If There Be Dragons (8 page)

She felt lightheaded, dizzy, and yet strangely free. It was as if her subconscious mind had struggled to resolve some conflict, shrouding it in symbolism and flinging it at her in a dream. And Brooke didn’t know why it was so funny, but it was somehow, and even funnier to remember how many emotions she’d been feeling in the past twenty-four hours. A watchful part of her mind wondered idly if she was hysterical, and when she finally lifted her face from the pillow, she saw a suspicion of the same thought on Cody’s face.

Before he could administer the traditional remedy, Brooke choked off the laughter and lifted a hand in a wait-a-minute gesture. “I—I’m fine,” she managed a bit shakily.

“Are you sure?” he asked, unconvinced. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone wake up from a nightmare and then burst into laughter.”

“It—it wasn’t really a nightmare.”

“No?” Cody reached over to pry her hand loose from the pillow. He held the hand between them for a moment, looking at it, then gazed quizzically back at her. “Then why’d you shred your pillow?”

Brooke looked at the mangled corner of her pillow, then uncurled her fingers and saw that she’d acquired a deathgrip on a handful of feathers. She started to giggle again.

“Hey, don’t do that again,” Cody begged quickly. “You’re making me nervous.”

She swallowed the giggles and carefully cleared her throat. “I’m fine, Cody—really. It wasn’t a nightmare, just—just a somewhat involved dream. Nothing to worry about.”

Cody didn’t release her hand. “Are you sure? I thought somebody was killing you. Although who’d come way up here on a night like this…?” He lifted his head as the wail of the wind suddenly penetrated into the room. “It’s storming again.”

Brooke hastily averted her eyes from his bare and unexpectedly furry chest, trying to ignore the little voice in her head reminding her brightly that she’d never seen his naked chest before. Looking steadfastly at her pillow, she murmured, “I’m sure. And I’ll probably sleep just fine now; I always do in a storm.”

Cody, having a problem with his own eyes since Brooke was wearing some kind of filmy nylon thing with a plunging V-neckline, rather hastily accepted her assurances. He released her hand and rose to his feet. “Okay, then. But if you have another—involved dream…”

“Uh-huh,” Brooke murmured quickly, her side-long glance showing her that Cody wore pajama bottoms. She wondered if he’d been about to offer to keep her company, but she wasn’t about to ask. “Good night, Cody.”

He crossed the room to the open door, pausing there with one hand on the doorknob and one on the light switch, his glance going to where Phantom had curled himself up on the rug beside Brooke’s bed.

Brooke followed his glance. “He won’t hurt me, Cody.”

“I know.” Cody smiled just a little. “After all, he’s spent every night in here, hasn’t he?” When Brooke only blinked at him, he added softly, “Good night, honey. Sweet dreams.” He went out, turning off the light and closing the door.

Brooke sat there for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, then looked down at the feathers she was still holding. Thoughtfully she leaned over and deposited them on her nightstand. Then she put the wounded pillow at the foot of her bed, drew the covers up, and energetically pounded the other pillow. Before putting her head on it, she peered over the side of the bed and at the wolf quietly lying on the rug.

“Phantom, did you ever hear of the Cinderella Complex?” she asked musingly. The wolf thumped his tail once in polite if sleepy attention. Sighing, Brooke lay back on her pillow and stared at the shadowy ceiling.

“Someday my prince will come,” she murmured, and then giggled. “Trust me not to have the traditional human or frog-prince. My prince has to be a talkative feathered dragon!”

Just before she drifted off to sleep, Brooke heard her voice again, the words unconnected with thought.

“I wonder where I landed…or if he caught me…I wonder if I should have jumped….”

SIX

C
ODY GREW MORE
bemused during the following few days. Until then, he’d felt that he possessed a fairly accurate perspective regarding Brooke. He had identified her dragons and fought them the best way he knew how, first with his patience and then in forcing Brooke to face her feelings toward her mother. He didn’t doubt that his methods had been successful, because Brooke seemed to have become a different woman overnight.

