Can't Stop Loving You (13 page)

He nodded.

“Oh, and look at these.” Like a lover, she ran a hand over the massive double doors, curved to match the arch. “They're spectacular.”

“Had them made in Dallas. Once I decided to go ahead with the move, the renovations, I knew I wanted to change the office doorway.”

He opened them and hit the wall switch. An impressive antler chandelier lit the room. Maggie stilled, her hand going to her mouth.

“Oh, my gosh, Brawley. How did you manage to do all this?”

“Ty and Cash busted their butts beside me this week. I owe them.”

“I used to help out here.” Maggie shook her head. “Doc Gibson's office was a cluttered, dark little hole. What a change.”

“If I'm gonna be spending a lot of time here, I might as well be comfortable.”

She walked across the room to run a hand over the impressive oak desk. “This is the one you refinished?”

“Yep.”

“Wow again.” She gave a half laugh. “I don't know what to say.” Bending down, she traced the lone star carved into the front, noticed another had been etched near the top of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “Did you do that, too?”

“No. My dad did.”

A cowhide rug covered the deep wood floor in front of his desk. He'd placed a leather chair by it and moved a love seat in the corner. Comfortable and welcoming.

Everything in the room was Texas-themed, from the lamps to the coat tree. The walls, painted in textured browns and coppers, had the look of leather.

“You're staying,” she whispered.

“I am.”

“You'll be happy here, Brawley.”

“I'll miss you.”

“You've lived without me for a long time.”

“But I always knew you'd be here. That I could get my Maggie fix whenever I needed it with a couple hours' drive.”

“Brawley—”

“I know.” He held up a hand. “Not fair. I won't ask you to stay. I know better than that. This is something you have to do.”

“It is.”

“Once you're in New York, though, if you don't like it, I'll be here.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Red, if there's one thing I've learned, it's never say never.”

“Fine.” Her heart hammered in her chest. She moved to the leather love seat, her hand stroking it. “This is yummy.”

“So are you.” The thought tumbled out before he could stop it.

She turned, so close he could feel her breath on his face.

He hadn't meant for it to happen. He hadn't brought her here to make a move. But damn if he could keep his hands, his mouth, off her.

He'd watched her all day, that gorgeous red hair done up in a tumbled mass, curls escaping and trailing down her neck. He'd itched to pull out whatever pins held it and spill the fiery strands around her. Wanted to run his hands through it, feel the silky softness.

More, he wanted to unzip that swath of silk and let it slide to the floor. Wanted to touch the creamy white skin beneath. Needed to taste her. Her lips, the back of her knees, her stomach.

Needed to know if she still wore the little silver ring through her belly button.

Needed almost more than his next breath to hear her quiet little sighs, her cries of delight as they made love.

His gaze drifted to her red, red lips when her tongue peeked out between them.

“Maggie—”

“Brawley?”

“Yeah?” He raised his eyes back to hers. They always reminded him of a Texas meadow right after a spring rainstorm. What man could resist? Sure as hell not him. He caved. Pulled her to him. Felt her heat.

The first kiss was tentative. After that initial foray, though, he lost sight of his good intentions, of right and wrong.

Soft. So very soft.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, drawing her closer still. Inching into that silken mass of hair, he removed the pins one at a time, sighed when the strands spilled loose over his fingers, his hand, his arm.

His mouth left hers, traced a path along her chin, over her cheek. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. God, she smelled good.

Maggie gave him those little sighs, those moans he'd been craving.

His lips trailed back to hers. When they parted, he slid his tongue inside to dance with hers. He backed her up till she was against the sofa.

Sliding a hand beneath her knees, he scooped her up and laid her on the soft leather, then followed her down. His hands ran the length of her, his fingers trailing beneath the hem of her dress.

He felt her cool hands on his heated flesh. Somehow she had his shirt out of his pants and half unbuttoned. Her head lowered, and she trailed a line of kisses across his bare chest. She stopped at the small scar just above his navel, flicked her tongue over it.

