Can't Stop Loving You by Peggy Webb Page A

breath, he approached the
table... softly so Helen wouldn’t hear. He tapped Matt on the
shoulder.
    Matt whirled around, and Brick put one hand
on his lips. With the other he handed Matt a note.
    “Barb is waiting for you in the gym,” it
read. “I’ll take over Helen’s massage. Brick.”
    Grinning, Matt stepped aside, and Brick
slipped into his place.
    “Matt?” Helen’s voice sounded tired.
    “Hmmm?” Brick said.
    “Use some more oil. My skin feels dry.”
    As Brick reached for the oil, Matt slipped
through the door. Brick warmed the oil in his palms, then flattened
them on Helen’s back. She flexed her shoulders and made soft
humming sounds of satisfaction.
    In slow, sweeping movements, Brick worked the
oil into her skin.
    “Hmmm. Good,” she said. “I like that
touch.”
    All the things Brick had meant to say flew
out of his mind. He moved his hands along the length of her back
How long had it been since he’d touched her naked back? How long
since he’d felt her smooth, silken skin ripple beneath his
fingertips?
    He caressed her once more, his hands molding
the tiny, supple waist, the flared hips, then back up to her
shoulders and down her arms. He was tempted to flatten his hands
over hers, to lace their fingers together as they used to do when
they were making love.
    Not yet.
He wasn’t quite ready to
reveal himself. Selfishly he wanted to continue caressing her naked
skin.
    “What’s gotten into you, Matt?” She never
lifted her head, but kept her face in her crossed arms. She sounded
relaxed, almost sleepy.
    “Hmmm?”
    “Usually you’re pummeling my back as if I
were a punching bag.”
    “Relax.” Brick had done enough voice
imitations in his career to be able to sound somewhat like
Matt.
    “Not that I’m complaining.” Helen arched her
back and stretched like a kitten. “It feels wonderful... almost
erotic.” Her laughter was low and throaty. “Nothing personal, you
understand.”
    “Nothing personal.”
    Ah, but it was. It was the most personal
thing he’d felt in a long, long time. Caressing her was erotic,
nostalgic.
    He realized how very much he had missed
Helen. Their love was magical, special. What had happened to take
it all away? How had they lost it?
    As he stood at the table massaging Helen, he
realized how very fragile love was. They hadn’t handled it with
care. Sure, she had been the one to walk away, but part of the
blame lay with him. Somehow he had failed her. Somehow he had not
given her enough assurances that their love was permanent, that he
wouldn’t leave her at the first sign of trouble... or the second or
the third. That, in fact, he would never leave her. He had been so
absorbed in loving her that he had failed to
know
her, to
understand her fears.
    His hands slid down the center of her back.
She made soft murmuring sounds of pleasure.
    What if he failed her again?
    The thought was sobering. If he stayed in
this quiet room to tell Helen the truth of his deception, then he
must be prepared to take the next step, and the next, to woo her
and win... and risk losing her all over again.
    Sweat popped out on his brow. There were no
dress rehearsals for life, no repeat performances.
    “Helen...”
    She stiffened, then jerked her head around.
Her skin flushed a deep rose.
    “How dare you...”
    “Helen, this is not what it looks like.”
    “Get out.”
    “I have to talk to you.”
    She sat up, pulling the towel around her.
“Leave. Now.” She started getting off the table.
    “Helen, wait. Please.”
    She hesitated, slowly pulled the turban off
her head, and shook out her hair. As she often did when she was
upset, she massaged her temples with her fingertips, then ran her
fingers through her hair. It tumbled about her shoulders in
enchanting disarray.
    Brick wanted to reach out, to touch her
cheek, her hair. Instead, he waited. If he told the truth to an
unwilling audience, all was lost.
    Crossing her legs, she sighed. He knew he had
won the first