Playing with Dynamite (6 page)

Brick gave a slow grin and shook his head. “I'll carry you.”

Lisa's eyes rounded as she grabbed her purse and slid one foot out of her car. “No, no, no, no. I'm too tall, too heavy, too—”

“Not for me.” Pulling her up into his arms, he nudged the car door shut with one knee and walked toward her front door.

Totally flustered, Lisa pushed at his chest while her purse dangled beneath her. It was unsettling enough that she was being carried, but the other feelings that assaulted her because she was in Brick's arms again overwhelmed her. “You really didn't have to—”

“Where's your key?” he asked, ignoring her protests.

He'd probably forgotten that she weighed a ton, she thought glumly. “You can put me down now.” Lisa jiggled her keys from the side pocket of her purse. “You can put—”

“Inside,” he told her, waiting while she fumbled with the key.

He pushed the door open, turned on the hall light and walked toward the living room. When he still didn't put her down, she became acutely aware of his heart pounding against her hand. “Brick,” she said in a strained voice, “please put me—”

He set her down on the sofa. “There. I didn't break a sweat and I'm not breathing heavy,” he mocked.

“Don't blame me if you get a hernia,” she muttered, still feeling self-conscious.

“You worry too much.”

“In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a small woman.”

His gaze instantly trapped hers. “I noticed.” His voice lowered intimately. “But maybe you've forgotten how much I noticed.”

Lisa got a strong indication that he wouldn't mind showing her all over again. Her skin suddenly felt flushed with heat.

“It's no difficulty having you in my arms, Lisa. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a small man,” he arrogantly echoed her earlier statement. “Anytime you need someone to carry you, let me know.”

As if she could forget anything about his body! The image was branded on her brain. Lisa put a clamp on her imagination. “I hope I won't be needing anyone to carry me anywhere.”

He shrugged. “If you
want
to be carried, I'm capable of that too.” He grinned slyly. “You think I deserve a star for that?”

She should give him a star for driving her crazy. Lisa gave him a dark look.

“Don't answer that. What do you want to drink?”

She sat up, abruptly aware that she was letting a guest serve her in her own house. Her upbringing wouldn't allow it. He'd flustered her so much, she'd forgotten her manners. “Oh, no. I can get it. I—”

Brick's hands fastened on her shoulders, holding her in place. His violet gaze was intent, yet gentle. “You're tired, remember? I'm getting you something to drink,” he said firmly. “What do you want?”

“I don't want to be rude.”

“You're not.”

“My mother would have my head.”

Brick leaned closer and whispered, “I promise I won't tell her.”

Lisa's lips twitched at the conspiratorial expression on his face. Caught between wanting to argue and give in, she surrendered, sinking back on the pillows and covering her face with one hand. “Okay. You win. Thank you for carrying me. And I'd love some lemonade?”

He squeezed her shoulders, then stood. “Sit tight.”

Kicking off her shoes, she watched him go out the front door and wondered why he'd gone back outside. She was also starting to wonder why he'd shown up at all when he quickly returned with a small wrapped box.

“Just a minute,” he called as he went into the kitchen.

A moment later he entered the living room with the lemonade and the box. He presented her with both and nicked on a small table lamp. Lifting her feet, he sat at the other end of the sofa. “Happy birthday, Lisa.”

Lisa's heart contracted. She stared at the gaily wrapped present. “But—”

“I know it's late, but if I'd had any idea your birthday was coming, I would have wanted to be a part of it. I still do.”

Lisa set the lemonade on a coaster, and her gaze flew to Brick's. “I don't know what to say.”

He shrugged. “Why don't you open it?”

With a strange sense of nervousness, she tugged the ribbon and paper loose, then lifted the top off the box. Nestled inside were exquisitely crafted cut-crystal figures of a mother deer and her fawn.

Lisa held her breath for a long moment. There was a significance to the gift. Brick had always told her she reminded him of a doe because of her big eyes and sometimes shy nature. She didn't like for strangers to use pet names with her, but when Brick did, it somehow felt different. The figures were beautiful, reminding her afresh of her desire for her own baby. She could speculate that the nature of the gift meant that Brick had at least accepted her desire to have a child even if he couldn't be a part of it.

