Since the morning she’d prayed with Brady, she’d found a new courage to share her faith with Tom, and as if her prayers had been answered, his bold advances had seemed to wane. She was slowly beginning to trust him. Not like Brady, of course—nothing with Tom was ever like Brady—but maybe, down the road a bit, she might even fall in love with him. Thoughts of Brady suddenly dampened her mood, and she shook them off with a deep sigh, choosing to think of Tom’s affection instead.
She closed her eyes and felt warm and safe in his presence. They’d drifted into comfortable silence. He lounged at the far edge of the blanket, his hands clasped behind his head and legs sprawled with one knee tented. She opened her eyes at his gentle rustle of movement, and caught her breath when he moved to sit beside her.
“Lizzie, I have something to ask. But first, you gotta know I’m stuck on you in a big way. College was crawling with dolls, but I don’t want some pushover dame who will give me whatever I want. I want you. You’re younger, but you’re so different. In some ways, you’re way older than the Janes I ran into at school. I don’t know, more innocent, more mature, and yet . . . there’s a fire inside of you that drives me crazy.” He pulled something from the pocket of his trousers and held it up. “I love ya, Lizzie, and I’m asking you—will you wear my pin?”
She sat up with a catch in her throat and put a hand to her chest. A boy’s pin—one step from engaged! “Oh, Tom, do you mean it?”
He grinned and fastened it to the collar of her blouse. His fingers lingered to gently knead her shoulder. “Of course I mean it, you goose. You’ve got me goofy over you.”
He pulled her close to give her a kiss, and euphoria took her away. Pinned! She returned his kiss with an intensity that made him moan.
“Oh, doll, I love you.” He stroked her hair while burrowing his lips into the sensitive curve of her neck, forcing tingles of heat to prickle her skin. His hands skimmed down her arms, past her waist, gliding the curve of her hip. He kissed her again, his mouth probing hers.
She jerked away, alarmed at the desire he provoked. “Tom, no! We need to stop—”
He answered her with another deep kiss that took her breath away. His mouth moved to her ear where he playfully flicked the soft flesh of her lobe with his tongue. “It’s okay, Lizzie, you’re my girl now. We love each other, so it’s all right.” His hand fanned the length of her.
She heaved it away. “No! It’s wrong and you know it.”
He took her face in his hands. “Not anymore. Things are different now. We belong to each other.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, and his eyes were dark and pleading. “Lizzie, I need you. Besides, it’s dangerous for a guy to stop.”
A cold slither of guilt collided with the heat of his kiss. Real love gives, not takes.
She shoved him back. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t push.”
“And if you loved me, I would think you’d want to show it. Not tempt me beyond my control and then say no.”
“What?”
“Admit it, Lizzie, you kiss like a girl who’s looking for more.”
She sat up. “How dare you! I wear myself out telling you no.”
“Yeah, you tell me ‘no,’ all right, but your body tells me ‘yes.’ ” He shifted to prop his elbows, then arched a brow. “Don’t deny it, Lizzie. You talk God and religion, but the way your body responds, the way you kiss, tells me it’s not God you’re looking for. On the outside, you’re this chaste and proper girl, but inside . . . well, let’s just say if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a regular at some of those petting parties.”
For a split second, she was too shocked to speak or move. And then the crack of her slap rang in the air. Wetness stung her eyes, and her fingers shook as she fumbled to unlatch the pin from her blouse. She stood and threw it in his face. “Here, pin this on one of the girls at those petting parties you never go to. And so help me, Tom Weston, if you ever darken my door again, I’ll tell my father.”
“Lizzie, wait!”
She snatched her clutch from the blanket and lashed through the bushes. She ran blindly through the dark while tears streamed her cheeks, stopping to catch her breath at the far edge of the park. Her chest heaved with hurt as she leaned against a tree and slid to the ground. Sobs choked in her throat. Oh, Brady, you were right! I am such a fool.
