The Thunderbolt Page 7

  But a woman like Lacy deserved a man who could give her unlimited attention and undying devotion.

  “And you, my friend,” he said softly, “are definitely not that man.”

  The telephone jangled only a few minutes after Bennett strode out the front door. Luckily, before he’d left, he had positioned the cordless telephone within easy reach.

  It rang again.

  CeeCee? Janet?

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty. Surely her friends hadn’t come home this early on a Friday night.

  She picked up the receiver.

  “Drahy!”

  “Great-Gramma, what are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime.”

  “Pfft. At my age there is no such thing as bedtime. You fall asleep when you’re tried; you wake up when you’re ready. Besides, Old Blue Eyes has the colic. He ate your father’s bib overalls, metal snaps and all.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear about Frank Sinatra.”

  “He’ll be all right. What I’m worried about is you.”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t play coy, drahy. Five weeks ago you called me. Great-Gramma, you say, I’ve been hit by the thunderbolt. Then nothing. No call. No letter. You don’t even email your mother. What’s wrong?”

  Lacy toyed with her braid. “Well, I don’t think Bennett’s been struck by the thunderbolt. Can this thing be one-sided, Great-Gramma?”

  “No. Absolutely not. He’s holding back for some reason. When did you see him last?”

  “Well...” Lacy began.

  “Tell me everything.”

  It was easy to unburden herself to her understanding grandmother. She told her everything before adding, “It’s hopeless. How can I make him fall in love with me when I can’t even be near him?”

  “You’re saying he will be coming back to your apartment tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm,” Great-Gramma commented, her voice changing in pitch. Lacy recognized that curious note. Great-Gramma was up to something.

  “Hmm, what?”

  “Just interesting to know. That’s all.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “Me? Planning? I don’t know what you mean. I’m a little ninety-two-year-old lady. What can I plan?”

  “I’m not falling for that,” Lacy said. “You’re as sly as a fox.”

  “Goodnight, drahy. Frank Sinatra is calling me.”

  And then the line went dead. Puzzled, Lacy stared at the phone for a moment before switching it off.

  Ten minutes later two staccato knocks sounded on the front door.

  “Come in,” Lacy called from her position on the couch.

  The door swung open, and Bennett stepped inside. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to his face like a magnet.

  “Hi,” he whispered, pushing a strand of hair from his forehead as he closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

  “The ankle aches a bit.”

  Actually, it ached a lot, but she didn’t want to be a crybaby. And, truth be told, the pain seemed to evaporate whenever he was near, her mind occupied with cataloging his virtues instead of dwelling on the ankle, which now resembled a lump of pasty yeast dough.

  Bennett crossed the room carrying a white paper sack with an apothecary logo emblazoned on the side. He sat on the floor beside her and pulled two bottles from the bag.

  “These should fix you right up. This one is to reduce the swelling, the other is for pain.” He tried twisting the lid from the bottle of painkillers. It wouldn’t budge. He smiled sheepishly. “Damn childproof caps.”

  “Push down on the lid with your palm and turn at the same time,” Lacy advised.

  “Guess it’s true what they say. Nurses know more about day-to-day patient care than doctors.”

  “Doctors have bigger problems than opening pill bottles.” Lacy tried not to giggle as he continued to battle the stubborn cap.

  “Blast it all,” Bennett muttered a few minutes later when he still hadn’t wrenched the wretched thing free.

  “Would you like me to try?” Lacy reached out to lay a hand on his wrist.

  “No, no. I’ll subdue it.”

  The pressure of her hand on his must have flustered him—or at least she hoped that’s what had happened—because the harder he struggled, the more stubbornly the plastic cap held.

  Finally, exasperated but not ready to admit masculine defeat, he stuck the cap in his mouth.

  He looked so completely incongruous, this serious-minded heart surgeon gnawing on a plastic prescription bottle, that Lacy began to laugh.

  “You tink dis is funny?” he mouthed around the cap, sounding all the world like a movie mafioso with a mouthful of cannoli.

  She nodded.

  His eyes twinkled. He growled low in his throat and attacked the bottle with renewed vigor.

  “If you jerk your teeth out,” Lacy managed to wheeze between gales of laughter, “I won’t be able to drive you to the dentist.”

  “At weast we got pwenty of pain pills,” he replied.

  “If we ever get the thing opened.”

  “I never gib up,” he informed her.

  Bottle cap planted firmly between his back teeth, Bennett gave a finally twist, and the bottle broke free.

  “Yes,” he gloated, removing the cap from his mouth and thrusting both hands over his head in a gesture of jubilant victory.

  Men, Lacy thought with a bemused shake of her head.

  Triumphantly, he doled out two pills. One from each bottle. A blue one for swelling, a white one for pain. He handed them to her.

  “Fresh tea to wash these down with?”

  “This is fine.” She picked up her stone-cold tea from the coffee table and washed back the tablets.

  Bennett eyed her.

  Lacy was the cutest-looking thing he’d ever seen, propped up on the couch. Too cute. Her sweet, incredible scent pushed him beyond distraction, and he couldn’t stop staring at those creamy legs.

