by Rita Herron
"Oh, Brady…"
"I should have died, too, not just him. He was a good pilot…"
"Shh, I'm sure he was. Just like you are." His voice broke again, and Alison rocked Brady back and forth, tears trickling down her cheeks as she tried to soothe him. "It wasn't your fault, Brady, you can't blame yourself."
"But he shouldn't have died, and I received this damn hero's welcome here in Sugar Hill when I'm not a hero, Ali. I'm not."
Alison's heart broke for him. She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her.
"Brady, your friend's death wasn't your fault. Accidents happen. You said yourself the eject button malfunctioned. You couldn't have known that would happen."
* * *
Brady stared into Alison's eyes, wanting to believe her, craving the redemption and forgiveness he heard in her voice. Craving the solace he felt in her arms. In her touch.
She must have sensed his vulnerability, because she lowered her head and brushed her lips across his, so loving, so tender, so sweet.
"I know you're hurting, Brady, and I want to help you." She traced a finger along his cheek, her voice a soft whisper. "I love you, Brady. I always have."
He closed his eyes, her tremulous words rolling over him, causing a bittersweet ache to swell in his chest. He suddenly couldn't stop himself. He was hurting, and Alison was the guiding light to relieve that ache. He wanted to love her, to give her pleasure. Wanted it so badly he thought he'd explode.
He threaded his fingers into her hair, dragged her face to his and kissed her. Her lips tasted like the finest of wines, sweet and delicious. He sipped at her mouth, ran his tongue across it, then delved inside to take as much as she offered. She returned his hunger with a moan of acquiescence, fueling his passion even more when she savagely clawed at his shirt. Buttons popped and flew across the grass. He tossed the shirt to the ground and groaned when she lowered her head and dropped kisses along his jaw, down his neck, then took his hard nipple in her mouth and teased it with her tongue. It had been four years, four damn miserable years without her.
He pulled at her blouse, found the bottom and tugged it over her head, then paused to drink in the sight of her. She wore a lacy, pale pink bra, her firm breasts spilling over the edges. His body hardened to a painful ache, pulsing against her thigh, and he lowered his head and nibbled at her flesh. She moaned and arched her back, thrusting herself into him, and he unfastened her bra, flung it to the ground and began to suckle her – first one breast, then the other, greedily taking pleasure as she writhed against him. Her legs intertwined with his, her moans music to his ears.
His only thought was to give her pleasure. To love her and show her all the ways he'd wanted her the past four years.
He cupped her hips, dragged her skirt down inch by inch and trailed kisses along her stomach, down her thighs. Then he pushed her skirt to her ankles, taking her panties with it.
"Brady—"
"Shh, honey, let me love you." He nibbled at her knees, at her inner thighs, at the secrets she had held for him all these years. Her body was so voluptuous, her long slender legs stretched out beneath him, her womanhood bared for his eyes to feast upon. "Do you know how many times I've dreamed of doing this the past four years?"
She raked her fingers through his hair. "I've dreamed of it, too."
"I've wanted you every night…" he flicked a tongue against her heat "…naked and moaning and…" he thrust his tongue inside, suckled her "…with your legs open for me, your voice calling my name as I make you cry with ecstasy."
She clawed at his back. "Oh, Brady, I love you…"
Her voice broke off as he buried his face in her heat and tormented her until he tasted heaven. She pulled at his arms, tried to move him up to join their bodies, but he savored her honeyed taste, refusing her. This time was for her, only her, so he held her still and took pleasure in the sensation of the shivers racking her body. Finally, her moans grew quieter, her voice a whimper.
"Brady, please, I want you to hold me."
He slowly rose above her, looked into her eyes, saw the heat and passion and love, and his heart ached even more. If only he had more to give her.
Birds twittered in the background; a duck splashed. Somewhere a car backfired, the sound reminding him of the explosion.
She reached for his belt buckle. He caught her hand, brought it to his fingertips, kissed each finger, then shook his head.
