This Thing Called Love (12 page)

Even if she agreed to stay here in Mirror Lake, how would she prevent herself from becoming restless and bored? And over time, as bitter and resentful as her own mother. She liked to think she was nothing like her, but what if she was? Her mother was a bright, high-achieving woman. And this town had destroyed her.

“How dare you judge me!” she lashed out. “Sure, you have your restaurants and your boats and your vacation houses. And any woman you could want. You’d do anything to keep yourself unattached and uncommitted, but what good is all that freedom, Brad? You wouldn’t know what a real relationship was if”—she fumbled around for a clever phrase but nothing came—“if Darcy and Elizabeth were your BFFs.” Lame, that the only example of a happy couple she could pluck from the air was two hundred years old. And fictional. No matter, she’d spilled all her ire, just as he had. It was all out there now, never to be taken back.

She’d lashed out at him because he’d hurt her. And, if she were completely honest, because he’d put his hand directly on her Achilles’ heel and pressed hard.

His brows lowered over a narrowed gaze. “You have no business criticizing my right to freedom after all those years I spent without it.”

“Well, you can have it. In fact, you can take your freedom and stick it!”

She strode off, away from him, back toward the road leading to the square. His angry steps clattered on the deck behind her.

He swung her around to face him, his eyes lit with fury.

“You’re right, Olivia. You are driven, and who am I to ask you to reverse the tide, go backward to everything you hate. You know your place, and I know mine. Guess we’re on the same page after all.”

The ice cream lurched in her stomach. The perfect moonlit evening was ruined with a few bitter words. What had started out so magical had blown up into their worst fight ever. “Then I guess I’d better head back home.”

She did not miss the irony that they were fighting the same fight they should have had years ago, but like then, through life, circumstances, or bone-deep stubbornness, there would be no resolution.

She walked off, leaving him standing alone on his brand new deck.

CHAPTER 12

The next morning, Brad got out of his Popsicle-red Audi R8 Coupe and crunched over Olivia’s gravel drive. He couldn’t concentrate at work. She plagued his fantasies, his dreams, and every waking moment. She made him furious, but still all he could think of was pushing her into the nearest wall and doing all sorts of very interesting things to her until they were both sweaty and exhausted and there was nothing left to fight about.

He knew—
knew
just as certainly as he knew his own birthday—despite all their differences, making love would be the one language they’d both speak fluently. Where they’d be in perfect sync. Too bad that came with all sorts of complications two stubborn people like them couldn’t seem to get around.

Brad checked his phone, scrolling over a list of missed calls and messages then thrusting the damn thing in his pocket. Irritation pricked at him. He had out-of-town business for the next two days and Olivia’s time here was ticking down. He had to take action now.

As soon as he stepped onto the porch, an alarming whine assailed his ears. The obnoxious chirping of a smoke detector. Fear squeezed adrenaline through his veins. He rattled the handle of the old wood door.
Locked
. Besides Olivia’s car in the driveway, Annabelle’s stroller sat on the porch. His heart stopped, sudden as a thunderclap, in his chest.

He tried kicking in the door but it wouldn’t budge. The kitchen window was open, so he used the penknife on his key chain to slit the screen and climb through. No smoke in the kitchen, but a sharp, acrid odor and the high-pitched pulse of the alarm, ten times louder than it was from outside. It was coming from the hallway. A thin trace of smoke snaked from the first floor bathroom. He called out Olivia’s name as he followed the stinging smell.

No answer.

A curling iron sat propped on the edge of the bathroom sink, its red light glowing, the hot metal roller touching the side of a plastic tissue box—and melting it. Brad pulled the plug, pushed the iron into the sink, and threw open the bathroom window.

As he ran back into the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. Olivia stood in the middle of the room in a pink terry bathrobe, a shocked look on her face, her hair dripping.

Two emotions hit him at once.
Thank God she’s alive
and
Lord, she is gorgeous
.

“What is it?” Panic filled her voice.

“Curling iron.” His voice was surprisingly shaky. “I unplugged it.”

“Oh, thank God.” She dragged a kitchen chair to the hallway, centered it under the smoke alarm, and stood on it, her hands pulling her belt taut around her waist.

Gulp.

His ears were exploding from the noise but he barely noticed it with the sight of her, wet, luscious, and dripping, straining to reach the ceiling with one hand while trying to keep the flaps of her robe together with the other.

He’d like to help her with that problem, but he wasn’t sure she’d like his solution.