Brawley sucked in his breath. Maggie had been the one to mark him there with a stick when they'd been eight-year-old pirates fighting it out with pretend swords. He put a finger beneath her chin and raised her head to taste her lips again.

She had matured, ripened. Was everything the eighteen-year-old Maggie had been and more. Much more.

“Oh, Mags,” he whispered into her ear. “You're killing me.”

She answered with a long, deep kiss.

He groaned. “I want you so badly it hurts.”

“Shut up and kiss me, cowboy.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, even as those words slipped out, Maggie's conscience started throwing a tantrum.
Wrong
, it screamed.
This is wrong.

She didn't care. It had been so long. Too long.

Brawley had changed, his body now that of a man rather than a teenager. He had muscles on top of muscles. Ripped abs. Oh, Lordy, what this man hid under his black T-shirts and this crisp, white dress shirt.

His mouth roamed over her face, her neck. His fingers tunneled through her hair, and she cried out.

Aware she'd no doubt hate herself in the morning, Maggie threw caution to the wind and simply stopped thinking. His hands on her felt so good.

The zipper to her dress slid down, and Brawley slipped it over her shoulders. It whispered over her body, his mouth following. He tossed it to the floor.

The wisp of lace covering her breasts followed. He drew back, his eyes hot. A fingertip toyed with the emerald and silver ring piercing her navel. He sucked in his breath.

“Panties and stilettos. What a combination. You're beautiful, Red. So beautiful.”

Tangled together on that wonderfully soft leather sofa, his fingers moved to the edge of her panties. His lips inches from her skin, he whispered, “Are you on birth control?”

He might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water on her.

An ache tore through her, and she stiffened as reason returned. Now? He thought to ask her that now? Too bad he hadn't kept that in mind years ago. But then, their hormones had raged so violently, had been so uncontrollable, neither of them really cared.

“No, Brawley, I'm not.” She pulled away, tried to sit. “I don't make a habit of falling into bed with guys nor had I planned on it tonight. Let me up.”

“What?”

She ran a hand through her hair and gave him a small push.

It was like running into a concrete wall.

“This isn't right.”

“Why?”

“Because…because…argh. There are a thousand reasons.” Realizing what had almost happened, what
had
happened, her heart kicked into racing mode. “We never finished things properly. You had your say, but I never really had mine. I couldn't think straight that night, and I let you go without telling you how I felt. But this won't help.”

Hurt darkened his eyes. “How do you know that, Maggie?”

“Because I'm leaving. You're staying. Last time around, I stayed and you left. There's no future for us.”

An arm over her breasts, she sat up and reached for her bra, draped over the back of the sofa.

Brawley tugged at her arm, and she jerked it away. “Quit.”

“You're gorgeous, Maggie. You were incredible at seventeen, at eighteen. Now—I don't have the words.” He rose on an elbow to kiss her.

She turned her face away.

“I think it's time to have that talk, Red. For both of us to share.”

“Not now. Not tonight. It won't do any good, Brawley. We waited too long. A few words can't erase years of pain.”

“No, I don't suppose they can, but we could make a start.”

She shook her head, slipping her bra straps up her arms. “We already did that. Years ago. You and I made a start, a beginning. Then we ended. Your choice.” Her voice trembled. “Tonight was a huge mistake.”

“How can you say that?”

“Easy. I move my lips—”

“You don't want me? Is that it?” He sat on the edge of the love seat.

“I did. I wanted you more than I wanted my next breath. But too much has happened, too much has changed.”

God forgive her. She was lying through her teeth. She wanted this more than she'd ever wanted anything. Maybe she was making an even bigger mistake by not grabbing this night with Brawley.

But the moment for that had passed.

He was on his feet, stabbing his arms into his shirtsleeves, his jaw set, that sensual mouth compressed tightly. No doubt about it. He was good and pissed.

