by Nora Roberts
“And do what?”
She wished she knew. “Look, J.T., we’re both adults. All we have to do is act like it.”
“I thought we were.” He tried a smile. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“It wasn’t completely your fault.” She managed to smile back at him. “Circumstances. We’re alone here, the power’s out. Candle and firelight.” She shrugged and felt miserable. “Anybody could get carried away.”
“If you say so.” He took a step forward. She took a step back. The pursuit, Jacob decided, was going to require strategy. “But I am attracted to you, even without candlelight.”
She started to speak, discovered she didn’t know what she wanted to say and dragged her hands through her hair again. “You should get some sleep. I’m going for more wood.”
“All right. Sunbeam?”
She turned back, shooting him a look of amusement and exasperation at his use of her full name.
“I enjoyed kissing you,” he told her. “Very much.”
Muttering under her breath, she bundled into her coat and escaped outside.
***
The day passed slowly. Sunny might have wished he would sleep longer, but it hardly mattered. Awake or asleep, he was there. As long as he was, he intruded. At times, though she tried to bury herself in her books, she was so painfully aware of him that she nearly groaned.
He read—voraciously, Sunny thought—novel after novel from the bookshelf. Activity was almost completely confined to the living room and the warmth of the fire, which they took turns feeding.
At lunchtime they fell back on cold sandwiches, though she did manage to boil water over the fire for tea. They spoke to each other only when it was impossible not to.
By evening they were both wildly restless, edgy from confinement and from the fact that both of them wondered what the day would have been like if they had spent it under a blanket, together, rather than at opposite ends of the room.
He paced to one window. She paced to another. She poked at the fire. He leafed through yet another book. She went for a bag of cookies. He went for fresh candles.
“Have you ever read this?”
Sunny glanced over. It was the first word they had spoken to each other in an hour. “What?”
“Jane Eyre.”
“Oh, sure.” It was a relief to have a conversation again. She handed him the bag of cookies as a peace offering.
“What did you think of it?”
“I always like reading about the mannerisms of an earlier century. They were so stringent and puritanical back then, with all that passion boiling underneath the civilized veneer.”
He had to smile. “Do you think so?”
“Sure. And of course it’s beautifully written, and wonderfully romantic.” She sat with her legs hooked over the arm of a chair, her eyes a little sleepy and her scent—damn her—everywhere. “The plain, penniless girl capturing the heart of the bold, brooding hero.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “That’s romantic?”
“Of course. Then there’s windswept moors and painful tragedy, sacrifice. They did a terrific production of it on PBS a few years ago. Did you see it?”
“No.” He set the book aside, still puzzled. “My mother has a copy at home. She loves to read novels.”
“That’s probably because she needs to relax after being in court all day.”
“Probably.”
“What does your father do?”
“This and that.” Suddenly his family seemed incredibly far away. “He likes to garden.”
“So does mine. Herbs, naturally.” She gestured toward her empty tea cup. “But he putters around with flowers, too. When we were little he grew vegetables right outside the kitchen. It’s practically all we ate, which is why I avoid them now.”
He tried to imagine it and simply couldn’t. “What was it like growing up here?”
“It seemed natural.” She rose idly to poke at the fire, then sat on the couch beside him, forgetting for a moment how restless the storm was making her. “I guess I thought everyone lived like we did, until we went to the city and I saw the lights, the crowds, the buildings. For me, it was as if someone had broken open a kaleidoscope and handed me all the colors. We would always come back here, and that was fine.” With a half yawn, she sank back into the cushions. “But I always wanted to get back to all that noise. Nothing changes much here, and that’s nice, because you can always depend on it. But there’s always something new in the city. I guess I like progress.”
“But you’re here now.”
“A self-imposed penance, in a way.”
“For what?”
She moved her shoulders. “It’s a long story. What about you? Are you a city boy yearning for the peace of the country?”
He glanced deliberately out the window. “No.”
She laughed and patted his hand. “So here we are, two city dwellers stuck in the wilds of the Northwest. Want to play cards?”
His mood brightened instantly. “Poker?”
“You’re on.”
They rose at the same time, bumped, brushed. He took her arm automatically, then held on. He tensed, as she did. It wasn’t possible to do otherwise. It was possible, barely, to prevent himself from lifting his other hand to her face. She’d done nothing to enhance it today. There was no trace of cosmetics. Her mouth, full, pouty, exciting, was naked. With an effort, he brought his eyes from it, and to hers.
“You’re very beautiful, Sunbeam.”
It hurt to breathe. She was terrified to move. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Sometimes it fits. I’ve always thought beauty was just an accident of genes or something accomplished through skill. You make me wonder.”
“You’re a very strange man, Hornblower.”
He smiled a little. “You don’t know the half of it.” He stepped back. “We’d better play cards.”
“Good idea.” She let out a quiet, relieved breath as she took the deck from a drawer. If she had a little time, alone, she might just figure out what it was about him that jolted her system. “Poker by firelight.” She dropped onto the floor. “Now that’s romance.”
He sat opposite her. “Is it?”
“Prepare to lose.”