"But I want to love you, Brady. Why won't you let me?"
Her heart was in her eyes, and he silently cursed himself for hurting her again. He stood, grabbed his shirt, yanked it on and turned to the lake, trying to calm his raging emotions.
* * *
Alison had never felt such sweet, hot ecstasy in her life.
Yet she'd also never felt so alone as when Brady loved her, then pushed her away.
Her hands trembling, she gathered her clothes, slipped them back on, then grabbed his arm, trying to force him to face her. "I asked you why you're pushing me away, Brady, and I want an answer."
He hated the quiver in her voice, hated even more that he still had demons to face, that he couldn't be what she wanted. "Because nothing's changed."
Anger balled in Alison's stomach. "That's not true, Brady. We established two things here today."
He swung around and gland at her. "What? That we both wanted sex."
Hurt stabbed through her. "That we both wanted each other." She firmed her chin. "If you'd wanted sex, you could have had that with anyone the past four years. But you admitted you haven't been with anyone, Brady."
His gaze cut back to the lake, his own jaw set.
"And now I understand why you're pushing me away. You feel guilty over your friend's death."
"I am guilty," he said harshly. "I have the scars inside and outside to prove it." He gestured toward his jeans. "If we'd finished what we'd started, you'd see how ugly I am now, Alison. I'm not the high school football star you fell in love with, or the pilot."
"Is that why you think I fell in love with you? Because you were a football star?"
He averted his gaze, stared at his boots, crushed the dirt below them. "Isn't it, Alison?"
"No. I can't believe you think I'm that shallow." She folded her arms around her waist, furious. "I fell in love with you because you're you."
"But I'm not that same guy, Alison."
"Maybe not. But maybe you are. Maybe you're just a grown-up version."
"Growing up changes us, Ali."
"You had an accident, Brady, and so did your friend. It was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You have to forgive yourself, go back up and fly again."
Brady shook his head, his voice gruff. "That's just it. Don't you get it?" He swung around and held out his hands. They were shaking and his voice was filled with anguish. "I can't fly anymore, Ali. It's not that I didn't want to help your father, but I can't."
Alison reached out to touch him but he pulled away. "Why not, Brady? Because of your injuries? Did the doctors order you not to?"
"No," he said in a hoarse voice. "Because I'm too damn afraid."
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
Brady felt Alison's hand on his shoulder and tensed. He'd finally admitted the truth about himself, so why wasn't she turning away?
"Have you talked to someone about it, Brady?"
A sardonic chuckle escaped him. "What? You mean like a shrink?"
"It wouldn't hurt. Seth, Mimi's husband, is a psychiatrist and he's really nice—"
He shook his head. "No."
"Well, you told me. That's a start." She moved behind him and massaged his shoulders, kneading the knot at the base of his neck. "You should talk about how you feel, though, with Vivi or your mom or me. It's not good to hold your emotions inside you."
"Talking won't bring Josh back. Ali." He pulled away and headed to the car. "I think we'd better go."
"I'm not giving up on you, Brady Broussard," Alison called after
him. "And you'd better not give up, either."
* * *
When Alison arrived home, she was so tense she couldn't sleep. One moment she convinced herself she and Brady would work things out; the next she sensed a feeling of hopelessness and defeat in Brady she'd never imagined seeing.
Maybe time would turn his attitude around.
Except time was running out – their divorce would be final in a few days. She had a feeling if she didn't reach him before then, she'd lose him forever.
She skimmed through some of Brady's letters until she found one of the last ones he'd written her.
Dear Alison,
I'm starting my third year now and you've heard me talk about my friend Josh, the guy from Missouri. We have this competition thing going between us – you know how guys are. He played quarterback in high school, too, so we horse around with the ball on the weekends. And we're always trying to best each other in flight training. Maybe if I get some leave time soon, he can come home and meet you.