That thought tore at her. Too many poignant emotions pulled her in different directions. She felt an overwhelming urge to cry. Clearing her throat, she carefully set the figurines on the sofa table. “They're beautiful, Brick. Just beautiful.”

“You like them?” His large hand wrapped around one of her stocking-clad feet.

“Absolutely. I'll treasure them. Thank you.” Her gaze met his, and she had the odd sensation of sharing some rapport with a trapped doe.

His thumb moving across the ball of her foot, he simply looked at her without saying a word. But his eyes, oh, his eyes were full of things that stirred her soul and made her heart pound. Full of things she simply couldn't believe.

Lisa cleared her throat. “What—what are you doing?”

“Rubbing your feet. Didn't you say you were tired?”

Lisa blinked. “Well, yes, but—”

“Doesn't that include your feet?”

He continued the gentle massage along her inner arch, and she nearly groaned. “Yes, but I don't know. I…” She sighed when he squeezed her heel.

“Tell me about your day,” he invited in an easy voice.

Despite her reserve, Lisa felt herself respond to his relaxed tone. She should probably tell him to get his wonderful hands off her feet, his great body off her sofa, and leave her alone. He rubbed the back of her ankle, and she bit back a whimper as her tensed muscles began to ease. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, Lisa told herself and immediately knew the old adage didn't apply.

Who was she kidding?
She was one spineless puddle of femininity in dire need of a little TLC. If Brick was willing to rub her feet and offer some consolation, who was she to reject the offer?

It wasn't as if he was doing anything the least bit provocative, she thought. His hands had a long way to go before he reached her knees, let alone her thighs, or hips, or… Blocking off that thought, Lisa concentrated on the soothing effect of his hands and let out a long sigh.

“It all started when I backed over Mrs. Crabapple's groceries. Six bags. Eggs, meat, canned goods and ten glass jars of prune juice.”

“Mrs. Crabapple?” he echoed, amusement filtering through his voice.

“My neighbor. She can be nice, but she has a little problem with irregularity, so she was really upset about losing her prune juice.” Lisa heard a muffled snicker and sank deeper into the sofa. “Go ahead and laugh. It gets worse. I cleaned up the mess and agreed to go get her some prune juice.” She paused and arched her foot into his hand.

“And?” he prompted.

“And one of my tires was flat.”

“Oh, Lisa.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Who changed it for you?”

The sympathy in his tone warmed her enough to bring a wry grin to her lips. “You mean after I tried to change it myself?”

Brick looked at her in astonishment.

“Yes. The manager of my apartment complex wasn't amused. He said I was blocking traffic and generally being a nuisance. The whole time he was changing my tire, he was cursing women drivers.”

“Did you beat him up?”

Lisa laughed. “No. I was running late.”

“Want me to get him?” he said with a half serious growl.

Lisa tossed him a grateful look. “That's okay. Knowing me, I'll probably mow down his groceries sometime.”

“You're being too hard on yourself.”

“No, I'm not,” she said truthfully. “But you're very generous to say so.”

He switched his attention to her other foot and began the same mesmerizing treatment.

“Ooooh,” Lisa said, closing her eyes. “You've got incredible hands.”

Brick saw the expression of bliss on her face and remembered another time when she'd looked that way and had said those very same words. He'd been inside her.

He took a deep breath and worked his fingers around her little toe. The atmosphere felt suddenly, ridiculously intimate. The skirt of her dress had ridden up to the bottom of her thighs. If things had been different between them, he would skim his hands up her calves, past her knees to her thighs. He'd push her skirt up and pull her stockings down so that he could touch her silky legs. And when he was finished caressing her legs, he would slip his fingers inside her panties where she was wet and warm and soft.

And if he continued that line of thought, he would go crazy. Brick tightened his jaw at the same time that he gently squeezed Lisa's shapely foot.

She moaned, and the soft sound was so sensual that he grimaced. His forehead beaded with perspiration. She squirmed, and the little movement made her skirt ride up a little higher.

Brick chewed on the inside of his cheek. He needed to distract himself. “How was the job tonight?” he forced himself to ask.

“Twenty extra guests showed up and three servers didn't show up. It took everything I had to stretch the food, and I think I ran at least ten miles in dress shoes, but…” She paused and smiled triumphantly. “I did it, and they booked their awards banquet with me.” Her eyelids drooped. She was growing drowsy. “This is so nice of you, Brick. Ooooh, so nice. An angel must have sent you over here tonight.”

