Playing with Dynamite (10 page)

Lisa's stomach jumped. It was a sensual, romantic gesture, the kind designed to make a woman leave her clothes on the floor and forget everything but the man. She wanted to. Instead, she stiffened her spine, refusing to give in to the nearly lethal desire he evoked in her. Pulling her hand away, she got out of the bed. “We can't continue sleeping together.”

Brick was beside her before she'd grabbed a guest terry robe from the bathroom. “Why not?”

She tossed the other robe to him while she punched her arms through the sleeves of hers. She jerked the belt into a knot and placed her hands on her hips. “Because it hurts too much when it's over.”

His robe dropped to the floor unnoticed. He put his hands on her lapels and trapped her with his gaze.
“Nothing is over.”

Lisa's heart tripped over itself. She sighed. “Brick, we've been through this before. Don't make me go into it again. You don't want to marry me, and I need that kind of commitment. It hurts to make love with you when I know what's between us can't last.”

He narrowed his eyes and didn't remove his hands. “Why can't it last when I love you?”

Lisa's breath stopped. He'd said it before, but she'd thought it was because of the heat of the moment. Now, in the light of day, it made something inside her wrench. Fighting confusion and sadness, she gave a tiny shake of her head. “Because I need something more.”

Brick dropped his hands to his sides. His mouth twisted in cynicism. “You need a piece of paper, a ring and a bunch of promises that most people break.”

“Yes,” she answered softly without apology. “I need all those things, but what I need more is the lifetime of working it out. Not everybody breaks those promises, Brick. Not everybody feels marriage is a prison.” She looked at the ceiling in frustration. “Oh, why am I trying to explain it to you? I can't do this anymore.” She picked up his robe and handed it to him. “Please put this on.”

Brick shrugged into it and crossed his arms over his chest. “You keep saying you want to find another man to marry you, but when we get together, that doesn't seem too important. When I got that concussion, you stayed with me all night. I won't forget how you took care of me. And how you wanted me.” His expression dared her to deny it.

She couldn't.

“Last night you said
give me you.
” His voice was low and sexual. “When I touch you, you respond as if you belong to me and me alone, not some other man.”

Lisa glared at him. “You're right,” she admitted, lifting her chin. “You touch me, and I give you everything.” Her voice began to shake. “My body, my heart and my soul. And that's the problem.” Lisa felt the first sting of tears in her eyes and blinked them away. “Every time we make love, I lose a little piece of myself because it can't last between us. We have a fundamental disagreement, and I refuse to try to trick you into committing yourself to me. I won't try to wear you down or talk you into it. It would be humiliating, and I respect you and myself too much to do it.” Lord, this hurt.

She threw out her arms. “I know you care about me, but—”

“I love you,” he interrupted in a deadly serious voice.

Every time he said it, it rocked her very foundation. She had to work to gather her composure. “You just don't get it, do you? Did you know that I have a hope chest in the back of my spare bedroom closet?”

He looked as if she'd hit him with a two-by-four. “No.”

“Have you ever seen what a woman puts in her hope chest?”

He shrugged, looking wary and uncomfortable. “Not lately.”

More like not at all,
she thought. She could tell this was a disturbing subject for him. All the more reason for her to broach it. “Most women don't have hope chests anymore, but I do. That should tell you something about me, Brick.”

She counted off the contents of her chest on her fingers. “I have sterling silver that my grandmother gave me, a quilt my mother made for me and a hand-crocheted afghan my aunt made a year before she died. I have china. Pillows I embroidered when I was twelve, and the tackiest pot holders you can imagine. I made those when I was eight.” She smiled in wry remembrance at her novice efforts. “There are sterling-silver picture frames, and a baby blanket.” She saw the dismay on his face and felt her smile fade. “You say you love me, but all this is part of me. In some very important ways, I guess I'm an old-fashioned girl.” She clutched the collar of her robe. “I'm more than Lisa the catering manager or Lisa the lover with birth control pills.”

Brick swore. “I never thought of you that way.” He raked his hand through his hair and looked at her moodily. “But hell, I didn't know you had a hope chest.”

He sounded horrified. If she didn't feel so bad, it would be funny. But nothing seemed funny to her right now.

Sliding one hand to his hip, he cocked his head to one side and studied her for one long, tension-filled moment. Lisa saw the instant the light dawned and felt her mouth go dry in trepidation.