Well, too bad. So was she, mostly at herself for letting things go so far, get so out of hand.

She picked her dress up off the floor and shook it out. Scattered hairpins dusted the cowhide rug. There'd be no fixing her hair. She'd run her fingers through the tousled mass and hope no one noticed.

“I need to go, Brawley. I left my car at Dottie's. My folks will be worried.”

“No, they won't. When you ran in to grab your purse, I told your dad I was bringing you here.”

“You what?” She drew back.

“I told your dad—”

“I heard you,” she hissed. God, she sounded like a fishwife. Rubbing her hands over her face, she said, “I can't believe you did that.”

“Why? He was looking for you. I didn't want them worrying.”

“He'll know.”

“So?”

“So?” Flabbergasted, she stared at him. “So I don't want my dad knowing I'm off making out with you.”

“See, there you go with your snap judgments, Margaret Emmalee. How did I know you had that in mind?”

Her mouth dropped open. Guilt made her angrier still. “Of all the arrogant—”

“Don't.” He laid a finger over her lips. “Don't say something you'll regret.”

She brushed his hand aside. “Take me back to Dottie's.”

They finished dressing in silence.

Feeling like dirt, she walked to his SUV while he locked up and set the security system. She couldn't blame Brawley for what had just happened. No. She'd been right there with him. What they'd shared on that couch tonight had been magic. So had dancing in his arms under the stars.

But, then, reality struck. Magic didn't really exist, did it? Smoke and mirrors. That's what the two of them had always been.

She'd simply been too naïve to realize it their first go-around.

She'd been wrong, though, thinking she'd exaggerated the chemistry between them. No one affected her like he did. She doubted anyone ever would, more's the pity.

Neither spoke on their way through the small town. When they reached Dottie's, Brawley strolled around the front of the vehicle to open her door. Everything was quiet, the house and grounds dark.

“There you go, Cinderella. Home before your fancy dress turns into rags and your chauffeur into a rat.” He removed his hat and bowed low.

“I wouldn't be too sure about that last part.”

“Low blow, darlin'.”

“Sorry. Brawley, tonight was…” She raked fingers through her tangled hair. “You've done a beautiful job with the clinic, and I wish you well in your new venture.”

She dug out her keys and started toward her car.

He snagged her arm. “Wait a minute. That's it?”

“No.” She jangled the keys in her hand. She had to do this and do it now before she lost her courage. The truth wouldn't set either of them free, would only complicate things and cause more hurt. A small piece of her brain screamed at the injustice—to both of them—but she ignored it.

Drawing on an inner strength she hadn't known she possessed, she said, “Thank you. I needed this. Tonight was like the period at the end of a sentence.”

“The period at the end of a sentence? What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was closure, Brawley.”

“You're wrong, Maggie.”

She shook her head. “No, I'm not. You and me…” She shrugged, swallowed the lump in her throat. “Well, there is no you and me.”

“How can you say that? We have years of history.”

“Yes, we do. Here's the thing, Brawley. History is a damn cold bed partner. And in case you've forgotten, you're the one who made us history. Me? I'd assumed we'd be present and future.”

“Maggie—”

“No.” She closed her eyes. “Pretend I didn't say that.”

“But you did, and I can't unhear it.”

“Sure you can. You've unheard lots I've said in the past.”

Brawley stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Boy, you sure as hell hold a grudge. You could teach classes on it.”

“Probably so. You chose your dream over me, Brawley. There was nothing I could do. No way I could change things. So maybe I needed tonight, but it won't happen again.” She stumbled to her car. Fought to fit the key into the ignition.

Blinking back tears, she threw the car in reverse. Brawley stood in the beams of her headlights, starkly silhouetted against the darkness. He was angry. Very angry. She wouldn't think about it. At the end of the street, she turned south and began the long drive to Lone Tree and a future that didn't include Brawley Odell.

Time she charted a course without him.