Can't Stop Loving You

CAN’T STOP LOVING YOU

(FOREVER FRIENDS, BOOK 1)

PEGGY WEBB

Copyright 2013 by Peggy Webb

Cover Design Copyright 2013 by Kim Van Meter

Publishing History/ Bantam/Loveswept/Copyright ® 1995
by Peggy Webb.

Smashwords Edition.

“Over my dead body!”

When Brick Sullivan got really mad, the
furniture shook. The coffee table was doing a fandango across the
wooden floor, the chandelier was rattling like an oak tree in a
gale, and the stuffed pillows were cowering against the sofa like
frightened rabbits.

Angelica Murphy tried to soothe her
client.

“Now, Brick... this is not a firm
commitment.” He favored her with the lifted black brow and the
curled lip that had earned him the adoration of fans around the
world. “You know I would never make a commitment like that without
consulting you. I
did,
however, give tentative approval to
the plan, and I
strongly
urge you to consider it.”

Brick paused in his thunderous stalking
around her office, scooped the letter off her desk, and began to
read aloud.

“‘This will surely be the event of the
century: The reuniting of Sullivan and Sullivan in
The Taming
of the Shrew.’”

The voice that sent women swooning in the
aisles of movie houses and theaters never failed to move Angelica
to tears... of gratitude. If it weren’t for Brick Sullivan, she
would still be occupying a tiny little cubbyhole without a window
instead of an office that commanded a view of Fifth Avenue.

Brick threw the letter back onto her
desk.

“I’ve tamed that shrew once; I have no
intention of ever doing it again. Onstage or off.”

Knowing how Brick loved exits, she waited
until he was at the door before having her say.

“Helen has already accepted.”

He turned slowly, an actor from the top of
his glorious mane of black hair to the tips of his polished number
eleven boots. The brow went up once more.

“Obviously she doesn’t know I’m part of the
package.”

“She knows.”

“And she still accepted?”

“Of course. Your wife always did have great
business sense.”

“My ex.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“Like hell. You remember the make of socks I
wore when I did my first Broadway show fifteen years ago. You never
forget a damned thing, Angelica.”

“Right.”

“Wipe that witchy smile off your face. Hell
will freeze over before I’ll ever occupy the same stage as Helen
Sullivan.”

“You know what the gossip columnists will
say. ‘Brick Sullivan deserted his pet charity in a fashion worthy
of the cowardly lion merely to avoid seeing the woman he loved on
and off stage for five years. What does Helen Sullivan have that
turns the mighty Brick into a sniveling mass of putty?’”

“I’ll tell you what she has; she has
claws.”

“And a fabulous career that she’s not willing
to jeopardize over a simple matter of spending a few days in New
Hampshire with you.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you. You
exaggerate everything.”

“You put up with me because I’m gorgeous and
sexy and I help you make more money than Ted Turner.” Angelica’s
full-bodied chuckle caused her horn-rims to slide down her narrow
nose and disturbed the starched front of her prim white blouse.
“Ducking out of this small benefit performance will hardly
jeopardize your career, Brick. But it will cast doubt on your
commitment to the Children’s Hospital.”

Brick sank onto Angelica’s plush sofa and
crossed his long legs at the ankles.

“When do I start rehearsals?”

“How does tomorrow sound?”

“You didn’t make a firm commitment, huh?”

“I knew you’d come around. Underneath all
that rough-and-tumble bad boy posturing, you’re a teddy bear.”

“Don’t tell my fans.”

Angelica trotted off to fetch a bottle of
champagne from her break room. They always celebrated a deal with a
toast: It was tradition for them. As Brick waited for her return,
he began to lay his plans.

He hadn’t seen Helen since their breakup two
years earlier, and he harbored no doubts whatsoever about their
first encounter. It would be all-out war, and he had no intention
of going into battle without his armor.

o0o

Helen stood in front of the mirror practicing
what she was going to say.

“Hello, Brick. How are you?”

No, that was too personal. She didn’t want
him to think she still cared how he was. And she certainly didn’t
want to
know.

What if he’d weathered the two years better
than she? What if he were gloriously happy and perfectly content in
addition to being the most devastatingly gorgeous man she’d ever
met?

She tossed her long black hair in the way
that used to make him call her a high-bred filly and licked her
full lower lip in the manner that used to drive him wild.

“Fancy seeing you again... after all these
years.”

That was better, spoken with just the right
combination of nonchalance and bravado. Except that he would see
right through the lie. Obviously she would never commit to do a
show without knowing the other actors.

Tossing her hair and licking her lips was
out, too. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was trying to
seduce him. Even the Abominables were looking at her as if she had
lost her mind.

She sank to the floor between her two Great
Danes and wrapped her arms around their necks.

“What am I going to do, girls?”

Chelsea licked her face, and Sami licked her
hand.

Helen giggled. “Well, yes, I suppose I could
lick him all over, but he might get the wrong idea. Any other
suggestions?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Marsha Jenkins,
her personal secretary, marched into the bedroom and surveyed the
damage like a general getting ready for war. A trail of silk
lingerie led from the bureau to the open suitcase on the bed; shoes
and handbags made a small lopsided mountain beside the chaise
lounge, and jewelry glittered on the satin coverlet like fallen
stars. “How many times have I told you to leave the packing to
me?”

“At least a hundred.”

“You’re not even sorry for this mess.”
Pursing her lips, Marsha attacked the stack of lingerie as if it
might fight back.

“I have not one speck of remorse. You’d be
miserable if you didn’t have a mess to straighten out.”

