Playing with Dynamite (8 page)

Lisa's lips twitched as she shifted his feet on top of the coverlet. “You don't need to worry. I won't do anything unseemly.”

“That's a shame.” He closed his eyes. “I prob'ly wouldn't remember it anyway, though.”

Lisa ignored that statement. “What did the doctor say?”

“I'm supposed to wake up every hour till tomorrow,” he said, his tone low and drowsy. “Don't get the stitches wet. Drink plenty of fluids,” he recounted. “Rest.” He gave a long, heavy sigh, as if he were exhausted. “I told you I feel like crap,” he warned, his voice fading. “I think…I'll…goto…”

“Sleep,” she finished for him, and checked the clock. In sixty minutes she would wake him. Lisa stroked his forehead, pushing a strand of his hair aside. His stubby eyelashes were light at the tips, she noticed, a result of all the time he spent in the sun. He looked like a rough-and-tumble boy who'd finally surrendered to the human need to sleep.

She wondered what kind of child he'd been. She wondered if he would ever have any rough-and-tumble sons of his own. Her heart squeezed at the thought. Brick didn't want the responsibilities of marriage and children, so she shouldn't grow accustomed to touching him, she decided, and pulled her hand away. She shouldn't let her mind dwell on him too often. And she should do her very best to get her heart back from him, so she would be able to give it to someone else.

After an hour had passed, she gently touched his shoulder. “Brick,” she said. “Brick, wake up.”

When his even breathing didn't change, she nudged him more firmly. “Brick, wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he lifted his elbow to shield his eyes from the bedside lamp. “Lisa?”

She felt a sliver of relief. “Yes, I have to wake you up. Remember?”

“Am I dreamin'?”

She smiled. “I don't think so. Want some ginger ale?”

He nodded and slowly pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. Accepting the glass, he drank down the iced beverage in nearly one gulp. “When my mom was alive, she always gave us ginger ale and graham crackers when we were sick.”

“My mom gave us ginger ale and saltines.”

“Yeah. My mom was fun, but sometimes she did some crazy things.” He shook his head, and Lisa noticed his eyes were bleary. “Did I ever tell you that she wanted to be a country-music singer?”

Lisa shook her head.

“The urge hit real bad when she was pregnant with me. That's why she named me what she did,” he said in a tone that indicated he still didn't believe it.

Lisa's curiosity was spiked. “What did she name you?”

“It's a secret.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her then, his gaze questioning. “You have to swear you won't tell.”

Lisa lifted her hand in a silent oath.

He grimaced. “Elvis Pendleton.”

Lisa stared at him in disbelief. A choked snicker escaped her throat. Her first instinct was to howl with laughter. When she saw the brooding expression on Brick's face, though, Lisa bit the inside of her cheek so hard, she wondered if she'd drawn blood. She cleared her throat. “I didn't think Elvis was considered a country-music singer.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her own ears.

“That's what I told her,” he said glumly.

Lisa could imagine a young Brick trying to correct his mother's point of view. Young Brick? Young
Elvis.
Her eyes burned with the effort she made to hold back an unladylike guffaw. “Your, uh, your family doesn't call you Elvis.”

“Not if they want to live,” he said in a mild, yet lethal voice. “The last time Troy did, he was six and I relieved him of his two front teeth.”

“Brick, a hundred lines of Elvis songs are running through my mind,” she confessed, contorting her lips to keep them from twitching wildly.

“Lisa,” he said, his voice weary, “I've heard them all. You can laugh all you want after I go back to sleep.”

“I guess that means you don't want me to sing ‘Love Me Tender' for a lullaby.”

Twenty minutes later Lisa stood in Brick's den and nearly burst her sides with the laughter she'd been holding back until “The King” went to sleep again. She wiped tears of hilarity from her eyes. The name certainly explained a few things. Now she understood why he'd gotten into so many fights as a youngster. She also guessed the origin of his nickname, since he'd adamantly refused to use his given name to the point of shedding blood over it.

Sniffing back another snicker, Lisa eyed those photo albums covetously. What she wouldn't give…

Absolutely not, she told herself as she marched toward the kitchen. She heated up the chicken soup instead.

As the night wore on, every time Brick woke up, he told her something new about his family or himself. It was as if for a short window of time he was more vulnerable, more willing to disclose. She wondered if that was part of the reason he'd never stayed until morning with her.

Certain he would never have shared all this without the bonk on the head, she also wondered if he would regret it when he realized what he'd done. She cringed at the thought, but realized he probably wasn't going to be pleased.

When she woke him around three o'clock in the morning, he rubbed his face and shook his head from side to side. “I wish I had a dozen white roses for you,” he muttered. “You're missing a whole night's sleep for me.”

“It's no big deal,” she protested, moved by the mention of flowers.

Muttering something unintelligible, he rolled to a sitting position and frowned. “It's nothing you've never seen before, but you might wanna turn your head.” The warning was stamped across his face. “I'm ditching these jeans. I don't usually wear anything to bed.”