Then again, it's been so long since I've seen you, I want you just to myself. Lately, I've been thinking more and more about you. I hope you're liking school. (Not too much, though, at least not any of the guys.)
Sometimes I worry you'll fall for some other man, and I don't think I could stand it.
Every night I close my eyes and I see you standing at our spot down by the lake. Your sweet face is smiling at me, and I hear you whispering my name when I pull you into my arms. I can't wait to run my hands through your long dark hair (you didn't cut it, did you?) 'cause it felt like silk, and your naked body felt like heaven.
I wonder if you still remember what it felt like to kiss me, to have me touch you all over, to have me deep inside you. I can't wait to refresh your memory. God, I get hard just thinking about making love to you, Ali.
I'm going to put in for leave soon. I have to see you, even if it's just for a short weekend.
Love always,
your Brady
* * *
The next day Brady rose feeling slightly optimistic. Instead of the nightmare, he'd dreamed he was lying on a blanket beside the lake making love to Alison, her legs twined around him, her eyes staring into his, his body pumping into hers. They'd whispered promises of love and forever, and had even talked of having a family together.
He inhaled the fresh morning air as he stepped onto the balcony, settled himself in a patio chair with his coffee and his old flight manuals. His leg wasn't hurting as much, and although he physically still ached from wanting Alison, he felt a sense of euphoria from almost making love to her. At least he had given her pleasure.
Maybe he'd get over this post-traumatic stress syndrome and be able to fly again. Then he'd be the man Alison deserved.
Grateful his mother had left for an early breakfast with her church women's group, he studied the flight manuals, and decided to call Frost and set up a time to let him take him up in one of the Cessnas. It was a baby step toward flying, but Brady didn't trust himself to take the plane up by himself.
Still, it was a start.
Alison believed in him. She'd said she wasn't giving up on him; maybe he shouldn't give up yet, either.
He gathered the books and put them in his room, pausing when he saw the invitation he'd misprinted with his and Alison's names on it. Smiling to himself, he stuffed it in one of his manuals, then set out for his morning walk, heading toward the gym.
When he entered the pool area, Alison was finishing her laps. He inhaled the scent of chlorine and told himself he should have gone to the weight room first, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He had to see her again.
She stopped swimming, turned on her back and floated to the side, then leaned against the edge, propped her arms on the tile and smiled at him as if she'd known he would come. Water glistened off her dark eyelashes and beaded her skin, giving it a translucent glow. Her white bathing suit dipped precariously low, hinting at the cleavage beneath and the womanly curves that filled it out.
She crooked a finger and whispered, "I've been waiting for you."
Unable to control himself, he walked toward her. His dream the night before echoed in his mind, and hunger exploded in his veins. She looked breathtaking, her nipples beading beneath the thin suit, her lips so rosy and kissable he had to taste her.
He knelt at the water's edge, reached out and cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his head. She arched her back and rose to meet him, her lips like wine to his thirst. He drank and sipped while she threaded her fingers in his hair.
"Why don't you come in?" she finally whispered when he broke the kiss to tease her ear with his tongue.
For once, he couldn't deny her. He'd been standing in the doorway watching her swim for weeks, each time aching to get in the water with her, to hold her and feel her come apart in his arms. He'd be leaving soon. He wanted the memory to take with him. And the place was deserted, as usual.
In one quick movement, he shrugged off his shoes and socks, tossed his shirt on a nearby chair and climbed in the water. Her gaze fastened on his chest, and he squared his shoulders, feeling heady and masculine and so in love he thought he might burst.
Brady felt staggered by that sudden realization. He did still love her, he silently admitted – no matter how much he'd tried to forget her, how many times he'd told himself he didn't deserve her. He couldn't deny his feelings any longer – at least not to himself.
She reached up and traced a finger along his collarbone, down his shoulder, around his nipple and he sucked in a sharp breath, wanting to take her right there in the water. A slow smile curved her lips and he grabbed her hands.
"You have a little bit of devil in your eyes this morning," he murmured.