The robe shifted upward, revealing miles of soft, shapely thighs directly at eye level. The scents of simple Dove soap and berry shampoo surrounded him like a cloud.

Seconds ticked. Brad stood there for untold moments staring at the shaded border between skin and robe, as she fumbled with the smoke detector.

He’d criticized Olivia for being afraid to stay but he never once said he
wanted
her to stay. He liked being in control, and not getting attached meant total control and zero heartache from being left behind again.

Except all he could think of is what had just happened. What if he hadn’t come by, and Olivia had stayed obliviously in her shower until the entire house had gone up in flames?

What if he’d lost her, the only woman who’d ever meant anything to him? What if their story had ended before it even began, deadlocked by their own stubbornness?

He shook off the terrible thought and swallowed hard.

Sudden silence jarred his brain.

“Finally.” Olivia held the nine-volt battery in her hand.

Their gazes locked. The old clock ticked away moments heavy with indecision. Common sense told him
no
. A million years of evolution cried
absolutely
yes
.

Olivia gave a little gasp. She always read his thoughts better than anybody. Her hand reached up instinctively to pull her robe lapels closer. “I must have forgotten to turn the curling iron off.”

“Nice try but your hair’s sopping wet. I know it was Samantha’s.”

“Brad, she’s been going through a lot lately. Please don’t add this to everything else.”

“Leaving a curling iron on is irresponsible. If something would have happened . . .” Horrifying images passed in front of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut to make them stop.

Olivia shook his shoulders. “It was an accident. Annabelle was fussing and Samantha was in a hurry to be on time for her first day. And the smoke detector did its job.”

She was so passionate about it. He couldn’t help but be touched about her concern for his sister. “I’ll take that into consideration. Like you said—maybe I can cut her some slack. We’ve all been through a lot.”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised that he gave in a little. Frankly, he wasn’t thinking about Samantha right now. At all.

Olivia stood on tiptoe on the chair to snap the smoke detector lid shut, giving Brad the opportunity to notice that her legs ran for miles, tanned and toned. His fingers itched to feel their silky texture, so close and tempting. Her tanned skin stood out over the pale pink of the robe. He wondered where the tan would stop.

Brad held out a hand to help her down from the chair, working hard to focus on her eyes and not the little peek of cleavage visible under her robe. As she took his hand, they both froze. His mind stuttered. “Olivia I-I came over here today because I can’t stop thinking about you. If anything would have happened to you or the baby . . .” His voice cracked on the last word as emotion overcame him and he let it all out.

“I could have lost you without ever telling you how special you are to me. That same magic I felt when I was eighteen—I feel it now, and I’ve never felt it with anyone but you. I eat, sleep, and dream about you and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else, period.”

She gasped.

He grabbed her and lowered her slowly, enjoying the contact of her hips, her breasts, as he released her slowly down his body until she stood on the floor. Those big eyes of hers softened with desire, and he knew she wanted him, too. For a flash, he wondered what it would be like with all the barriers down between them. With nothing holding them back.

As he held her in his arms, a sense of complete and swift relief engulfed him to the point of near panic. He sucked at expressing his feelings. Hated not being in control. Hated that whatever he said would
matter
because Olivia mattered. She could have been lost to him, like Kevin and Trish. Suddenly all their problems dimmed in comparison.

She touched his cheek, and he slid his own hand up to cover hers. In that electrifying second, all the pain and confusion that had passed in the last few weeks rose up in his chest and he heaved a deep breath.

She understood. Her other hand reached up and smoothed the rough stubble on his face. Caressed him.

“I want you to stay,” he whispered. “More than I want to breathe.”

Her touch calmed him. Mesmerized him. “You were right about me, Brad. That’s why I lashed out at you. I’m afraid of who I am without my job. Of becoming my mother, discontented and unhappy in the suburbs.”

“Quit trying to please her. She left you. That was her problem, not yours. You’re a lot stronger than she was.”

She nodded, as if trying to believe that. He stood there frozen, transfixed by the gentle feel of her hand against his skin.

He rested his forehead against hers. Inhaled her clean fragrance, basked in her warmth. The restless clock ticked away precious seconds. Her arms wrapped around his neck and locked tight.

Brad had comforted everyone, but no one had held him since Kevin died. That simple pleasure affected him beyond words. Everything about Olivia was sweet and so, so addictive—the gentleness of her smile, the softness of her touch, but most of all, the fact that she got him when no one else did.

He curled his fingers around the nape of her neck and kissed her.

The worst possible kind of kiss, so different from the other night, when it was all about lust.