That was what baffled him.

He’d first been knocked off balance by the fact that she accepted his touch just as casually as ever—but with a new amusement that Cody could sense but not really pinpoint. Her green eyes always invited him to share her amusement, and a puzzled Cody couldn’t see the joke. Still, if it had been only that, he could have coped.

It was more than that.

She called him Prince. She teased him in a manner which, Cody felt strongly, was more reminiscent of a lover than a pal—the way she’d teased him until then. She was casually offhand about touching him. There was an expression in her eyes from time to time that touched something primitive deep inside Cody, the expression of a woman becoming aware of her own womanhood. But at the same time she seemed to have discovered the childlike enthusiasm and recklessness that her mother’s exploitation had banished.

And it was that childlike, infectious cheerfulness that kept Cody more off-balance than anything else. It made him hesitant, even though his instincts told him that it was time their relationship be clearly defined; either it would grow or it would remain the same. And he had only to feel the casual touch of her hand to know that it couldn’t remain the same; not for him.

Cody damned his own uncertainty even while encouraging Brooke’s present mood—whatever it was. If she laughed, he egged her on. If she became irritated, he played that up as well. It seemed a promising sign to him that her emotions were closer to the surface now.

But he lay awake in his lonely bed on more than one night brooding over the number of women he’d met since she’d first knocked him into the snow. The unwelcoming, stiffly controlled woman. The terrified woman. The bitter woman. The woman who’d gradually relaxed in his company. The woman lost in painful memories. The woman who’d cried in his arms. The woman who’d laughed almost hysterically after a dream—nightmare?—and looked at a handful of feathers as if they were priceless diamonds.

And now the woman who was none of those others and yet all of them, the woman who laughed and teased and gazed at him with the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen, and a smile that could send a man winging to heaven—or plummeting straight to hell….

“Oh, hell!”

Cody looked up, startled. “What?”

She gazed at him with round, innocent eyes. “Nothing.”

“I’ll never understand women,” Cody said with a sigh.

Brooke propped her elbows on the coffee table and on top of the jigsaw puzzle they’d half completed, regarding him with a disquieting look in her eyes. “That remark,” she said solemnly, “must have been born when people were still living in caves.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“It set a bad precedent,” Brooke stated firmly. “If some misguided man hadn’t said it to his pals, then his descendants would have had to
learn
instead of claiming bewilderment.”

Cody stared at her. “I’m willing to be taught,” he said wryly.

“Good.”

“And so?”

“And so what?”

“Teach me.”

Brooke lifted an eyebrow at him. “One step at a time, Prince.”

“Then start with that.” Cody sat back on the couch and stared at her across the puzzle. “Why d’you keep calling me that?”

“You said it yourself. You said; ‘Trust me, lady. I’m a prince.’ I decided to trust you.”

“But what does it
mean
?” Cody asked ruefully.

Brooke smiled. “That I call you Prince? It means that I trust you, Cody.”

He forced himself not to leap at the first thought that crossed his mind—the thought that Brooke was trying to tell him something. Cody had no intention of losing ground through a misunderstanding. “You…trust me as a friend?” he inquired cautiously.

She dropped her gaze suddenly to a puzzle piece she was turning in her fingers. “If I were unscrupulous,” she murmured evasively, “I’d read your mind instead of sitting here and trying to guess what you’re thinking.”

“Brooke?” he breathed, abruptly conscious of tension in himself and in the room…and in her.

Long lashes hiding her eyes, Brooke continued to toy with the puzzle piece she held. “In all the books,” she said almost inaudibly, “this is where the hero snatches the heroine up in his arms and…” She laughed softly, unsteadily. “Give him an inch, and he takes a mile. The thing is”—she looked up suddenly—“I’m not sure I’m ready for that mile, Cody. But I wouldn’t mind…starting the trip.”