Lisa froze as she watched him stand, unbutton and unzip. He pushed the denim material down over his bare hips and thighs. Despite his injury, the beauty of his nearly naked body made her breath hitch in her throat. His broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips. A spray of brown hair on his chest was echoed in the nest that cupped his masculinity.

Brick had always seemed to give little notice to his impressive physique. Tonight was no exception.

Lisa, however, had always been extremely impressed by Brick's body. Tonight was no exception.

She drew a breath and made the quick prudent decision to leave his bedroom.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and swore.

Her prudent intention disappeared into thin air. “Sit down,” she murmured, coming quickly to his side and kneeling.

“I'm tired of this headache,” he growled.

Trying to keep her touch as impersonal as possible, Lisa pulled the jeans past his knees down to his feet. The hem was great for tucking into work boots, but a pain for pulling off. He lifted his foot, and she squelched the scandalous urge to tickle the sole. She must be getting punchy, she thought.

“Other foot,” she told him, determined not to dwell on the fact that her head was inches away from his bare thighs. His musky male scent called to something inside her. Something best denied, she knew, and gave a sigh of relief when she freed his other foot from the jeans.

“There,” she said brightly, and was about to stand, when Brick's fingers tangled in her hair.

“Lisa,” he said in a night-soft voice.

“What?” She deliberately kept her gaze fastened on the camel-colored carpet.

He tugged at her hair. “Why did you come tonight?”

She closed her eyes against the emotions that swelled inside her. “You were hurt.”

“So.”

Lord help her, at this moment she didn't know how to fight him, how to fight her own feelings. She bit her lip. “I thought you needed someone.”

“Anyone?” he prompted in that quiet male voice that tugged at her womb.

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe anyone.” In a voice that sounded wispy and unsteady to her own ears, she confessed, “Maybe me.”

A charged silence followed. Lisa felt as if there were a wire from Brick's will to her mind. Her mind bounded between should and shouldn't until she was utterly compelled to lift her head and meet his gaze. On the way to his eyes, she noticed that he was obviously aroused.

“This is crazy,” he whispered harshly. “My head feels like it's splitting wide open. The only thing I should want to do is sleep off the pain.” He swallowed audibly. “But seeing you down there, feeling your breath on my legs, and touching your hair…” He shrugged as if he couldn't explain it.

Lisa nodded because she understood completely. Perhaps it should have seemed that since she kneeled at his feet she was in a subservient role. Strangely enough it wasn't. For the first time since she'd known him, Brick was physically vulnerable. He'd never even had a cold when they'd been lovers. Now he was allowing her to help him, and Lisa knew that was significant.

She knew this was a rare moment. It made her eyes burn and her heart hammer wildly in her chest. She felt both powerful and humbled at the same time.

Her gaze traveled down his body, and shocking sensual images filled her mind. She experienced an overwhelming urge to press her lips to his rock-hard thigh. She wanted to rub her hair against him. She wanted to do things to him with her mouth that she'd never done before. The power of her desire made her tremble.

Lisa cleared her throat and tried to clear her mind. “You're hurting,” she reminded him. “You should get back in bed.”

“I don't want to go to bed by myself, Lisa.” He lifted her hand and held it against his thigh.

His muscles were hard and defined and his skin was so warm beneath her palm. The combination of his inherent power and need was hard to resist when her blood ran like a fever through her veins. Yet the way his thigh trembled beneath her touch was what nearly undid her.

Oh, Lord,
she silently begged for strength.

“Brick, I'm trying to do the right thing. Please don't make it difficult.”

Brick's eyes smoldered with unspent passion as he allowed her to remove her hand. “Like I said earlier, I'm at your mercy.”

It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever done, but she put a clamp on her imagination and desire. “Sit down,” she whispered. “Let me get you some water.”

Giving her a look that clearly said he wanted far more than water, he lowered himself to the bed. Trapped by his gaze, she slowly rose from her knees.

He crooked his finger for her to come closer.

Lisa shook her head. “No.”

“Just one kiss,” he said. “Just one little good-night kiss.”

Lisa took a deep breath. “No.”

Weariness shaded his face, and he sighed. “I promise we'll stop after one.”

“You can promise that,” she managed in a husky voice, her gaze sill locked with his as she backed toward the door. “But I can't.”

For the rest of the night, Lisa was on guard. She woke Brick at appropriate intervals but gingerly kept her distance from him. The next morning in the clear light of day, Lisa decided that caring for Brick and being with him in the middle of the night had brought on some kind of temporary madness. One she vowed would not be repeated even though her stomach fluttered at the intimate look he tossed her way. He was much better this morning, she realized, so he wouldn't need her hanging around. The I'm-gettin'-under-your-skin-and-stayin' expression was on his face.

A quiet protective inner voice told Lisa to get out before she started making wishes that couldn't come true.

After fixing him a light breakfast, she began her goodbyes. “You look as if you're feeling better now,” she said as she picked up her purse. “If you need anything, just call and—”

“You don't have to go,” he interrupted, his spoon midway between the bowl and his mouth.

