Come Lie With Me - Linda Howard [29]
Something of her determination must have shown in her face, because he growled, “Damn it, this is the part where you’re supposed to let me win!”
She puffed, sucking in much-needed oxygen. “If you want to beat me, you’re going to have to work for it,” she panted. “I don’t let anybody win!”
“But I’m a patient!”
“You’re an opportunist!”
He ground his teeth and pushed harder. Dione ducked her head, a movement that placed her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and counteracted his move with everything she had. Slowly, slowly, she felt his arm begin to move back. The rush of strength that winning always gave her zoomed through her veins, and with a cry she slammed his arm down flat on the table.
Their panting breaths filled the room, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears like the hoofbeats of a galloping horse. She was still slumped against him, her head on his shoulder, and she could feel the pounding of his heart throughout his entire body. Slowly she pushed herself off him, letting her weight fall against the table. Like a rag doll, he slumped forward onto the table, too, his color fading almost to normal as he sucked in deep breaths of air.
After a moment he propped his chin on his folded arm and regarded her out of dark blue eyes that still held storm clouds.
Dione drew a deep breath, staring at him. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” she told him.
He blinked in astonishment. Stunned, he stared at her for a long, long minute that hung suspended in time; then an odd little gurgle sounded in his throat. He gulped. The next sound was a full-throated roar of laughter. He threw his head back and clutched helplessly at his stomach. Dione began to giggle again.
He was rolling, howling with mirth, rocking back and forth. The abused controls of the wheelchair caught the impact of his fist again, and this time the jerky movements combined with his back and forth motion to pitch him out on his face. It was lucky that he wasn’t hurt, because Dione couldn’t have stopped laughing if her life had depended on it. She fell off her stool to lie beside him, drawing her legs up to her stomach. “Stop it! Stop it!” she shrieked as tears rolled down her face.
“Stop it! Stop it!” he mimicked, catching her and digging his fingers into her ribs.
In all her life, Dione had never been tickled. She’d never known what it was to play. She was so startled by the unbearably ticklish sensation of his fingers on her ribs that she couldn’t even be alarmed at his touch. She was screaming her head off, rolling helplessly in an effort to get away from those tormenting fingers, when another voice intruded on them.
“Blake!” Serena didn’t stop to interpret the scene before her. She saw her brother on the floor, she heard Dione screaming and she immediately assumed that a terrible accident had happened. She added her despairing cry to the din and dove for him, her desperate hands catching him and rolling him to her.
Though Serena wasn’t supposed to be there during the day, Dione was grateful to her for the interruption. Shakily she rolled away from Blake and sat up, only then realizing that Serena was almost hysterical.
“Serena! There’s nothing wrong,” Blake was saying strongly, deliberately, having sensed his sister’s state of mind before Dione had. “We were just playing around. I’m not hurt. I’m not hurt,” he repeated.
Serena calmed down, her white face regaining some of its color. Blake pushed himself to a sitting position and reached for the blanket that usually covered his legs. As he covered himself, he demanded harshly, “What’re you doing here? You know you’re not supposed to come during the day.”
She looked as if he’d slapped her, drawing back sharply and staring at him with a stunned look in her eyes. Dione bit her lip. She knew why he’d spoken so sharply. He’d become used to her seeing him, and in her presence he could sit around wearing nothing but a pair of briefs or gym shorts, but he was still sensitive about his body with everyone else, Serena most of all.
Serena recovered, lifting her