Brooke listened to the words coming from her own mouth, realizing that she was about to jump into the pit of her own free will and face a dragon that might or might not be a prince. She was afraid and excited and horribly unsure of herself, and damn the man for sitting there as if he were made of stone! Didn’t he realize that she’d never tried to seduce a man and didn’t have the faintest idea of how to go about it? Didn’t he know that she was aching with what had become a familiar pain, something she’d identified as hunger for the golden warmth that was him?

Didn’t he understand that she was willingly taking a chance for the first time in years? Couldn’t he see that she was shaking and that the heat in her cheeks didn’t come from the fire behind her but the one inside her?

And then he must have seen, must have realized, because she was suddenly not kneeling on the bearskin rug anymore—she was lying back on it and he was beside her, and she wondered vaguely what Phantom would do when he came back from the kitchen to find his favorite rug occupied. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the golden eyes blazing down at her with an incandescence she’d never seen before, a smoldering need written in his firelit face and in the arms that drew her close.

“Brooke…” One hand smoothed a strand of black hair away from her flushed face, and Cody looked deeply into green eyes that held shy promises he hadn’t dared to hope for. He felt as if a fragile and elusive hummingbird had flown trustingly into his grasp, and at that moment he wanted more than anything else in the world not to betray that trust, not to injure a heart with too many scars on it.

He touched her face softly, his fingers tracing the curve of her brows and the clean line of her jaw. He touched her gently, silently promising that he would never demand more of her than she was willing to give, that he would never betray the hard-won trust.

Brooke could feel the assurances in his touch, and the last barrier in her mind crumbled gently into dust. For the first time in years she felt no need for walls, for protection. And his thoughts didn’t rush through with the force she was afraid of; they flowed gently, interlacing within her own, until it didn’t matter. There was no intrusion, no lack of inner privacy. Somehow, through instinct, intuition, or a form of psychic ability neither had been aware of, Cody touched her mind without disturbing it.

The loneliness of being locked inside herself lightened slowly, gratitude welling up to replace it. She wasn’t alone anymore, and Brooke absorbed the warmth of Cody’s presence with wonder. Even her heart seemed to beat with the rhythm of his. She sighed without being aware of it; her hands slid up around his neck, feeling the soft, heavy weight of his golden hair and tangling her fingers in the silky strands.

Only then did Cody’s head lower and his mouth find hers. He kissed her as if for the first time: gently, tenderly, his passion held in check by the very depth of his own inner commitment.

But neither Cody nor Brooke was prepared for her instant and total response, and even his commitment and her uncertainty wavered and caught fire in the eruption of sheer desire. A need greater than any Brooke had ever known lanced through her body, beating in her veins with a wild, untamed rhythm. Colors whirled behind her closed eyelids, and the empty ache somewhere deep inside of her grew to fill her being with a hollow, thumping agony.

It was frightening, the depth of her need, but Brooke pushed the fleeting fear aside. A reckless compulsion held her in its grip, and she didn’t care anymore that she was jumping into the pit. Cody would catch her; she could trust him to catch her….

Control slipping from his grasp, the kiss deepening far beyond what he’d meant it to be, Cody fought a brief, fleeting battle for sanity—and lost. A groan ripped its way from deep inside him and disappeared with a rumble somewhere in his throat. His mouth slanted across hers hungrily, taking without demand because she was offering everything and he couldn’t ask for more than that. All his senses seemed to overload and then explode, a shivering tension sensitizing every nerve in his body.

Brooke felt one of his hands holding the nape of her neck, felt the other hand sliding with a rough warmth beneath her bulky sweater and touching the smooth flesh of her back. She could feel the strength in his hands, and the desire that was unhurried even in its fierce hunger, and her own hands moved to mold the muscles rippling beneath his flannel shirt.

His lips left hers at last to feather hot, fiery kisses down her throat to the V-neckline of her sweater, his hand sliding around to her stomach and then moving slowly up her rib cage. Brooke gasped, biting back a moan when the hand surrounded a swollen breast and the heart pounding beneath it. Her fingers locked in his hair, her body arching into his with a hunger and an instinct older than civilization.