This one was about need, the deep, uncontrollable kind. Far over and above the sexual kind and more about the frightening, endless kind he feared more than anything.

“I-I can’t think,” Olivia said.

“Don’t.” He wasn’t demanding, he was begging. In that moment, he couldn’t bear her to leave. He needed her. Maybe he always had.

He pulled her to him till her breasts pressed softly into his chest, well aware there was only a damp robe holding him back from her luscious curves.

He planted his mouth over hers in a move of absolute possession. There would be no thinking. Lips ground together, tongues collided as he branded her for his own. Stroke for stroke, she met him and demanded as much as she gave.

He was greedy for all of her, as if his great need could make up for the many years they’d missed. His hands traced the damp skin of her neck just below the robe and tangled in her wet hair.

The robe parted. A flash of toned leg appeared. He took advantage of the opportunity to slide his hand up her outer thigh and hover there.

He caressed her inner thigh, teasing her, while he pushed the robe aside and rained kisses down her neck and shoulder. Her cool hands roved over his chest, skimmed his back and butt, holding him in an electrifying trance as she explored everywhere.

He remembered how it was a long time ago. Needy and frantic and desperate.
Just like this.

He pulled the robe down with his teeth until he freed her beautiful breast and took the rosy tip into his mouth, encasing it in the warmth and wetness of his mouth. A whimper tore from her throat.

He pulled his mouth away and looked up at her. “Is this what you want?” He had to hear it from her lips, her choice.

She grabbed his face, looked directly into his eyes. He’d never seen such a clear, honest gaze, like she was looking directly into his soul, and it made his own heart crack open with joy. “I want you.”

With a single flicking movement of her hands, the robe dropped, exposing the sweetest curves he’d ever seen. Awe swept through him, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“You’re more beautiful now than before.” He touched her shoulder reverently, as if she were a shrine he’d journeyed miles to worship at. Traced down the smooth curve of her collarbone. She stood there unselfconsciously, as mesmerized by his touch as he was by hers.

In a quick move, he sat on the chair and dragged her over so she straddled his legs. Her curves were exquisite, so soft, draped like a luscious curtain all over him. Their kisses grew more and more fevered, her muscles tensing and her bottom squirming as he held her tight against him.

Dimly, a distant wail cut into his consciousness. Except he was lost, far gone in the sweet taste of her, in the soft moans that emanated deep in her throat, in the velvet feel of her soft flesh tensing against his hand.

Until it became louder. At first he thought it was the baby, but no—sirens sounded up close now, slashing through their dream world, imposing an ear-splitting reality check.

Olivia broke their kiss abruptly, her lips pulling away with a soft smack. She jumped out of his arms and reached for her discarded robe.

“Shit,” he said.

On the kitchen counter, the baby monitor lit up, one red warning light at a time until a whole row strobed back and forth before them.

Annabelle let out a discontented wail. His first impulse was to do the same.

The baby’s cries heightened in pitch and intensity.

Brad’s whole body was humming. He reached for Olivia one last time, held her tight while he tried to slow his racing heart and take in some air.

Reality flooded back into her eyes, replacing the starry-eyed gaze that made him so crazy. She held her hands against his chest and pushed weakly. “I have to go before the entire fire department walks in.”

Flushed, her hair hanging in wet spirals, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She kissed him on the forehead. A sweet kiss, in stark contrast to the hot, wet kisses from moments ago, but it made his gut clench uncomfortably.

She stirred him too deeply, in an unforgiving way that pulled his heart from his chest and twisted it so it would never fit back in. She broke all his boundaries, left him naked in more ways than one, and he didn’t like it at all.

“I have to get the baby,” she said softly.

“I’ll field the fire department.”

“I’m . . . glad you stopped by,” she said, grinning. “To talk, that is.”

He grinned back. “I’d say we got a lot accomplished.”

She got him like no one else ever had, and that scared the shit out of him. He’d had lots of women, but this had been different. Way different. He didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want to want her because he knew too well what it would be like when she was gone. And if he knew one thing for sure, she
would
go.

But when he’d barged into that house, and smelled that burning scent, and feared the worst . . . well, it had scared him big-time.

Engines cut off. Sirens silenced. Truck doors slammed. Out the window, a handful of EMS guys marched up to the back door.

“Olivia,” Brad called.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Just to let you know—this fire’s not out yet.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’d say it’s only just getting started.”

She headed for the stairs. He opened the door for the fire crew, smiling a little too widely.