“Oh, yes I do.” This whole situation was too cozy, too appealing. “But, like I said, if you need—”

“Wait a minute.” Brick frowned, putting his spoon down. He stood and hesitated as if undecided. “I want you to have something.” He quickly disappeared down the hall and was back before she could demur. He came to a halt close beside her and handed her a small old box.

Her heart gave an odd little twist. “What is it?” She looked at him quizzically and started to lift the top off.

His hand covered hers. “Open it when you get home.” He seemed both self-conscious and determined at the same time. “You need,” he began, and shrugged as if that wasn't quite right. “There are—” He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “Hell. There are some things you want that I can't give you, Lisa. You deserve to get everything you want.” His gaze was full of honesty, but his mouth was set in a self-derisive, unhappy line. “I wish I could, but I can't. This is something small, but you said nobody had ever given you one, so I wanted you to have mine.” He squeezed her hand. “And no matter what happens, I want you to keep it.”

Lisa hadn't a clue what to say after that. She felt as if she'd been sucked into an emotional vacuum. She didn't know what was in the box, and after what he'd said she wasn't quite sure it mattered. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat and scooted away from Brick. She could have kicked herself for being surprised. Suddenly noticing that he was waiting for her response, she nodded for lack of anything else to do. “Well, uh, thank you.” She forced the corners of her lips upward and wondered why she felt so utterly sad. “I've got to go. You feel better, okay?”

“Yeah.” He planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “I appreciate your coming over last night and everything.”

Shrugging, Lisa turned the doorknob behind her and pushed. “Isn't that what friends are for?”

Brick heard the faintest quiver in her voice and felt a shot of alarm. She wasn't meeting his gaze. “Hey, I'll call you later.” He reached for her arm, but she slipped beyond his reach.

At that moment Lisa had the look of a child held together by nerves and a prayer, and Brick had the sinking feeling that he'd screwed up again. “I'll call you,” he repeated.

She pressed her lips together in a semblance of a sad smile. “Whatever.”

Then she turned and walked away.

 

An hour later after she'd done a half-dozen things to distract herself from her curiosity, Lisa sat down on her floral couch and pulled the top off the box. For a moment, she simply stared at it. Then she lifted the silver piece of men's jewelry and held it in her palm. It was cool and heavy with an amethyst stone and was inscribed with the words
Beulah County High School, Class of 1980.

Shaking her head, Lisa smiled and slipped the class ring onto her index finger. At another time in her life, she would have put that ring on a chain and worn it around her neck. At another time, she would have felt euphoric and proud to wear it. It would have been enough to hold her forever. Or at least until graduation, she amended wryly.

She rolled it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. She wondered what had possessed him to give it to her, then struggled with a burning wave of embarrassment as she remembered her foolish confession a few nights earlier. She wondered if he'd ever given it to another girl.

Lisa rolled her eyes at the crazy thought. Was she really jealous over a high school romance Brick may have had?

Lisa stared at the ring and sighed. At another time it would have been enough for her, and Lisa was moved far more than she wanted to admit. But she wanted more than a ring, even if it was a diamond engagement ring, she realized. She wanted a man, marriage and family.

Her throat knotted, and Lisa put the ring back in the box. It was such a little thing that it shouldn't have affected her so much. She told herself that over and over as the tears fell like warm rain down her cheeks.

The strength of her feelings for Brick frightened her enough that after she was assured he had recovered from the concussion, she made the decision to stop taking his calls.

The following Thursday at the office, Senada handed her an assortment of phone messages. “Two from Brick today,” she said with a disapproving glance. “I thought you two were
fini.
”

“It's a little more complicated than that,” Lisa hedged, flipping through her calendar.

“It seems simple to me. You want to get married.” Senada said the word with distaste. “I don't know why, but I accept that you do. Brick doesn't, so you dump him and find another man.” Senada's lips lifted in a cynical smile. “There's always another man.”

Lisa had often wondered what had made Senada so cynical about men, but her business partner wasn't inclined to discuss the subject. “It isn't that easy, Sin. I've known Brick for a year now, and since we've stopped—dating—” The word still seemed completely inadequate when used to describe their relationship. She sighed. “We've become friends. The problem is that it isn't always easy to separate the new friendship from all those old feelings.”

Senada arched a dark eyebrow. “Isn't easy for whom?”

Lisa felt her cheeks heat. “It isn't easy for either of us,” she admitted, remembering the strong emotional and physical pull that always seemed to hover beneath the surface. It threatened to erupt and overwhelm her every time they were together.

“You're still hot for him.”

Lisa stiffened, feeling as if she'd taken a direct hit. She opened her mouth to deny, deny, deny, but the truth was a thorn in her side. She felt a depressing surge of defeat. “I'm trying not to be,” she finally said in a low voice.

“Oh,
chiquita.
” Senada shook her head in sympathy. “You want him, but you don't want to want him. Sounds as if you're stuck between a brick and a hard place.”

Despite her ongoing frustration, Lisa's lips twitched at Senada's twisted version of the old cliché.

Senada picked up the two phone messages from Brick. “He obviously still wants you too. Maybe you can change his mind about getting married.”