But he won, consistently, continually, until she began to watch him through narrowed eyes. For lack of anything else, they were playing for cookies, and his pile of chocolate chips kept growing.
“You eat all those you’re going to get fat.”
He merely smiled. “No, I won’t. I have an excellent metabolism.”
“Yeah, I just bet you do.” With a body like that, he’d have to. “Two pair, queens and fours.”
“Mmm.” He set his cards down. “Full house, tens over fives.”
“Sonofa—” She broke off, scowling, as he raked in the chips. “Look, I don’t want to sound like a sore loser, but you’ve won ten out of twelve hands.”
“Must be my lucky night.” He picked up the cards and riffled them.
“Or something.”
He merely lifted a brow at her tone. “Poker is as much a science as physics.”
She snatched up a cookie. “Just deal, Hornblower.”
“Are you going to eat your ante?”
Miffed, she tossed it into the pot. “If I don’t eat several times a day I get cranky.”
“Is that what’s wrong with you?”
“I’m basically a very nice person.”
“No, you’re not.” He grinned as he dealt the cards. “But I like you anyway.”
“I am nice,” she insisted, keeping her face carefully bland when she spotted two aces in her hand. “Ask anybody—except my last two supervisors. Open for two.”
Jacob obliged her by adding his two cookies to the pot. He liked her this way—warily friendly, competitive, relaxed, but ready to pounce on any infraction. He supposed it didn’t hurt that the firelight painted interesting shadows that played over those fabulous cheekbones. He checked h
imself—and his hand. This seemed as good a time as any to find out more about her.
“What did you do, before you came here to decide to be a lawyer?”
She made a face, then drew three cards. “I sold underwear. Ladies’ lingerie, to be specific.” She glanced up, waiting for the disdain, and was mollified when she didn’t see it. “I have a drawerful of great stuff I got on discount.”
“Oh, really?” He thought about that for a moment, wondering just what her idea of great stuff consisted of.
“Yeah.” She was delighted to see that she’d drawn another ace, but she kept her voice even. “The problem was, this particular supervisor wanted you to take the money, box the silks and keep your mouth shut—even when the customer was making an obvious mistake.”
He tried to imagine her keeping her mouth shut. He couldn’t. “Such as?”
“Such as the pleasantly plump lady who was going to torture herself in a size eight merry widow. Bet three.”
“And raise it two. What happened?”
“Well, you open your mouth to make a gentle suggestion and before you know it you’ve got a pink slip.”
“You’d look nice in pink.”
She giggled and raised him two more. “No . . . a pink slip, the boot, the ax. Canned.” When he still looked puzzled, she elaborated. “Your services are no longer required.”
“Oh. Terminated.”
“Right.” His term seemed to describe the injustice of it perfectly. “Who needs it?”
“You don’t.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks. Three aces, pal. Read ’em and weep.”
“Straight flush,” he countered, and had her sputtering while he piled up more cookies. “You don’t have the temperament to work for someone else.”
“So I’ve been told,” she muttered. “Several times.” She was down to her last five cookies. Her luck, Sunny thought, had been on the down side too long. “But if it’s a matter of learning how to adjust or learning how not to eat I’m going to have to go with the first. I don’t like being poor.”
“I imagine you could do whatever you wanted to do, if you really wanted to do it.”
“Maybe.” And that had always been the problem. She had no idea what she wanted. She dealt the hand and, deciding to be reckless, went for an inside straight. And ended up with trash. A bluff was always better than a fold, she thought, pushing her miserly pile of cookies into the pot.
He cleaned her out with a pair of deuces.
“Here.” Because winning always put him in a good mood, he offered her a cookie. “Have one on me.”
“Thanks a lot.” She bit into it. “Your luck seems to be on tonight.”
“Apparently.” He was feeling a bit reckless himself. She looked a great deal more appetizing than the cookies. “We could play one more hand.”
“For what?”
“If I win, you make love with me.”
Surprised, but determined to keep her poker face intact, she swallowed the bite of cookie. “And if I win?”
“I make love with you.”
Popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth, she studied him as she chewed. It would almost be worth it, she mused, to see his face if she took him up on it. Almost worth it, she reminded herself. Either way, she would win. And she would lose.
“I think I’ll pass,” she said lightly. Rising, she walked over to the sofa, spread herself out on it and went to sleep.
Chapter 6
A blast of music ripped Sunny out of a dead sleep and had her rearing up. When lights blinded her, she groaned and tossed a hand over her eyes in self-defense.
“Who ordered the party?” she asked as Tina Turner roared out rock at top volume.
Jacob, who had dozed off in front of the fire, simply pulled the blanket over his head. Whenever he slept, he preferred to do it like the dead.
Swearing, she pushed herself up off the couch. She had stumbled halfway to the stereo before it dawned on her. “Power!” she shouted, then immediately raced over to sit on Jacob. She heard a muffled grunt from under the blanket and bounced gleefully up and down. “We’ve got power, J.T. Lights, music, hot food!” When he only grunted again, she poked him. “Wake up, you slug. Don’t you know you can be shot for sleeping on sentry duty?”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was bored into catatonia.”