“You're trying to scare me off with this story about a hope chest,” he concluded in an annoyed voice. He shook his head, and a hint of a dangerous chiding grin tilted the corners of his mouth. “What is it, Lisa? Are you trying to use this talk of marriage against me the way you'd use a cross to fight off a vampire?”

“If the shoe fits,” she retorted.

He leaned closer to her, his energy potent and consuming, his jaw set in determination. “Hope chest or not, I still want you. And you still want me.”

The absolute truth of the statement frightened her. He wasn't being egotistical. He was simply stating a fact. “It's some crazy instinct that makes me want to turn to you, Brick, but it's an instinct that's hurting both of us.” She shook her head. “I can't do this anymore.”

Brick's eyes flashed with pain. “Yes, you can. Follow your instincts.”

Feeling hollow and brittle inside, Lisa bit the inside of her cheek. “Not anymore.”

 

The rest of the weekend Brick felt as if he'd been emotionally gutted. God, he hurt like hell, and there was no panacea for the pain. He wasn't a big drinker, so he couldn't get drunk. Thoughts of Lisa were so relentless, he couldn't sleep. At the moment he didn't give a flip about work. He knew he would later, but right now giving his heart and soul to the company held no appeal. The only other option was to visit his family in Beulah, but Brick couldn't bear the prospect of trying to answer questions about Lisa. Especially since he didn't have any answers himself.

Every time he asked himself why he couldn't marry her, he experienced the same intense physical reaction. It was almost as if he were allergic to the very thought. His mouth turned to dust, his heart palpitated and his stomach rolled.

The possibility that he could have a phobia of marriage settled insidiously in his mind. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

The notion tormented him until Monday afternoon when he took a deep breath and decided to do something about it. The following afternoon Brick found himself in a place where he'd never dreamed he would set foot—a psychologist's office.

The middle-aged man who greeted him didn't look like Dr. Freud. He was a little round, clean-shaven and quietly friendly.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Dr. Michaels said, as he picked up the notepad off his desk.

Warily eyeing the couch, Brick sat in one of the two green cushioned chairs. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee, resisted the urge to drum his fingers, and felt self-conscious as hell.

Dr. Michaels sat in the other green chair and gave him an encouraging smile. “People often feel uneasy the first time. That's understandable. Maybe if you'll remember that my job is to help you, you might relax a little.” He glanced down at the form Brick had completed. “I see here that you have some anxiety about marriage. Maybe we can start with you sharing your ideas about what marriage is like. What have the marriages in your family been like?”

Surprisingly, Brick felt some of the tension ebb from his body. It helped to have a question to answer. He leaned back in the chair and started with his first memories of his parents' marriage.

When Brick drove home after the ninety-minute session, he felt exhausted, but less defeated. It had been a relief to get his thoughts about his parents and his stepmother off his chest. With the psychologist, he hadn't felt like he'd needed to soften the truth, as he often did with his brothers and sister.

He stepped into his apartment and felt a sense of change. It was subtle. He made himself think about getting married and still wanted to throw up. Discouraged, he scowled. Then it hit him hard. He wanted to change, and he wanted it done instantly. Prest-o, change-o, and Brick Pendleton was the Lord of all he surveyed.

He was suddenly impatient with this fear, gamophobia, or whatever the hell it was. It was getting in his way, he thought as he pulled a bottle of ginger ale from the fridge. He took a long pull from the soda and the taste reminded him of the last time Lisa had been there with him. His chest ached with a yawning sense of loss. His fear was keeping him from what he wanted. It was keeping him from Lisa.

With the same single-minded intensity he used in planning a difficult “shot,” Brick set his mind to exorcising his own demons. Dr. Michaels was a short-term, problem-oriented therapist, and by the third session, Brick had a strategy. Abiding by Lisa's wishes, he hadn't called her since that morning in the hotel. He knew, however, that she was going on that blasted singles cruise, and Brick had every intention of testing his new strategy on the open sea.

 

Watching the merrymaking of the other cruise passengers as the ship departed Miami, Lisa leaned against the railing and wondered for the fifteenth time if this was the right move to make at the right time. Hearing a woman's coy titter, she winced. It felt distinctly wrong.

She'd almost canceled her reservations after that unforgettable night with Brick. If Senada hadn't kept after her, she probably would have. As it stood, Lisa had a suitcase of clothes she wouldn't normally wear. Beneath her buttoned, oversized jacket, she wore a sleek green halter sarong-style dress that showed off her cleavage and revealed a significant stretch of her left thigh. Another one of Senada's suggestions. Lisa had no intention of removing the jacket.

