by Peggy Webb
Can't Stop Loving You
By
Peggy Webb
Contents
AUTHOR'S NOTE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
"You're no gentleman, Brick, you're a beast," Helen said tartly.
His chuckle was wicked, and shivers skittered over her skin. "You were always good at taming beasts," he said. "Tame me, Helen."
"Let me go."
"Afraid?"
"No, I'm not scared of the devil."
"You should be," he murmured, and in one swift motion captured her lips. He was Sherman sweeping through Atlanta, Hannibal crossing the Alps, Tarzan swinging through the jungle with Jane…
And she was swept off her feet. As soon as she could get her breath she was going to protest. Loudly. As soon as she found the energy she was going to clamp down on his lips with her teeth. As soon as the moon turned to green cheese she was going to stop kissing him back. Fast.
But for now she was in meltdown. He was gentle and fiery, poetic and passionate. What had started out as punishment had turned into exquisite torture. They were making love as only true lovers can.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
"No…"
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LOVE STORIES YOU'LL NEVER FORGET
BY AUTHORS YOU'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER
The Editors
CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU
A Bantam Book/February 1995
Copyright © 1995 by Peggy Webb.
Back cover art copyright © 1995 by Hal Frenck.
Floral border by Lori Nelson Field.
ISBN 0-553-44454-9
This book is for Johnie Sue,
for the many years of friendship
and the many ways
she has shown her love and loyalty.
"Where two raging fires meet together
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury."
The Taming of the Shrew
Shakespeare
AUTHOR'S NOTE
With this book, I never intended to veer away from the work of William Shakespeare, but that's exactly what I did. It wasn't my fault, really. My characters are responsible. From the moment I created Brick and Helen Sullivan, they took over.
"Wait a minute," I said when they took the stage in New Hampshire to reprise their roles in The Taming of the Shrew. "That's not Shakespeare."
"Be quiet and keep trying," they told me.
At first I wanted to argue with them, but having written thirtysomething novels and having been bossed around by my characters in every single one of them, I know that it's useless to argue. So I shut up and kept trying.
I'm glad I did. I only wish I'd thought first of what Brick and Helen Sullivan do to The Taming of the Shrew.
What a wonderful, mystical process writing is. In order to create characters that come alive, I have to be full of magic and dreams. Thank you, Tom, for bringing the magic and awakening the dreams.
And thank you, dear readers, for laughing with me and crying with me. But most of all, thank you for loving my stories and for writing to tell me so.
Peggy Webb
ONE
"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 like hell."
"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.
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.
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 his loins 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. His groin tightened almost painfully, and his breath came in labored spurts.
"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.
Damn her soul to black everlasting hell.
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. 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 stoke
d 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.
Gwenella sassed Chelsea, who retreated in alarm and wrapped her leash around the trainer's legs. With a mountain of Great Dane pulling at him, Matt Rider might have gone down if he hadn't had muscles the size of Arkansas. As it was, he merely unwrapped the first dog only to have the second try to hide between his legs when the cat took exception to something Sami had done.
Helen moved in the midst of the melee, laughing in her throaty way and flashing her dark eyes in his direction.
Brick wanted to catch her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. Then he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and disappear into the woods until he had loved the truth out of her.
Why did you leave me, Helen?
It was Chelsea who started the entire crew moving in his direction. With a yelp that sounded like recognition, she broke loose from Matt and raced across the portico, her long tongue hanging out in the goofy smile he remembered and her tail flapping like a flag in a windstorm.
Suddenly Brick had his audience.
"Hello, Brick."
That was all Helen said. Just hello and then his name, all soft and sexy the way she used to say it when the lights were low and the fire was crackling and he was stroking her long, long legs.
"Helen." Lord, he sounded like a dying calf in a hailstorm. He'd have to do better than that if he wanted to survive the next two weeks with Helen Sullivan. "I see you still travel light."