And then a sound jerked them apart, a sound alien in the snowbound quiet of weeks, shocking in its abruptness, and yet incongruously signaling normality. From the end table three feet away, the phone brazenly demanded a response.

Brooke stared up into startled, glazed golden eyes, hearing Cody’s harsh breathing rasping in time with her own. Her first thought was that somebody had lousy timing, and even in the disappointment of interruption, a giggle bubbled in her throat. “I thought this only happened in bad novels,” she managed in a husky voice.

“
Damn
that thing!” Cody muttered, but his eyes were lightening with reluctant amusement. “Can’t get away from it even in the back of beyond.”

The phone pealed demandingly.

“I don’t think they’re going to hang up,” Brooke said.

Cody bent his head to kiss her lingeringly. “No. No, I suppose not. Want me to get it?”

She unlocked her fingers slowly, letting them glide along his jaw before falling away. Sighing, she murmured, “I guess you’d better.”

With obvious reluctance Cody got to his feet and went over to pick up the receiver, silencing the maddening ring. Brooke sat up and ran her fingers through her long hair, watching him and not giving a particular damn who was on the phone.

Phantom appeared in the doorway, ears pointed, eyes keen.

“Hello?”

Even from three feet away, Brooke heard what sounded like the roaring of a very big bear from the bottom of a very deep well. And the voice erupted with such noisy violence that Cody immediately jerked the receiver a good five inches away from his ear.

Watching his face, Brooke saw the initial astonishment blend into brief bemusement and then a growing and unholy amusement. He tried several times to break into the flow of narrative, but finally just listened with a grin. Five minutes later, the definitely one-sided call over, Cody sank down on the couch and proceeded to laugh himself silly.

Brooke, whether through the tenuous contact with him or through inspired guesswork, had identified the caller. She noted that Phantom padded away as she waited for Cody to show signs of getting himself under control before exclaiming, “Wasn’t that Thor? Has Pepper…?”

Cody wiped streaming eyes. “Pepper has,” he gasped. “Twins. Boy and girl. And the proud papa is a two-hundred-pound nervous breakdown.”

Brooke had met Thor only once, some months earlier during a brief visit, and a vision of that very large and very self-possessed man rose before her eyes. He’d seemed endearingly fascinated and bemused by his lively wife, clearly head-over-heels in love with her, but hardly the type of man to fall apart at the seams for any reason.

“Do we know the same man?” Brooke asked uncertainly. “I didn’t think anything could shake him.”

“That’s what’s so funny.” Cody made a determined effort to control his amusement. “Thor
isn’t
the kind of man to be easily shaken—although I could tell the last time I talked to Pepper that he was beginning to fray around the edges.”

“Well, what did he say?” Brooke asked, rising and moving to sit on the couch beside Cody. “Is Pepper all right?”

Cody slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Pepper’s fine; the babies are fine.” He chuckled. “But I’m not sure that Thor even knew who he was talking to. He roared that it was twins, boy and girl, then bellowed that they weighed exactly six pounds each. Then he bawled something about hostages, asked if I wanted a cigar, and rapidly went into an unintelligible tailspin. I’ve never heard a man sound so deliriously terrified.”

Brooke started to laugh. “Did he mention names for the babies?”

“If he did, they didn’t make sense. I hope to God Pepper can calm him down before he goes completely to pieces; if he was calling from the hospital, they’ve probably already got him under restraints or sedated.”

Giggling, trying to imagine Thor coming unglued, Brooke said, “Well, at least he isn’t blasé about it the way so many men seem to be.”

Cody choked back a last laugh. “I know, but there has to be a middle ground.” His arm tightening around her, he added dryly, “As soon as Thor recovers from the shock, I’ll have to think of some way to get even with him.”

“For what?”

“The interruption.”

Brooke looked at him, smiling. “You can’t hold him responsible, really. He couldn’t have known.”

Cody’s free hand lifted to touch her cheek lightly. “I suppose not. But he certainly broke the mood, didn’t he?”