Caught by Surprise (7 page)

She nodded. Oddly, she felt comfortable talking to Brig about it. Later, she’d have to analyze this strange tum of events. “After two years of devoted fantasy, I ‘got my heart trampled’.”

“You were too much woman for him.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t enough woman for him. Not in the ways that men think are important.”

“What men?” Brig asked bluntly. “Don’t go lumpin’ us all together like grits in a tub.”

She smiled, and suddenly she realized how easy it was to adore him. Millie shoved that worrisome thought aside. “Grits don’t lump if you cook them right,” she corrected.

“Don’t change the subject. I’m itchin’ to know what us men want from women.”

Millie forced herself to look nonchalant. “Oh, you want a combination of Marilyn Monroe and Betty Crocker.”

“Who’s Betty Crocker?”

She kept forgetting that he’d only been in the States a few years. “Never mind. The point is, men don’t know how to react to women who act macho.”

“Well, Rambo Surprise, I don’t think you’re macho.”

Millie gazed at him in disbelief. “I beat up a mugger once. I mean, he was terrified.”

“The guy who tried to rob this place?”

“Before that. I was in Birmingham with that fellow who trampled my heart. We were walking to the car after a concert at the civic center, and a guy tried to hold us up. My date was ready to give in, but I—” She looked down at the hands she’d clasped tightly in her lap. “I said ‘Hell, no,’ and went on a rampage. The Birmingham police gave me a special commendation for civilian bravery.”

Brig laughed until he saw the chagrined expression on her face. “Love, I’m not laughin’ at you. It’s just that I can imagine you poundin’ the hell out of some unsuspectin’ buzzard. I’m proud of you.”

Her green eyes widened. “Why?”

“It’s excitin’.”

“But not sexy.”

“And sexy.”

“Bullfeathers,” she muttered.

The expression on his weathered face became serious and thoughtful. “So this bloke who was with you didn’t approve of you defendin’ the both of you?”

“He was humiliated. It was the beginning of the end for us.” Millie thumped one knee in frustration. “I had tried for so long to be what he wanted. And in one night, I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin
anything
, love. You don’t belong with a poofdah.”

“A poofdah?”

Brig held up one hand, then let it dangle limply from the wrist.

Despite her intense feelings, Millie choked back a chortle. “He wasn’t a poofdah.”

“What was he, then?”

“He was one of the governor’s top-ranking assistants. He wore expensive three-piece suits with monogrammed silk handkerchiefs in the breast pockets. He quoted Shakespeare, and when we went to French restaurants, he ordered in French. People always referred to him by his full name—John Franken Hepswood
the Fifth
. That ought to tell you something.”

“And you tried to be the perfect uppercrust political girlfriend.”

“I nearly made it too.”

“You never would have lasted, love. There’s too much fightin’ blood in you.”

Tears rose to her eyes. “I know.”

“Melisande,” he said huskily. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not.” A pair of tears slipped down her cheeks nonetheless, but not because of the past. She cried because suddenly she realized that her grand passion for John Franken Hepswood The Fifth paled in comparison to the emotions she felt looking at Brig, a near stranger. She wanted to come apart inside the arms of the man who was stretched out on her rooftop wearing only western boots and convict’s pants, his chest glistening with sweat.

She wanted to fall in love with a man whose weathered face bespoke a lifetime of adventure, a man who liked her simply because she could provide more of the same. She wanted him like the sun wants to shine. And she knew that she could never have him.

“I’m not going to try to change to suit a man again,” she murmured. “I know now that I’d eventually be miserable. It wouldn’t work.”

“I’m happy with you the way you are,” he whispered.

Millie stared at him for a moment, then added slowly, “The way I look, you mean. I’m not talking about being pretty—”

“There are lots of pretty women in the world, Melisande. You’re tip-top, but that’s not what makes you special.”

She didn’t believe him, but she wanted so badly to believe him that she forgot common sense and, reaching out swiftly, stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You’re a grand liar, mate,” she rebuked softly, mimicking his accent.

“Aw …”

“I’m not special. I’m different. My father and brothers were afraid the whole world would take advantage
of me because I was little and cute, so they taught me to be dangerous and unbreakablez.”