“I’m miserable all the time anyhow.” She
favored Helen and the Danes with a mournful look, then proceeded to
organize the shoes and handbags. “And I can’t see how swapping this
sweet Georgia winter for that drafty old barn Farnsworth calls a
mansion is going to help my feelings one little bit. I’ve made up
my mind; I’m not going.”

“I’m taking everybody on this place, and that
includes you, so you might as well unmake your mind.”

“What in the devil do you need all of us
for... as if I had to ask?”

“I don’t intend for Brick Sullivan to be able
to get within ten feet of me. He’s lethal, and I’m taking no
chances.”

“Love.”
Marsha’s loud, disdainful
snort told exactly what she thought of that matter. She scooped
jewelry off the bed and marched toward Helen’s dressing table,
dripping ropes of pearls and diamonds. “If you’d consulted me in
the first place, we wouldn’t all be fixing to freeze our buns off
way up yonder at the backside of nowhere.”

Helen began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Here I was, worried about how to keep Brick
Sullivan at a respectable distance when I had the perfect weapon
all along.”

“I’m not even going to ask what.”

“Just keep scowling. That face is enough to
quell even the indomitable Brick.” Helen gave her secretary an
affectionate hug. “Is there anything else I can do to keep your ire
up for the duration of this trip?”

“You’ll think up plenty without me having to
tell you.”

Helen relaxed for the first time since she’d
agreed to do a benefit with her ex-husband.

o0o

Philanthropist Milton Farnsworth didn’t
merely own a vast estate and the surrounding village; he owned the
whole island. Plunked in the middle of Lake Winnipesaukee and set
back among towering trees, Farnsworth Manor was a place a man could
get lost in, and that was exactly what Brick Sullivan intended to
do... after his first performance.

With his feet planted wide apart in the
familiar devil-may-care stance, he surveyed his home for the next
few weeks. Farnsworth had spared no expenses. Nor had he bothered
with understated elegance. Everything about the house and grounds
screamed
excess
, from the ornate Corinthian porticos to
the stone gargoyles that guarded the front door.

Clouds hovering over the lake carried a
promise of rain, and the chill breezes carried more than a hint of
the snows that would soon come. Good weather for cuddling beside
Farnsworth’s giant stone fireplace... if he had the right
woman.

“Brick baby, are you out here?”

The sound of Barb Gladly’s voice made Brick
think of fingernails being scraped across a chalkboard. She was
definitely not the right woman, but she’d have to do for the next
few weeks.

“I’m here,” he said.

Everything about her bounced as she walked
toward him, and he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t overdone it a bit.
Helen’s appeal lay in the air of mystery that surrounded her. There
was nothing remotely mysterious about Barb. All her assets were on
prominent display. He hoped Helen wouldn’t be suspicious.

“The hell with her,” he muttered as Barb
slithered to his side and wrapped herself around him.

“With me, Brick?”

“Not you.”

“Helen?”

“Yes.”

“When’s she coming?”

“Any minute now. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready since I was born, baby.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulled Barb close. “Let
her come.”

Helen Sullivan had never missed a cue. The
long white limousine pulled into the driveway. It was as if Helen
had been waiting offstage to make her entrance.

The chauffeur opened her door, and the first
thing Brick saw was the long, glorious legs of Helen Sullivan. He
was totally unprepared for the sight. He had expected to feel the
rage that filled him, but not the desire, not the quick, hot
passion that settled into him like live coals.

He tightened his hold on Barb.

“Ready?” His voice was rough and raw with
emotion.

“Anytime, baby.”

He waited until Helen was out of the car
before he started kissing Barb. It was a stage kiss, designed so he
never lost contact with the audience.

His
audience
was standing facing the
portico now, the wind blowing her skirt against her legs and
lifting her dark gypsy hair away from her face. He’d never been
able to look at her and remain unmoved. That hadn’t changed.

“Hmmm, good, baby,” Barb murmured, pressing
closer.

“Don’t overdo it,” he said.

“I can’t help myself.”

At least Barb was honest. At least she hadn’t
taken his ring and his name and his heart and then walked out the
door.

Not one flicker of emotion crossed Helen’s
face as she watched them kiss.

Rage boiled in him, unexpected and unwelcome.
How could he stay in control of the situation if he didn’t control
his anger?

She turned back to the limousine, and out
barreled the Abominables. They’d been mere puppies when Brick had
given them to her for her birthday three years earlier, but they
were nearly as big as Shetland ponies now.

Brick loved her for keeping the dogs and
hated her for depriving him of seeing them grow up. Chelsea and
Sami. Named for his grandmother and hers in much the same way
ordinary people named their children.

Next came the cat. Gwenella used to hide
behind the curtains and pounce on their bed right in the midst of
their most amorous moments. Helen always laughed when Brick
threatened to banish the Persian from the bedroom.

“Look at that self-satisfied smirk of hers,”
Helen would say. “She knows you’re a big softie, darling. Besides,
you would never deprive her of her entrance.”

The cat had stayed. Because Gwenella didn’t
like water, the bathroom became their playground.

The sound of water lapping against the shore
triggered memories that stoked the fires of Brick’s fury. He
escalated the kiss, all the while keeping an eye on Helen Sullivan
and her entourage.

She’d kept the same secretary and the same
personal fitness trainer. Brick was pleased, though he didn’t dare
analyze his secret glee.

Bundled up as if she were attempting an
expedition to the North Pole, Marsha issued orders that everybody
except Helen obeyed. Instead Helen stood by the car, laughing while
her tiny, indomitable secretary got the crew moving in not too
orderly a fashion.