  He should get out of here. Leave this minute. Instead, he found himself saying, “Maybe I should stay the night, just to make sure you’re all right.”

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “What if you need to get up in the night? You might fall on your injured ankle and make the sprain worse.”

  She studied him a moment. “All right.”

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Something to drink? A snack?”

  “Well...”

  “What?”

  “I would like to get out of this dress and into my pj’s.”

  “Your pajamas, right.” He was talking lickety-split, and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to slow down. The thought of sliding a silky nightshirt over her head had him popping out in a cold sweat.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  “In the bedroom.” She pointed down the hall. “In the bureau.”

  “Be right back.” Bennett disappeared down the hall, wondering how he had gotten himself into this sticky-but-not-unpleasant situation and how he was going to get himself out again.

  He flicked on the light in the small bedroom. This place reminded him of the Lacy he knew from the hospital. Old-fashioned. Shy. Sweet.

  A queen-size bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned with a patchwork quilt. His Nanna had made quilts, and he recognized the pattern. Double wedding ring, it was called, or something like that.

  Lacy’s bedroom was impeccable. Nothing out of place. No dust or cobwebs or litter in the wicker wastepaper basket beside her computer desk.

  Bennett stepped to the antique bureau in the corner. He pulled open the top drawer, dumbstruck by what he saw.

  Panties. Dozens and dozens of panties. Thongs. G-strings. Garters. Scarlet lace. Black satin. Purple silk.

  Drawn by an irresistible power, Bennett scooped up a handful and held them against his nose.

  They smelled of laundry soap and rose-scented potpourri. He inhaled deeply.

  The Lacy who owned these garments
was not the Lacy he knew from the hospital. This was the Lacy who wore skimpy dresses and spike heels to go dancing with cowboys at the Recovery Room.

  Then Bennett caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror, a half dozen pairs of thong undies dangling from his hand, an I’ve-died-and-gone-to-lingerie-heaven expression on his face. Unnerved, he jammed the panties into the drawer and yanked open the second one, his breath coming in hard, short gasps.

  All he could think about was Lacy wearing these delicate things.

  He was dead meat.

  She’d sent him into her bedroom. Alone. To rummage through her underwear drawer.

  Lacy’s face flamed. What had she been thinking? What if he opened the top drawer and saw all her sexy lingerie? What would be his impression of her?

  The painkillers were starting to take effect. Not only had the pain in her ankle decreased measurably, but a giddy, light-headed feeling wrapped warm fuzzy fingers around her.

  “Is this all right?” Bennett appeared in the doorway, holding a pink satin teddy edged with crimson lace.

  Yikes!

  The mere thought of lounging on the couch in front of him wearing that scanty number was more than she could fathom.

  “Those aren’t pajamas,” she blurted.

  His face fell. “Oh.”

  “But it’ll do,” she found herself saying for absolutely no other reason than to see him smile.

  He crossed the room toward her.

  Lacy’s heart began to pound so loudly she heard her blood strumming through her ears.

  He sat beside her on the couch, his body angled toward her head, his trousered leg resting against her hip. All her senses strummed with awareness while at the same time a heady warmth loosened her limbs and her tongue. She floated free, untethered, buoyed by pain pills and the giddiness of his nearness.

  Her vision narrowed. She noticed everything about Dr. Bennett Sheridan, from the faint laugh lines etched into the corners of his eyes to the beard stubble gracing his manly jaw.

  She also noticed that he looked uncertain and uncomfortable.

  “Whaz wrong?” She giggled when she realized she’d slurred her words.

  “The pain pills are making you a little punchy.”

  She nodded. It seemed her head bobbed on a string yanked by an invisible puppeteer. “Uh-huh.”

  Helplessly, he held her pink satin teddy in front of him. “How are we going to do this? Would you like me to leave you alone while you, um, get undressed?”

  This time, she shook her head. “Gotta have help with this darned zipper.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Still, he didn’t move. He sat there with his eyes fixed on her mouth.

  “You can touch me,” she said, amazed at her own drug-induced audacity. “I won’t bite.”

  Bennett leaned forward.

  “At least not very hard.”

  How on earth was he going to undress her without driving them both wild with desire? The painkillers had taken over. The gleam in her eye was too bright, the way she looked at him too bold.

  Keep her talking, Sheridan, he told himself, and whatever happens do not kiss her.

  “If Dr. Laramie could see you now.” Bennett shook his head. “He’s under the impression that you’re a sweet, old-fashioned girl.”

  Lacy lifted a finger to her lips, which looked especially soft and pliant. “Shh. We’ll never tell.”

  He smiled. “No. It’ll be our little secret.”

  “We’ve got a secret,” she said in a singsong voice, then thrust her arms over her head. “Clothes off. Teddy on.”

  What had he done to get himself in such a predicament?

  Oh, yeah, he’d given her medicine for her sprained ankle, but his bungle had been leaving the nightclub with her in the first place. He was much too susceptible to her beguiling charms.