"Maybe there's some unfinished business I've been thinking about."
Her soft, sultry voice only fueled his pounding heartbeat. He dragged her to him and slid his arms around her, cupping her buttocks and pulling her against him as he lowered his mouth over hers.
A loud cough reverberated behind him and he stiffened, silently waiting while Alison dropped her head against his chest and giggled.
"I gather we're not alone anymore," he said gruffly.
She nodded. "It's the senior citizens aerobics class. That's one reason I come so early to swim, so I can be out before they start."
Brady chuckled. "Guess I'd better go take a cold shower."
She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingertips. "We'll finish this later, Brady. That's a promise."
* * *
"Only four more days and I'll be Mrs. Joe Rucker," Vivica exclaimed. "I'm so excited, Ali."
Alison smiled, secretly hoping in that four days she and Brady would work things out between them and she would still be Mrs. Brady Broussard. "I'm so happy for you, Vivi."
"Is there anything I need to do?"
Alison went down the checklist. "Videographer, taken care of. Catering set. Flowers on order. Hannah's agreed to keep the bride's book at the reception. The photographer will meet you there to take prewedding photos at five."
"What about your bridesmaid dress?"
"I tried it on this morning. It fits perfectly."
Vivica sighed. "And the musician?"
"Claire Follet is playing the piano." Alison looked up from the list. "How about the license and the wedding rings? Have you and Joe taken care of those?"
Vivica nodded. "Yep, got the license. And we picked out this gorgeous set of his-and-her matching bands. They're gold with a tiny hint of black etching."
"Sounds perfect, Vivi."
"I just hope the weather holds out," Vivica said. "I'd hate to have to move the reception inside."
"It's supposed to be clear," Alison said, although everyone in town knew they desperately needed rain. "But I've already checked out the reception hall downstairs and have extra decorations on hand in case we need them."
"Thanks, Ali, you've been a godsend."
Alison tapped her pen on the list. "Is Reverend Barnes go
ing to perform the service?"
"Yes. He actually christened me and Brady."
Alison smiled at the image. Would he christen her and Brady's baby someday?
"Speaking of my brother, how are things going?"
Alison shrugged. "A little better, I guess."
Vivica squealed. "I just knew it. This morning I dropped by the house looking for Brady and I saw his old flight manuals on the desk. I accidentally knocked one off and this fell out." She lay a white wedding invitation on the table.
Alison gasped as she read the wording.
Mrs. Inez Broussard requests the honor of your presence at the wedding of her
son, Brady Broussard,
to
Alison Leigh Hartwell.
Her heart raced. Brady had written up an invitation as if they were getting married?
Then she read the time and date and realized it was the same time as Vivica's wedding. "I don't understand."
"I didn't, either, not at first," Vivica said. "Brady must be planning to surprise you. Maybe he wants you two to renew your vows at the church with us."
"But he wouldn't want to impose on your day. And he'd ask you first."
"Like I would care!" Vivica hugged her. "Brady knows I adore you and I want the two of you to stay together. Maybe he figures it'll be a good wedding present for me."
Alison's finger trembled as she traced the wording. Could it be true – could Brady be coming around? Could he be planning to ask her to renew their vows instead of finalize the divorce?
* * *
Brady stepped from the shower, dried off, pulled on jeans and a polo shirt, then towel-dried his hair. His short military cut had grown slightly in the last month. He'd have to get it trimmed. He could hardly believe the month was almost over, that he'd be leaving Sugar Hill again.
And Alison.
All day he'd felt euphoric from their interlude in the pool. He'd thought about it while he'd worked at the print shop, during his session with Vivica, then afterward when he'd phoned George Frost and set up a time to go by the airport. George was going to take him up first thing in the morning. Brady grabbed the flight manual, stunned when he realized the invitation was missing. Before he could search for it, the doorbell rang and he heard his mother answer it. He was surprised to hear Alison's voice, then his mother's.