“Well, snap out of it, pal. We’re back on the circuit.” She yanked the cover off his face and grinned when he scowled at her. “You need a shave,” she observed. Then, in her delight, she gave him a loud, smacking kiss between the eyes. “How about a hamburger?”
He got a bleary look at her face, all smiles and mussed hair. To his disgust, he felt his body responding. “It can’t be more than six in the morning.”
“So what? I’m starving.”
“Make mine rare.” He pulled the blanket over his face again.
“Uh-uh. You have to help.” Ruthlessly she ripped the blanket off him again. “Up and at ’em, soldier.”
This time he opened only one eye. “Up and at what?”
“It’s an expression, Hornblower.” She shook her head. “Just how long were you in that lab?”
“Not long enough.” Or entirely too long, if all it took to arouse him was a skinny woman sitting on his chest. “I can’t get up when you’re sitting on me. Besides, I think you broke my ribs.”
“Nonsense. I’m ten pounds underweight.”
“You wouldn’t think so from here.”
Too cheerful to be annoyed, she scrambled up, took a firm grip on his forearm and, after some pulling and tugging, dragged him to his feet. “You can make the french fries.”
“I can?”
“Sure.” To demonstrate her confidence in him, she kept her hand in his and pulled him into the kitchen. “Everything’s in the freezer. God, it’s cold in here.” She rubbed the bottom of one stockinged foot on the top of the other. “Here.” She tossed him a bag of frozen fries over her shoulder. “You just dump some on a cookie sheet and stick them in the oven.”
“Right.” He thought he could figure out the workings of the oven, but he hadn’t a clue as to what a cookie sheet might look like.
“Pans are . . . down there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of a cabinet while she contemplated the package of hamburger.
“The meat’s frozen,” he pointed out.
“Yeah. Well, we’ll have sloppy joes.”
“Which are?”
“Delicious,” she assured him. Whistling along with the music, she began to rattle pots. Cooking was far down on her list of favorite pastimes, but when push came to shove she was willing to give it her best shot. “Here, use this.” She handed him a long, thin piece of metal blackened by heat.
The cookie sheet, Jacob surmised. He went to work. “I don’t suppose there’s a possibility of coffee.”
“Sure. I keep a stash.” Still whistling, she dumped the chunk of frozen meat in a pot and set it on low. In moments she had water on to boil and cups waiting. “Heat, hot water, real food.” She did a quick little tap dance before digging into a bag of potato chips. “You don’t appreciate the little things until you can’t have them,” she said with her mouth full. “I don’t know how people managed before electricity. Imagine having to heat water over an open fire. It must have taken forever.”
Jacob was watching the electric ring slowly turn red under the kettle. “Amazing,” he agreed, and contemplated just eating the coffee grounds dry.
“Those fries won’t cook unless you put them in the oven.”
“Yeah.” He wished she wouldn’t watch him as he studied the dials. The Bake setting seemed safe enough—unless they were supposed to be broiled. He would have given a year of his life for the nutritional center in his lab.
“Spend much time in the kitchen?” Sunny asked from behind him.
“No.”
“Who would have guessed?” With a cluck of her tongue, she turned the oven on, then popped the tray inside. “Takes about ten, ma
ybe fifteen.”
“Seconds?”
“I love an optimist. Minutes.” Because she understood what it was like to wake up ready to chew glass, she patted his cheek. “Why don’t you go have a shower? You’ll feel better. Most of this should come together by the time you’re finished.”
“Thanks.” As he made his way upstairs he figured it was the nicest thing she’d done for him so far.
He spent a great deal of time cursing the ridiculously archaic workings of her shower. But she was right. He did feel better when he’d accomplished it. Using his ultrasound, he rid himself of his beard. Then he took his daily dose of fluoratyne for his teeth and, curious, poked inside the mirrored cabinet over the sink.
It was a scientific treasure trove. Lotions, potions, creams, powders. A glance at the safety razor made him shudder. The toothbrush made him grin. He saw little puffs of white that appeared to be cotton, thin brushes, tiny pots filled with vividly colored powder.
There was a cream with an exotic name. When he opened the top and sniffed, it was as if Sunny had joined him in the small, steamy room. He made quick work of putting it back on the shelf.
There were pills. A cursory glance showed him that she had them for headaches, body aches, head colds, chest colds. He would make a note to take back a few samples. There was a small plastic case that held a circle of tiny pills that weren’t marked at all. Since they were half gone, he assumed they were something she took regularly. That concerned him. He didn’t like to think that she was ill. Replacing them, he wondered how he might ask her about her medication.
He started downstairs, then simply followed the scents. He didn’t know what she could have done with the hunk of frozen meat, but it smelled like heaven. And there was coffee. No perfume could have been sweeter. She handed him a cup as he walked in the door.
“Thanks.”
“It’s okay. I know how it feels.”
He sipped, giving her a clinical study over the rim. Her eyes were clear, and her color was good. She looked perfectly healthy. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having seen anyone healthier. Or more alluring.
“When you look at me like that I feel like a germ under a microscope.”