Brick wasn't feeling the least bit angelic. He was itching to expand the territory his hands were massaging. Every breath she took dug its way a little deeper into his gut, a little deeper into his blood. He narrowed his eyes and ruthlessly raised the subject most likely to put out the fire in his blood.

“You haven't mentioned your date last night,” he managed in a gruff tone. “Was Mr. Perfect as perfect as you've been told?”

Lisa opened her eyes. “He was—nice. Actually, he was more than nice. Intelligent and tall with a good sense of humor.”

Brick felt his stomach twist at her words. He hated this guy already.

“I liked him.”

His chest constricted. “Is that so?” he murmured, telling himself that like was a long way from love.

“I'm going out with him again next weekend.” Her eyes drooped again, and she covered a yawn with her hand. “He kinda reminds me of you.”

Brick felt the ground shift beneath him. “Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh. Except he doesn't have your aversion to marriage.”

Brick barely restrained the urge to roar.

Mr. Perfect reminded Lisa of him!

Brick knew his blood pressure was climbing into the red-flag range. His response to her little comment was all out of proportion, but he couldn't seem to help it. Brick remembered how at the beginning of their relationship he had used every opportunity to advance the sexual intimacy between them. If Mr. Perfect was just like Brick, he would be thinking the same way, making the same moves.

The possibilities of what could develop between Lisa and this guy went off in his mind like charges detonating at millisecond intervals.

The guy would kiss her. He would hold her.

For God's sake, the guy would make love to her. Worse yet, the guy might take Brick's place in Lisa's life and end up marrying her.

Brick couldn't remain still one second longer. Energy pulsed through his veins, compelling him to move. He wanted to yell. He wanted to run. He wanted to beat the crap out of Mr. Perfect. He sucked in a deep breath of air and stared at Lisa. He was ready to lose it, and
she was sleeping.
He carefully shifted her feet off his lap and eased up from the sofa.

Lacing his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles. The action didn't begin to quell his agitation. He still wanted to ram his hand through a wall. He rubbed his hands over his face, then scooped up the lemonade and took it into the kitchen. Eyeing the glass, he snitched a sip in hopes that it would cool him off.

But he still felt as if his skin were pulled too tight for his body. He went back in the living room and decided he couldn't leave her sleeping on the couch, so he lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bed. It had been a long time since he'd been in her bedroom, and the awful realization hit him that another man could be taking his place in her bed soon.

He ground his teeth. Outrage suffused him from head to toe. “The William Tell Overture” played in his mind, and as he settled Lisa on the bed, her eyelids fluttered.

Abruptly realizing that he'd begun to whistle, he bit his tongue. She gave a soft sigh, turned onto her side and fell back to sleep.

Still hearing the clanging of cymbals and the racing music, Brick backed out of her bedroom. Turning off the lights, he concentrated fiercely on making a soundless exit. He locked her front door, pulled it shut behind him and made his way to his car. As soon as he shut his car door and started the engine, he began to whistle again.

 

His eyes weren't violet, Lisa thought, but they lit with humor and masculine appreciation. He was tall, but not quite as tall as Brick. And his voice was different, more of a tenor than a baritone.

He had a great smile, and he was currently smiling at her.

Lisa concentrated, waiting for that pleasurable little flip her stomach would take at receiving the undivided attention of such an attractive man.

She waited while sterling silver met china and fine crystal reflected candlelight throughout the restaurant. She waited, and nothing happened.

“Is your filet mignon okay?” Greg Dawson asked in his smooth voice.

“Fine,” she said quickly, wondering why her stomach hadn't flipped. “It's great.” She mustered a smile. “You mentioned you were in construction. What kind of things do you do?”

“Right now I'm working in conjunction with a demolition expert on a factory. He's tearing out part of it while I'm working on an addition.”

Her attention snagged on the mention of the demolition expert. She took a sip of her wine. “Sounds as if it could get complicated.”

“It can,” he conceded. “Equipment availability is one of the biggest problems, but I'll tell you, if you're working with someone decent, it can make all the difference in the world. This time I'm working with Brick—”

“Brick?” Lisa repeated, gripping her glass. “Brick, as in Pendleton?”

