick held her
close and danced her around the room. “Hear the music, Helen?”

“Yes.” She cocked her head as if she could
hear his imaginary music.

He grinned down at her. “Name that tune.”

“‘Amazing Grace.’”

“‘Amazing Grace’?” He threw back his head and
roared with laughter.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten?”

“No, Helen. How could I ever forget?”

They had been in her apartment New Year’s
Day, only one day after they had met. The music had been playing
when he’d walked in, a stack of CDs, mostly jazz and blues, dancing
music, cuddling music. From the moment he’d started kissing her,
both of them knew where it would lead. But they had held off,
stretched themselves to the breaking point with anticipation, and
when the moment finally came “Amazing Grace” was playing.

When they recognized the song, they’d both
laughed.

“It
is
pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
she’d said.

And it had been... more than amazing. It had
been a miracle, the coming together of two people who were destined
from the beginning of time to belong to each other.

Standing in Farnsworth’s library with the
fire from the gas-burning logs warming their backs and the fire of
love warming their hearts, he began to hum—”Amazing Grace.”

Helen swayed against him slowly, seductively,
her hips moving in hypnotic rhythm with his own.

“Remember the oranges?” she said.

“And the grapes?”

“You brought wine.”

“And you already had a bottle chilling.”

“Great minds...” she whispered.

“Great bodies.”

His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue
challenging hers to an erotic duel. She made soft humming sounds of
satisfaction, the kind of pleasure sounds that drove him crazy with
desire. He slid his mouth down the side of her throat, reeling from
the taste of her, the feel of her, the fragrance of her.

He nudged aside her robe. It slid to the
floor and lay at their feet. He lowered her onto that shimmering
pool of silk, then knelt over her and spread her thick, shining
hair around her face, just the way he loved, just the way he
remembered.

She shrugged one shoulder, and her gown strap
slid downward.

“I’m dying of passion,” she said. “Rescue
me.”

“With pleasure.”

To touch her with love was the most erotic
thing he had ever experienced. He couldn’t get enough of her,
couldn’t get close enough. He molded her with his hands, taking her
gown on the downward journey, pausing to memorize her curves, her
hollows, the exact texture of her skin.

She murmured his name, over and over, a
litany of praise and joy and thanksgiving. He’d never felt such
desire for a woman, such love. The need to possess her fully
exploded through him, consuming him.

“I can’t stand this any longer,” he said.
“Are you still on birth control?”

“No. After you... there was no need.” She
touched his face. “Brick?”

“You think I go prepared for this sort of
thing?” He gave her a crooked grin.

“Oh, no...”

Her disappointment made him love her more...
if that were possible. He held her close, soothed her with his
hands, his mouth.

Relentless passion stalked them, passion that
would not be denied. But he could not,
would
not risk
getting her pregnant, especially since that had been the cause of
their breakup.

Feeling his need to express his love through
giving, he bent over her.

“This is for you, darling.”

She spasmed the moment his mouth touched her.
Joy rolled over Brick in waves, the joy of loving, the joy of
giving, the joy of coming home.

She held on to his shoulders, her fingernails
digging in. He’d have scratches. Love wounds. Badges of pride.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “You’re magic. A
miracle.”

Firelight flickered across her skin, shone on
the fine sheen of perspiration their lovemaking had raised. Wave
after wave of passion shook her, and she cried out her joy.

He silently thanked God for old houses with
thick walls, for big mansions with remote rooms.

Maybe the night would never end. Maybe the
two of them could go on forever, tangled together on her silk robe
in front of the fire, heedless of everything except their own
private world, a world of wonder and joy, a world of miracles.

They crept up the stairs together at three
a.m., holding on to each other and giggling.

“Shhh,” she said, her finger over his mouth.
“You’ll wake Matt.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll have some condoms.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re wonderful.”

She reached up for his kiss. They rocked
together in the hallway, reluctant to let go.

“There might be an all night drugstore,” he
said.

“It’s snowing.”

“Maybe Farnsworth has some snowshoes.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and
held him tightly.

“Do you know how much I love you?” she
asked.

“You’ll have to tell me every day. I have a
short memory.”

“You? The man who can quote every line
Shakespeare ever wrote?”

“‘How do I love thee? Let me count the
ways.’”

“That’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning... as if
you didn’t know.”

He propped her hands on the wall above her
head, trapping her.

“I know something else, Helen.”

“What?”

“I can’t bear to let you out of my
sight.”

Without a word she took his hand and led him
toward her bedroom. Gwenella jumped off the bed and arched her
back, then seeing who it was, rubbed herself against his legs,
purring. The Abominables merely raised their sleepy heads and
yawned.

“Some guard dogs you have there, Helen.”

“Do I need to be guarded tonight, Brick?”

“No, my darling. You’re perfectly safe with
me. “

“I don’t want to be safe with you. I want to
be wild and wicked and...”

“Careful,” he added. “There will be no
surprises for us, Helen. We’ve come too far to complicate
things.”

Helen smoothed back the covers, glancing at
him over her shoulder.

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“One hundred percent positive... almost.”

They climbed into bed, and he tucked her into
the curve of his arm, spoon fashion.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“My sentiments exactly.”

Sighing, she snuggled closer.

“Better not do that, Helen.”

“What?”

“Wiggle your bottom that way.”

She chuckled softly, then lay very still.
Their desire was a palpable thing. The air around the bed fairly
crackled and sizzled.

“Is it all right if I move my foot?” she
asked. “I’m getting a cramp.”

“A foot is okay. As long as the leg stays
still.”

“The leg is attached.”

“Try using the anklebone. It bends.”

She jiggled her foot around. Even that slight
movement made him groan.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing a two-hour cold shower wouldn’t
cure.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry for being the
wonderful, desirable woman you are.” Brick pulled her close and
buried his face in her hair. “I love you, Helen Sullivan. And in
case I forgot to ask, I want to marry you.”

“Again?”

“This time forever.”

“This whole business is madness.”