Desperation, like bile, rose in her throat, and she had an overwhelming urge to see Brady. To talk, to pray. She looked at her watch in the glow of the lamplight and pushed the tears from her eyes. She couldn’t go home and face her parents, not yet, especially with a tearstained face.
She stood to her feet and straightened her skirt, her chest heaving with hurt and shame. She began walking toward Brady’s apartment at a brisk pace and then broke into a run. She hurried up the steps and opened the door to the sounds of children’s laughter and the strains of a radio. The smell of fried chicken was heavy in the air, mingling with the faint scent of dog and pipe tobacco. Lizzie drew in a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
She clutched her arms, gasping for breath. “It’s me—Beth.”
“Beth? Come on in, the door’s open.”
She peeked inside, blinking into the dark. Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw his shadow sit up on the couch. “Beth? Are you all right—you sound out of breath. What are you doing here?”
More tears bubbled, and she choked back a sob. “Oh, Brady, you were right—Tom doesn’t love me. He . . . he j-just wants what he wants.”
He rose to his feet and she ran across the room, flinging herself into his arms. Without a word, he sat her down on the sofa and tucked her close. She could smell the clean scent of his soap, and she closed her eyes, letting the strength of him seep into her soul.
“What happened?”
She shivered and pulled away. “Y-you s-said that men can read a w-woman like me, and you were right. All this time I thought Tom was listening when I talked about God, that he respected me. B-but h-he treated me tonight like some kind of loose woman.”
She wiped her eyes with her hand. He produced a handkerchief, and she took it and blew her nose. “He . . . h-he said the way I kiss . . . and the way I respond . . . tells him it isn’t God I want.” She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes to stem the onslaught of another bout of tears. “Oh, Brady, when he said that, my heart ripped in two . . . because I realized, for the very first time, that it’s all true. I’ve lived in this dream world of romance for so long now, that it’s become my god, the craving of my soul. I wanted Tom’s kisses, his attention. It made me feel good inside, warm and alive with passion. But when he said those things tonight, I realized . . . that without God in the middle, it’s nothing but lust—heat that burns but doesn’t keep you warm. A flash of fire that leaves you feeling empty and dirty and cold, like charred remains.”
She shifted to face him head-on. “Brady, I need you to pray with me. I want God to be the fire in my soul, not lust or romance. I want to live for him, not for myself or shallow dreams. Because for the first time tonight, everything you ever taught me finally makes sense. Love and romance is a very good thing, but I know now that it pales in the face of love and romance with God in the center. I want that, Brady, with all my heart. So I broke it off with Tom tonight. Because I want to do things the right way.” She swiped at her eyes. “Will you pray for me?”
She couldn’t read his expression in the darkened room, but he nodded and pulled her close. His whisper was soft against her neck. “This prayer belongs to you, Beth, and I’ll pray silently.”
She blinked over his shoulder. A sliver of disappointment prickled. He wouldn’t lead her in prayer? She took a deep breath and released it again. But then, he was a very wise man. He apparently knew this was a prayer she needed to voice for herself. She closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord, forgive me for losing sight of you in my life, for being led astray by my hunger for love and romance. Your Word says that as the serpent beguiled Eve in his craftiness, so
can we be corrupted from the simplicity and purity of Christ. This happened to me with Tom, and I’m asking for your forgiveness. Help me to live for you and to find a man who will love me as much as he loves you. And, Lord, please bless my dear friend, Brady, for being a man who seeks you with all of his heart and for being the best friend I’ve ever had. Whatever his past or his fears, please get him through it so he can experience the joy I know you have for him. Amen.”
She exhaled, marveling at the sudden lightness of her heart. She pulled away and smiled. “What would I do without you?”
He stroked the curve of her jaw with the pad of his thumb, studying her in the shadowed light. “You’d get along, but I hope you never have to. You’re an amazing woman, Beth.”