Instead of moping and hiding, she was supposed to be checking out the action, as Senada would say, and flaunting her thirty-eight-inch hips. She shouldn't be pining for a man who turned green at the mention of marriage. She shouldn't be wondering why he hadn't called her. She should be thankful that he hadn't.

She should attempt to have a better attitude, Lisa thought. After all, she could end up meeting a wonderful man who wanted to get married and have a family. Mustering a pleasant expression, she turned away from the railing, determined to make the most of the cruise.

As the ship rocked in a southerly direction toward the Bahamas, Lisa carefully wove her way through the crowd toward the pool area, where the staff served rum punch while a steel drum provided background accompaniment. A huge banner fluttered across the deck—Meet Your Mate, Not Just A Date.

“Looking for some of this,” a very familiar deep voice said as she drew closer to the bar.

Lisa jerked around, searching the crowd for his face. It couldn't be, she told herself. It simply couldn't be Brick. He wouldn't be caught dead on a singles cruise, she thought, shaking her head even as she spotted him. There he was in the living, breathing flesh, offering her a plastic tumbler of punch. Numbly accepting the cool drink, she stared at him. The wind gently brushed his hair across his forehead. His gaze was warm and amused. His smile would have scared the sharks.

A flood of sheer panic jolted her out of her daze. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

His insufferable grin widened. “I'm here to meet my mate,” he said around a poorly muffled chuckle.

Lisa narrowed her eyes. “And I just won the million-dollar lottery.” She looked at the people milling around. “This is for people who are serious about
getting
married, not avoiding it. How on earth did you get past the agency screening?”

Brick shrugged. “I filled out an application. The secretary said they can always use more thirty-something men.”

“I don't believe this.” She took a generous gulp from the rum punch. The whole purpose of this exercise was to get away from Brick's influence and meet other men. She felt a shot of desperation mixed with anger. “You shouldn't be here. I don't know why you came—” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. “And don't give me that crock about your looking for a mate.”

“How do you know it's a crock?” he asked, looking at her intently.

Lisa was so angry, she almost couldn't breathe. Her hands itched to dump the remainder of her drink over his gorgeous head. In fact, if there'd been more left, she might have done it. “Because you've repeatedly told me how you feel about marriage,” she hissed. “This is the worst trick you've ever pulled, the very worst,” she said emphatically.

“To show up here and
pretend
that maybe you've changed.”

His face was utterly serious. “Maybe I'm not pretending.”

Her heart seemed to stop. Then her brain kicked in.
This was Brick.
She took another drink and licked her lips. There was too much emotional water under the bridge between them. Too many times when she'd hoped for change and been disappointed. Too many times when she'd wished and been denied. The ups and downs had taken a toll on her, and right now, she felt as if she'd been pushed right over the edge. “Maybe,” she said in a controlled, deliberate voice, “I don't believe you.” She turned around and walked toward the bar.

She heard his oath and the sound of his footsteps coming after her. “After all we've been through, after all we've meant to each other, the least you could do is give me a chance.”

“No,” she said to Brick, and asked the bartender for another rum punch. “I'm going to have a good time on this cruise.” She was more determined than ever. “I'm going to meet men. And I'm going to pretend you're not here. I'm going to ignore you.”

Brick positioned himself directly in front of her. “When have we ever been able to ignore each other?”

Lisa swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. The way he stood and his rough tone of voice seemed to reflect everything they'd been together, emotionally and sexually. “Good point,” she conceded. “I guess this calls for drastic measures.” Lisa unbuttoned the oversized jacket, pulled it off and headed into the crowd.

Brick stared after the curvy feminine vision in green and fought the urge to howl. He cracked his knuckles instead. The incredible irony of the situation was enough to drive him nuts. Here he was ready to try to get past this gamophobia. He'd already made a good strong start, and Lisa not only didn't believe him, she planned to ignore him. He swore in frustration.

“Hi. I'm Kelsey Richards from New York.”

Brick reluctantly tore his gaze from the other side of the deck where Lisa was creating a mass attack of whiplash among the male passengers. He glanced at the petite blonde beside him. “Hi, Kelsey. I'm Brick and I've already met my mate.” He pointed toward Lisa.

Kelsey arched her eyebrow. “She doesn't appear committed.”

Brick saw the men begin to swarm around Lisa like a pack of salivating dogs. He dug an antacid out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “She's just having a memory lapse.”

Kelsey looked doubtful. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“Thanks. But I won't be changing my mind.” His mood turned more grim as he realized he'd be too busy trying to change Lisa's mind.