“Yeah. You've met him?”

She nodded. “He's a—a—friend.”

“Small world, isn't it? He's reasonable, doesn't have a short fuse. Great to work with.” He took a bite of his T-bone steak and chewed thoughtfully. “How'd you meet him?”

Lisa searched for an easy explanation. “I met him at the Watering Hole. You know how crowded it is on Friday nights,” she rushed on, trying to cover her discomfort. “Sometimes I think everyone in Chattanooga has shown up there at one time or another.”

“Probably,” Greg agreed. “And you say you're friends.” He chuckled.

Confused by his amusement, Lisa nodded hesitantly. “Why do—”

“Must have been an off night.” Greg shook his head and swept her with a warm, flirty gaze. “I'm surprised he didn't take one look at you and try to elope.”

Lisa felt her cheeks heat. Brick certainly hadn't said anything about eloping on their first meeting, but his eyes had said far more than “How do you do? Pleased to meet you.” She felt a quick surprising stab of pain. If only things could have been different. Stupid, she scolded herself.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
After all, Greg was not only the most promising date she'd had since she'd started her mate hunt, he was nice, tall and attractive. Great genes, she mentally added to his long list of attributes, and he'd probably be a great father.

She brought her attention back to the conversation at hand. “I'm sure eloping was the last thing on his mind,” Lisa assured him.

Greg raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “His loss.” He lifted his glass to hers in a salute.

His loss. So it was.
Lisa met Greg's gaze and nodded, then drank the wine. At that moment, Lisa became determined to keep her mind off Brick and on Greg for the rest of the evening.

She let him coax her into dancing with him for a few numbers, and refused to remember the time she and Brick had danced in her apartment. She laughed at his jokes, let him hold her hand and tried not to think about how Brick's hands had felt as he'd massaged her feet the other night.

By the time they arrived at her door, however, Lisa was starting to feel the beginning of desperation. She was out with a wonderful man, a man who was obviously attracted to her, and she was expending more energy trying
not
to think about Brick than she was trying to attract Greg.

For crying out loud, what was wrong with her?

A kiss. Kisses were magic, she thought. Kisses could wipe away tears, sadness and memories. Under the gentle glow of her porch light, she decided then and there that she would kiss Greg Dawson and she absolutely, positively would not think of Brick.

“I had a good time tonight.” He tugged her a little closer.

“Thank you for inviting me. I did too.”

“Can I call you again?”

“Sure.” His eyes were very brown, she thought. A nice brown, but brown wasn't violet. She mentally swore.

He lowered his head until his lips were close to hers. “I guess it's time to say good night.”

“Guess so,” Lisa echoed, waiting for the rush of pleasure she was praying for. Perhaps if she shut her eyes, she thought, and immediately closed them. She held her breath in anticipation.

Finally his mouth touched hers. It was a gentle rubbing of his lips against hers. With a different man, the movement would have been unbearably sensual.

It didn't do a thing for her.

Damn.
She stood there hoping for that little flip in her belly. She waited for her heart to speed up.

Frustration edged through her. Maybe if she took a more active role, the sparks would start to fly. She puckered her lips, and he seemed to get the message, deepening the kiss.

After a moment, he gradually pulled away, his eyes turbulent with passion and displeasure. “Who is it?”

Lisa's heart clutched. “Who is what?”

Greg shook his head. “You kissed me like a woman who's trying to forget another man and having a tough time doing it. Pretending insults both of us, Lisa,” he admonished.

Feeling embarrassed and defeated, she let out a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry. You don't know how sorry,” she nearly wailed. “If you weren't so nice, I could hate you for being so perceptive.”

“How long has it been?”

Lisa shrugged. She was totally disgusted with herself. “Obviously not long enough.” She pulled her keys from her bag in a rough movement. “I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

“Me too,” he said, a hint of humor coming back into his voice.

She glanced up at him and thought,
Lord, why can't I fall for him?
“The woman who gets you is going to be very lucky,” she said sincerely.

He gave a half grin. “I know.”

Lisa laughed. “This is horrible, and you're making me laugh.”

He shook his head. “It could be worse.” He pulled a card from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Tell you what, when you get over what's-his-name, give me a call.”

Lisa nodded and wished him good night. But when she got inside her apartment, she wasn't wondering when she'd get over Brick. She wondered
if
she'd get over Brick.