Her blood warmed at the heat of his touch. His gaze settled on her mouth, and her breathing slowed. He bent close in an unhurried manner, and her lips parted in shock as he caressed her mouth with his own. His lips moved over hers, carefully, tenderly, as if she were fragile enough to break.
She startled back, her eyes awash with hope. “Oh, Brady, I’m so in love with you. I’ve never stopped—you have to know that.”
“I know, Beth,” he whispered, his mouth lingering over hers. He leaned to taste her lips again with a gentle touch that slowly intensified, sending warm contentment purling through her veins. “I love you too.”
She broke free to search his face, not daring to believe. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Oh, Brady, do you mean . . . as a sister, a friend? Or as a woman?”
His warm chuckle feathered her ear. “You tell me,” he said, and then his mouth met hers with a hungry kiss, deep and long, leaving little doubt as to his answer. She was breathless when he finally released her. “Let’s get you home before I lose my perspective on Scripture.” He tugged her up from the sofa and pulled her toward the door, then kissed her on the forehead. “Wait right here while I get my shoes, and then I’ll walk you home.”
She watched him disappear down the hall, half giddy with a rush of joy pumping in her chest. Walk? She grinned. Float might be a better word.
Brady yawned and reached for a rag to clean the press. The first glimmers of dawn filtered through the back window with a pinkish hue, the only daylight he’d probably see until he headed home again at dusk, given his workload. He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes and bent over to wipe the plate cylinder of the offset. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee merged with the pungent smell of ink.
His mind drifted to Beth as it often did in the early hours of the morning when hope dawned as fresh and innocent as the new day. And then, in the rise and fall of the breath in his lungs, he reflected on his life and was once again reminded how reality had a way of dashing all hopes. His thoughts turned to his brother and he scowled, confirming his cynicism about life—that is, his life, anyway. Michael had not contributed much happiness to his youth; there was no reason to believe he would fare much better with Brady’s life now. No, the sooner he was gone, the better. Although “better” was something Brady hadn’t seen in quite a while now—at least not since Beth had become a modern woman, bent on loving him. He missed the simplicity of his life before that, her childlike wonder and little-girl innocence. A time when her smile hadn’t quickened his pulse or her glance tightened his gut. Or when thoughts of her kisses didn’t dredge up guilt from his past.
Brady released a heavy sigh that stopped short when two slight arms squeezed his waist from behind. He spun around. The motion flung a dirty rag into Beth’s face.
She laughed and ducked out of the way. “Goodness, remind me not to sneak up on you again.” She tiptoed to give him a warm kiss on the lips and snuggle close.
He stood rooted to the floor like their two-ton web-fed press, heart drumming like its steel rotors. The rag dangled in his hand—pale and limp—as if the wind had been knocked out of it. Just like him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice little more than a croak.
“Kissing you good morning, silly. No objections, I hope?”
She pressed her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes. “Oh, I am so crazy about you, John Brady, that I haven’t slept a decent wink since Saturday night. Which is why you’re in the shop early too, I hope, judging from the racing of your heart.”
He blinked and peeled her hands from his waist. “Beth, what are you talking about?”
She stepped back to purse her lips and fold her arms, all with a knowing smile. “Don’t go shy on me now, acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve waited way too long for you to profess your love to me. And now that you have . . . and sealed it with a kiss . . .” A bit of color stole into her cheeks. “Or several, I should say, well, I’m not about to let you get away.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. He fended her off, his grip gentle on her wrists as he set her in the chair. He sat across the table and leaned in, the thick tendons of his arms tense below his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Anger twitched in his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Beth. I wasn’t home Saturday night. Cluny and I worked out at the gym, then I took him to Robinson’s for a soda.”
She blinked. “B-but . . . you kissed me . . . at your apartment. You told me you loved me.”
His neck stiffened. Dear God, I’ll kill him. “I’m sorry, Beth, but it wasn’t me.”
“But you kissed me!”
Jealousy twisted in his gut. “My brother, apparently.”
“Your . . . b-brother?”