  “Come on,” she urged, leaning forward and twisting her torso so he could see the zipper behind her.

  Hesitantly, Bennett reached out a hand and took the zipper between his thumb and forefinger.

  Slowly, he inched the zipper down bit by bit, exposing the narrow expanse of Lacy’s soft flesh beneath.

  Heat swamped him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning aloud.

  Get yourself under control, Sheridan, pronto. Lacy’s in a vulnerable state.

  Gently, he tugged the dress over her head, his fingertips accidentally grazing her upper arm.

  Lacy moaned softly and closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Perfect.” She almost purred.

  She was sitting on the couch, her legs propped on the pillow, wearing nothing but a black push-up bra and black lace undies. Her long apple-cider hair cascaded over her shoulders, descending to her waist like a golden curtain.

  His fingers burned to touch her. His lips twitched to skate along her skin and taste the salt of her. His nose burned to burrow inside the fresh feminine fragrance of her cleavage.

  Bennett swore he had died and zoomed straight to hell. Where else would he have such an exquisite creature at his fingertips and yet be unable to act on his very masculine desires for her?

  His eyes ate her up, taking in the soft swell of her breasts, the luxurious curve of her hips.

  Torture. Pure torture.

  Cover her up. Quick.

  Bennett stared at the tiny pink satin garment in his hand. As if it was going to do anything to cloak that magnificent body. Fervently, he wished for a floor-length flannel granny gown to toss over her.

  Fumbling in his hurry, he threaded her arms through the teddy’s spaghetti straps, then pulled it over her head.

  She homed those breath-stealing eyes on him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I feel...kinda drunk.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers.

  “It’s okay. The feeling will pass.”

  Without warning, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  In an instant her lips were plastered against his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. His mouth came down with a fierceness that frightened yet thrilled him.

  If anything, this kiss was even better than the one at the nightclub. Bennett dissolved like ice in a glass of hot water. He had no resistance to her. Whatever she wanted she could have.

  Her hands roved over his body, gently exploring. She tasted of orange pekoe and smelled of rose petals. Her tongue teased, drawing him out, rousing myriad sensations inside him.

  Her skin, her lips, her fingertips inflamed him. He tingled, burned, and ached.

  Her breasts swelled against his chest. His pulse pounded in his groin as blood rushed to heat that area of his body. He reacted to her contact like a plant reaching for the sunlight. He awakened to the limitless possibilities of what could happen between them. Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss.

  She grinned. “Hi, thunderbolt.”

  “Thunderbolt?”

  Chucking him under the chin with a finger, she giggled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  “But I don’t.” What on earth was she talking about?

  It’s just the pain pills. Humor her until they wear off—

  “Admit it,” she whispered. “Admit you’re my thunderbolt.”

  What the heck was thunderbolt? A horse? Anything to pacify her. “Okay, I admit it. I’m your thunderbolt.”

  “I knew it,” she crowed and threw her arms around his neck. “Now take me to the bedroom and make love to me.”

  “Listen, Lacy.” He cleared his throat and slowly disentangled himself from her arms. “Much as I would like to, we can’t make love tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re under the influence of painkillers, and you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m serious, Bennett.”

  He shifted away from her. “I won’t be in town much longer, and while I think we would have had a great time together in bed, maybe your sprained a
nkle is a sign.”

  “A sign?”

  “That a sexual relationship between us simply wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Oh, no. That sad, wide-eyed, lost-puppy look.

  “I like you. A great deal. In fact, probably too much. Too much to make love to you and then just walk away.”

  8

  The ache in her ankle was nil compared to the sudden stabbing in her tummy.

  “Honestly, I’m a little old-fashioned,” Bennett continued. “When I meet a girl I really like, and I know that there can’t be a future with her, I prefer not to take the relationship to the next level.”

  What was he saying? If he liked her less, he’d be willing to make love to her?

  “There doesn’t have to be heartache,” she insisted. No heartache at all. They could have sex, fall head over heels in love, get married, have a half dozen babies with his amazing dark eyes, and live happily ever after.

  Oh, why had she let CeeCee talk her into pretending to be something she wasn’t?

  He reached out a hand and gently caressed her cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, cupcake. I want to make love to you so badly I can taste it, but I don’t think it would be in either of our best interests.”

  “Bennett.” She spoke his name because she didn’t know what else to say. She had so much to tell him, but she didn’t know how to begin to explain the thunderbolt to someone who hadn’t grown up believing in its mythical powers, and she could barely keep her eyelids open.

  And before she could form a coherent thought, Lacy fell asleep in the circle of his sheltering arms.

  The jangling phone jerked her awake. She blinked, then realized she was snuggled tight against Bennett’s chest. Lacy sat up straight, a little disoriented. What had happened? Then she remembered the pain pills and falling asleep in his arms.

  Bennett yawned, stretched, and checked his watch. “Awfully late for someone to be calling. It’s after one a.m.”

  “It’s probably CeeCee or Janet checking to see if I made it home in one piece.”

  She reached over and picked up the phone. “Hello?”