 

Lisa rose at the insane hour of 4:30 a.m. on Monday morning. Still disgusted with her lack of lust toward Greg Dawson, she muttered to herself as she pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt. She had no business going anywhere with Brick, let alone to a scheduled blasting for the office expansion that morning, but she'd agreed to this last week before the disaster with Greg had occurred. She'd tried calling Brick to cancel, but his answering machine wasn't working.

She yanked a hairbrush through her hair and clipped it at her nape. It wasn't a date, Brick had assured her. His company's central office had called and asked him to do the blasting since the regular blaster wasn't available. Brick had recalled that Lisa had said she would love to watch him do “a shot” sometime. It had all seemed innocent, yet interesting.

Now Lisa wasn't so sure.

Her doorbell rang, and she scowled into the mirror. Not one speck of makeup adorned her face. She couldn't be accused of trying to slay Brick with her beauty, she thought, as she grabbed her tennis shoes from the closet and went to open the door.

Her stomach flipped at the sight of him. Darn. Lisa frowned. “Hi. Just let me get my shoes on and I'll be ready.”

Brick's eyebrows shot up at her tone. He watched her concentrate on tying the shoelaces. She looked fresh scrubbed, but sleepy, and he found himself recalling the time they'd gone sledding this past winter. He'd coaxed her into trying it for fifteen minutes. She'd loved flying down the hill so much, they'd stayed for an hour. It was one of her characteristics that tugged at his heart. Lisa needed to be coaxed sometimes. Brick felt a gentling inside him. “I've got some coffee for you in the car.”

“Thanks.”

He stifled a smile and followed her out the door. “Not a morning person, huh?”

“Not if four-thirty is considered morning. How long did you do blasting for this construction company? I wouldn't have lasted a week.”

“Some guys don't.” He opened his car door. “I was a blaster for ten years, did a ton of traveling and got sick to death of hotel rooms, so I told my boss I needed a change. You already know that he put me in charge of the Chattanooga branch for demolition services two years ago, and the rest is history.” He took the lid off the coffee and handed it to her. “There you go.”

Lisa pursed her lips and blew, then took a few quick sips. “Thanks.”

She sounded more sincere this time. Her eyelids hooded with drowsiness, Lisa reminded him of a sleepy kitten, and he thought that if it were the best of circumstances, he'd kiss her awake. If it were the best of circumstances, he wouldn't feel as if he were walking through a minefield. “I wouldn't have thought you would need a shot of caffeine to get you started in the morning.”

She met his gaze briefly. “You haven't been around me much in the morning, though, have you?”

Touché. The kitten had claws. He watched her slide into the seat, and he closed the door for her. He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. Something was wrong, and it was more than morning grumpiness. He sensed her displeasure, dark and deep. His gut twisted with the ache he'd felt ever since Lisa had left him. He wanted to be the man she turned to for whatever she needed. He wanted to be the one to whom she confessed what she'd backed into with her car. He wanted her laughter, tears, victories and failures. Dammit to hell, he wanted it all, but an endless doubt in something more obscure than wedding rings kept the devil at his heels.

Brick took a quick sip of his own coffee and tossed the rest of it. His thoughts brought enough of a bitter taste to his mouth without adding black coffee.

Reining in his dark mood, he got in the car and headed toward the site. Lisa still hadn't spoken several minutes later. “You're quiet. Is something on your mind?”

“I'm not sure my mind is working yet.”

Brick relaxed slightly. “Everything okay with your family? You haven't mentioned them much lately.”

“My youngest sister, Janine, is renovating an old house with her new husband. My other sisters told her that if her marriage can survive this, it'll survive anything.” Lisa laughed. “I think she and her husband have already agreed not to wallpaper together.”

Brick stopped at a traffic light and looked at Lisa. “I didn't know Janine had gotten married. When did that happen?”

Lisa looked away. “It was in May around my birthday. I think you might have been out of town for a few weeks then.”

“Seems as if I missed a number of things when I was out of town that time.” He frowned, adding the new information and wondering what to make of it. “So all three of your younger sisters are married now. Renee is married to the guy in the air force. Tina and—”

“Jeff,” she supplied. “He's a plumber, and they live in Memphis a few blocks from my parents.”