Brick spent the rest of the afternoon finagling a seat at Lisa's table for meals. He discovered the location of her cabin and checked the cruise itinerary.

At dinner she shot him a hostile look, greeted him, then promptly ignored him in favor of the sales rep from North Carolina. She wore a soft-looking, clingy coral dress that he'd never seen before. Her brown hair fell in a lustrous mass of waves to her shoulders. She looked like a sumptuous feminine dessert that every man within shouting distance would want to sample. Watching her with a brooding sensation in his gut, Brick wondered if it would have been easier if he'd sat at another table.

As the meal wore on, however, her sparkling demeanor waned, and she surreptitiously pushed her plate away. “Is the ship rocking more than it was?” A frown creased her brow. “I didn't notice the movement as much as I do now.”

The sales rep nodded. “They really haul it on the first night out and the last night back. If you're going to get seasick, you usually get it the first night. You look a little green around the gills. You want me to walk you back to your cabin?”

Over Brick's dead body. The guy obviously wanted to do a lot more than walk her to her cabin. Brick carefully watched Lisa's response. Offering a weak smile, she shook her head. “No, I think I can manage by myself this time.” She gave a vague, general good night, rose to her feet and took a weaving, unsteady course through the dining room.

Sighing, Brick threw down his napkin and followed her.

Lisa spotted him after she took her key from her bag. Her skin was pale and she was taking deep breaths. “Go away. I don't feel good.”

“After I make sure you're okay,” he assured her, and pushed open the door. “How much rum punch did you have today?”

She made a face and lifted her hand to her head. “Four. I think I should have stopped at three.”

“Try two,” he corrected, and helped her toward the bathroom when she clutched her stomach and made a sound of distress.

Lisa stumbled into the tiny room and slammed the door behind her. Hearing her muffled heaving, Brick leaned against the wall. This could end up being a long night for her, he thought, feeling a tug of sympathy.

After a few minutes, she came out of the head, shaken and still pale. “I'm not your responsibility. You can go now.”

Her easy dismissal made him grind his teeth.

“That's a matter of opinion. Do you want to get a shot at the clinic?”

Kicking off her sandals, she shook her head and eased onto the bed. “I want to lay down in a cool, dark, quiet room and pretend I'm on solid ground.”

It seemed as if she wanted to pretend a lot of things, he thought darkly, remembering that she also wanted to pretend he wasn't there. He dampened a washcloth with cold water, wrung it out, then gently put it on her forehead while she lay with her eyes closed.

Her eyes opened, wide, green, full of emotions he couldn't read. “Thanks,” she said in a husky voice.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Brick gave her a wry half smile. “You're welcome. Want something to drink?”

She gave a little shake of her head and lifted her hand to adjust the washcloth. The movement pulled the material of her dress tautly across her breasts and hiked her dress another couple of inches up her thighs. Even when she wasn't feeling well, she made him want her. It would feel so natural to lay down beside her.

He cleared his throat at the slow, sweet surge of arousal. “Nice dress.”

“Senada's idea.”

“Wanna take it off?”

Lisa blinked. “Wha—”

“So you can get more comfortable,” he said quickly, although he had to admit it was the kind of a dress that made
him
want to take it off.

A look of skepticism crossed her face. “Maybe later.” The ship rocked noticeably stronger and she blanched.

Distracted by her momentary fragility, he pushed a damp strand of hair away from her face.

Lisa took a careful breath. “I want you to stop being kind.”

Brick raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

She frowned. “Because it's hard for me to stay angry at you, and I
am
angry at you. You didn't call me for two weeks, then—”

“You told me not to call you,” he reminded her, pleased as hell that his telephone absence had bothered her.

Her frown deepened to a glare. “Then you show up on a cruise where I'm trying to meet other men. You have a—”

He nipped the washcloth over. “You don't need to meet other men. You're in love with me.”

That statement took the wind out of her sails for at least three seconds. She gaped at him, then propped herself up on her elbows. “Well, I'm trying to change that!”

Brick gently pressed her shoulders back down on the bed. “I'm here to make sure you don't change it. You can check out the other men, talk and laugh with them, but it's me you want to be with.”

“Your ego is as big as you are,” she told him in a furious voice.

Brick gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Lady, my ego's taking the beating of my life. This goes deeper than a gut feeling.”

Her expression changed in a heartbeat. She looked scared, and Brick felt a twist of compassion for her. God knew, he understood fear.