“I don’t want to break you, love. Let me learn all about you, and then if you
do
break, I’ll put you back together better than before.”

Brig grasped her hand and kissed the palm. He kissed it a second time, his mouth firm and damp, while his eyes burned her with a serious, hungry look.

Millie looked away but found only more temptation as she watched the harsh rise and fall of his chest. She thought desperately that she didn’t want this, this reckless impulse she fought to control every time she was near him. He made muscle and bone seem to soften inside her until she could concentrate on nothing but the need for his touch. Her breasts were swollen now, and her body was damp in ways that had nothing to do with external temperatures.

Millie knew he could see how hungry she was for everything he offered. She could argue and try to ignore it, but she craved the pleasure he gave so boldly. Would it be so terrible to take that simple pleasure and pretend that nothing else mattered?

Her voice came out raspy and low. “If we got involved, it would be so easy to pretend that we were perfect together.”

He licked her palm with the tip of his tongue. “We
would
be perfect.”

“If I weren’t a deputy and you weren’t a prisoner. If you didn’t have to leave Paradise Springs when your sentence ends. If I thought I was right for you.”

“Dammit, you
are
right for me.”

“In some ways.” She tilted her head and gave him a look of determination. “We’re both fighters.”

“It’s not the fightin’ I admire as much as the spirit,” he corrected.

“And if the spirit proved to be too untraditional?”

“Melisande, I’m not like that fellow you left in Birmingham.”

“You don’t know me very well. And I don’t know you.”

His blue eyes glittered fiercely. “You know me. You know that you’ve met your match.”

She nodded Immediately. “And maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking for someone
to
take your place after you’re gone.”

He pulled abruptly and forcefully on her hand, and she lost her balance on the angled roof, flinging out her free hand. He caught it, too, then drew her forward. She sprawled on his chest, and he held her hands behind his head so that she couldn’t move away from him.

“Why the hell do you look on the dark side of everything?” he demanded. “You don’t want a man to humiliate you again because you’re not like other women. Fine. But that’s a sloppy excuse for avoidin’ me.”

“I’ve read articles about you,” she told him crisply. “You’re
very
traditional. You told a reporter from the
Atlanta Journal
that most men want a woman who’s soft and helpless.”

He exhaled in exasperation. “But in the next breath I told the yahoo that I myself fancy women who can wrestle crocodiles and raise hell. That they make life more interestin’. The mangy devil didn’t print
that
line though. Got me in trouble up to my eyeballs with all the women’s libbers.” His voice rose dramatically. “I don’t want to defend my masculine pride anymore!” He let go of her hands and squinted his eyes shut. “Have at me! I’ll just lay here and prove that I can be sensitive, like that bloke on the talk show.”

“Who?” she asked breathlessly.

“Phil Donahue! Go on! Abuse me! I won’t make a move to stop you!”

His outrageous teasing was too much. Partly to tease back, partly because she couldn’t help herself, Millie put a hand on the side of his throat and stroked gingerly.

“Go on, go on! I can take it, Melisande! If you want me to prove that I don’t mind aggressive women, I’ll just lay still and show you!”

“You suffer so nobly.”

Feeling like a kid tempted to steal candy but terrified
of the consequences, she propped herself on one elbow and let her hand trail slowly across his chest. His torso was the ultimate masculine promise—so much muscle, so much power, covered by ruddy skin and patterns of brown hair.

I shouldn’t do this. He’ll take advantage of the situation. I’ll deserve the trouble, if he does. Stop, girl, stop!
His arms lay above his head. She reached out and brushed her trembling fingertips along the corded paths of vein and sinew on one forearm. She had learned early in life to admire strength of purpose. How could she help but admire this man who wouldn’t give up?

Millie flattened her hand over his heart and gauged its rapid beat. Her own heart was in sync. She ran her hand over his chest, molding her small fingers to the ridge of a rib, then watching rich brown hair curl over her nails as she slid her hand to the center of his stomach. A taut muscle fluttered underneath her touch, and Millie looked quickly at Brig’s face.