“Yes.” He forced his voice to remain calm. “Are you all right? Why did you go there anyway? Was something wrong?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and she nodded. “I needed to pray because I . . . I broke it off with Tom.”
His eyes softened. “Beth, I’m sorry you were hurt, but I’m not sorry you broke it off. He wasn’t good for you.” He reached for her hand. “My brother . . . what did he do? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
She twitched away, as if stung by his touch. “No. But he looks just like you and I . . . well, I thought—”
“He’s my twin. I haven’t seen him in over eleven years. Not until this week. Tell me the truth, Beth, did he do anything . . .”
She staggered to her feet, her face void of all color. “Yes, Brady, he did. He gave me hope. Hope that finally, the man I’ve been in love with all these years was ready to love me back. Do you, Brady, do you love me? Or are you going to crush my heart again?”
The hurt in her face was like a kick in the gut. He rose to his feet slowly, his breath shallow as his gaze locked on hers. “I do love you, Beth, you know that. But not that way.”
Her eyelids flickered closed. In slow motion, she pressed a palm to her face and began to cry.
He jumped up to circle the table.
“No!” Her hand quivered as she warded him off, and her eyes glinted with wet anger. “Don’t you dare touch me again, ever! You have hurt me for the last time.”
“Beth, please—”
She fled from the room, and he cut her off at the door. He gripped her arms. “Can’t we talk, please—”
She twisted to break free. “Let me go, I can’t bear for you to touch me!”
“No! I am not letting you go.” He scooped her up and carried her to the back, his jaw set like rock as she thrashed in his arms. He dumped her in the chair and squatted before her, maintaining a tight hold. “Stop it, Beth! You’re acting like a spoiled little girl. Why don’t you act like the woman you profess to be and calm down and listen to reason?”
“I’ll start acting like a woman when you start acting like a man who’s not afraid of his feelings. You’re a coward, John Brady, through and through.” She thrust her chin in his face. “But I’ll bet your brother’s not.”
He sucked in a sharp breath and stood to his feet. Rage pumped in his veins, but he fought to keep his tone deadly calm. “Beth, you know that I love you and want what’s best for you. But I’m telling you flat out—what’s best for you doesn’t include me or my brother,
so get both ideas out of your head right now.”
“Or what?”
His lips clamped tight.
“What, Brady? What are you going to do? I’ll tell you— nothing, absolutely nothing. Just like always. Because you can’t—you don’t own me, not my heart and not my soul. At least, not anymore.” She rose to her feet, her manner as deliberate and cold as his. “In fact, I think it’s best if we just end our friendship right here and now.”
She may as well have slapped him full across the face. The impact of her words had the same effect: his heart was reeling. Without a word he pulled her to him with an intensity that silenced her. He tucked his head against the crook of her neck and closed his eyes. Pears soap and lilac water flooded his senses, renting his heart at the thought of losing this woman forever.
Woman. His heart turned over. God help me.
No longer his “little buddy.” But still, God willing, his friend.
He could hear his breath, shallow against her throat, keeping time with his pulse, and he willed both to slow to a place of calm, where wisdom and self-control took reign. He suddenly became aware of the strain of his palms against her back and slowly relaxed, sliding his hands up to rest on her shoulders. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, not as a mentor, but as a man pleading for mercy. “Beth, I need your friendship, your prayers. Now more than ever before. Please . . . please don’t shut me out.”
Tears welled and her mouth trembled open. One short heave shivered her chest before she flung her arms around his waist and began to cry. He stroked her hair and soothed her with low whispers until her weeping stilled and she lay spent in his arms. With a gentle kiss to her brow, he steered her to the chair, then knelt beside her. He pulled his handkerchief out and began to wipe the tears from her face. “Beth, if you love me—”
“Oh, Brady, I do—”
He silenced her lips with a touch. “Then be my friend and only my friend.”
A lingering heave shuddered her frame, and she looked away. Her shoulders fell. “All right, Brady, whatever you want.”
A Passion Denied Page 20