Even though he still had his eyes closed, there was nothing peaceful about his expression. A mask of determination accentuated the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His lips were slightly parted, and when her hand slid lower on his stomach, he inhaled audibly.

She glanced down his body and whimpered at the visible sign of her effect straining against the soft white fabric of his pants. Power. That was what they shared, and Millie knew then that she could ruin him just as easily as he might ruin her. And he
would
ruin her, she knew very well. He lived his personal and professional life in a harsh spotlight. He needed a woman who could smooth his rough edges and keep him out of trouble, and she was just the opposite. Eventually he’d realize that fact.

Choking back a cry of frustration, Millie bent forward, kissed a spot over his heart, then rested her cheek against the center of his chest. His heartbeat was stronger now.

“Melisande, I’m crazy about you,” he whispered.

But before his arms could surround her, she pushed herself away and stood up. He opened his eyes and studied her troubled expression, then grimaced as if he’d read her mind.

“I practically begged you to make me hot just now,” he murmured. “Don’t feel guilty.”

“We can’t, Brig,” she told him wretchedly. “We just can’t take this any further. Not ever.”

She turned and made her way carefully across the roof to the ladder, then climbed down. Brig rose and walked to the gnarled carcass of the oak tree, then knelt by the torn place and looked down into her house. A minute later he heard water running in a sink somewhere below him. He could picture her splashing water on her face, trying to wash away her quiet torment. She had been taught not to think of herself as a woman, that women were a certain way and men another, that she didn’t fit in.

Brig’s eyes narrowed in concentration. When he got through with her, she’d know beyond a doubt that she was the best kind of woman and that she fit into his life perfectly.

Early the next morning Suds dropped Brig off to work on her roof again. Millie was still drinking her morning tea as she went out to meet him. His skin and hair glowed from a recent scrubbing, and his white shirt was tucked neatly into spotless white trousers. He was a tonic that made her hands tremble, and Millie stared at him helplessly as he ambled up the pebbled walkway framed by multi-hued flower beds on either side. He stopped at the bottom step, then smiled at her, his blue eyes sleepy but devilish. His guitar case hung from one brawny hand.

“Good morning, Melisande,” he said with the innocent tone of a schoolboy greeting a teacher. “Fine morning, eh?”

She shivered inwardly as she inhaled the warm scents of fresh soap and masculine skin. “Good morning, Brigand,” she answered equally primly. Light-hearted banter would keep them both out of trouble, Millie hoped. “You don’t see many mornings, I suspect.”

He frowned mildly. “I’m a night person. Comes with my work.”

“You could learn to love watching the sunrise.”

Brig squinted at her, amused. “It’s just a sunset in
reverse. But at sunset, at least my eyes are focused and I can think.”

“I won’t ask you to do anything mental until after nine.”

“Make it ten,” he corrected. His wide, generous mouth hinted at naughtiness. “I’ll have to let my physical impulses run wild until then.”

She wore another pair of cutoffs—loose ones, left a discreet length—and a floppy white T-shirt with a bright red road-race logo across the chest. He ducked his head a little, tilted it to one side, and gazed at her lithe, muscular legs. Again, his voice was innocent. “You’ve got goose bumps on your knees, love. Are you cold?”

Millie smiled at his tactics while she suppressed another small shiver. There would be no repeat of yesterday’s rooftop scene. She pressed a hand to her chest, then told him, “Cold hearted. And don’t forget it.”

“Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head. “Exercise would warm you up.”

She wasn’t going to ask what he had in mind. “I’ll help you cut down the rest of the tree.”

He sighed. “Wouldn’t give a fellow a cup of hot coffee, would you?”

“I doubt
you
need warming up, but I’ll be glad to provide a cup of blackberry tea. I don’t have any coffee.”

“How can a man work without stimulation? I’ll have to look for something else to get my blood goin’.”

She continued to smile, and silently admitted that she both loved and feared his provocative silliness. “I could turn the hose on you.”

He gasped comically. “Ow.”

Millie nodded toward the guitar case. “Heckuva lunch box.” Brig laughed, the sound low and gruff. It echoed through her, loosening her knees and making her skin tingle. She took a quick swallow of tea and stepped back from his intense, disturbing presence.