Snowed In

by Cassie Miles

  “Not so fast,” he said. “I want to savor the moment. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  What was he talking about? “It’s only been a few days, a few hours.”

  “All my life,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

  She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she liked the way it sounded. She tried to sit up and show him how much she liked it, but he held her in place. He’d been a perfect gentleman while they were talking. Now he was taking her to a different place, and he was clearly in control. “What do you want from me, Blake?”

  “Lie still.”

  Though every atom, every muscle in her body craved his touch, she forced herself to lie quietly while he unfastened the tiny buttons on her bodice. Under his touch, the dress loosened and opened, revealing her black lace bra.

  With seemingly little effort, he lifted her from the bed and settled her feet on the floor beside the bed.

  Her knees were shaky as she stood before him. Carefully, he pulled her arms from the sleeves and lifted the garment over her head. He tossed the emerald satin over the back of a chair and focused entirely on her.

  “This isn’t fair.” Her voice was breathless. “You’re still dressed.”

  “And you’re still beautiful.” He held her hands wide, the same way he’d done when she was wearing her gown. His blue eyes admired her in her black bra and matching panties. When he pulled her closer, her heart leaped inside her rib cage. She was breathing harder than if she’d run a mile.

  With an incredibly skillful touch, he caressed her shoulders and her waist. His hands rose to cup her breasts and flick at the taut nipples. Shivers of pure delight chased across her skin.

  Her arms clung to him. Her mouth pressed against his, demanding more kisses. Never in her life had she wanted a man so much. She ached with her need for him.

  Again, he took control, placing her on the bed. He loomed over her as he tore off his jacket, then his tie and his white shirt. His chest was broad and muscular with a mat of hair that begged to be touched. She noticed a long, jagged scar on his left shoulder. Gasping, she asked, “The scar. What happened?”

  “Battle.”

  Reaching down, he removed the holster clipped to his belt. A simple gesture but a reminder of the dangerous life he’d led. He was always prepared for armed conflict, even while they were going to bed. The man was a warrior. Not the type she’d ever expected to wind up with.

  His trousers fell from his hips, followed by his boxers. Magnificently naked, he joined her on the bed. Their bodies molded together. All restraint was gone.

  He threw one leg over her, and she bucked against him in passionate struggle. Her touch was greedy, kneading at his muscles and sliding down his torso until she grasped his sex. He reacted with a growl.

  He tore open her front-fastened bra and nuzzled at her breasts. His hand creased her belly and dipped lower, finding the edge of her panties. He reached inside. She was moist and ready for him.

  Desperate need pounded through her, consuming her practical logic and her fantasies, as well. She wanted him inside her, wanted him to be a part of her. Though she wasn’t thinking of condoms, she was glad when he slipped one on.

  Poised above her, he gazed into her eyes, making contact and sending a message. “Sarah,” he whispered. “All my life, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I can’t wait anymore,” she cried. “Take me.”

  “You’re mine.”

  With his knees, he nudged her legs apart and entered her. He paused halfway, and she writhed beneath him, wanting all of him. Inch by inch, he penetrated her fully.

  Her body wrapped around him, demanding and savoring every hard thrust. Fireworks were already exploding in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t stop. Nor did he. Arching over her, he pushed her to the peak of sensation. She poised at the verge. And then came the release.

  Shuddering from head to toe, she collapsed on the bed. His words echoed in her ears. He had been waiting for her all his life. And she was glad he’d found her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, Blake carried an armload of wood from the mudroom to the wood bin by the fireplace, mindfully handling the responsibility Sarah had given him. After last night, he wanted to do everything for her, from brushing her hair to washing the dishes. They’d made love three times, each better than the time before, and he couldn’t think of anything but her. How the hell was he going to leave her on Sunday? The simple answer: he wasn’t.

  There was another week before his next assignment and no reason why he couldn’t spend it with her. If he called in some favors, he could wrangle another few days on top of that. Even better than staying here would be if he could convince Sarah to come away with him, to take one of the vacations she’d dreamed about. He was ready to ask if he ever got a chance to talk to her alone. When he woke this morning, she was already out of the bed, and she hadn’t stopped running since then. Every time he got close, they were interrupted. It was almost as though she was avoiding him.

  Squatting at the fireplace, he fed another log into the blaze. Outside near the front porch, the senator and Skip were taking turns with the snowblower, clearing the entrance and parking lot. Last night, another four or five inches had accumulated.

  Alvardo and Maddox stood at the front window, looking out. Maddox had taken charge of the camera feeds and the screen was never far from his grasp. The Reuben twins patrolled the area, reporting to Maddox on walkie-talkies.

  Alvardo said, “The forecast is calling for ten to twelve more inches. Do you think we’ll be snowed in?”

  “Sarah has a contract with a local guy who has a snowplow on his truck,” Blake said. “He’ll try to keep the roads clear, but if the snow starts coming down heavy, we’ll be stuck. Is that a problem?”

  “Not as long as we can make our flight on Sunday morning. I can still use the computer with the landline modem, and I’ve vetted everybody who’s coming to the house today. That includes the cake baker, the caterer and his two helpers and, of course, the stripper.”

  “What’s her name again?” Maddox asked. His goofy grin made him look as eager as a teenager.

  “Honey Buxom,” Alvardo said. “A blonde belly dancer.”

  “I’m glad that’s taken care of,” Blake said without much enthusiasm. He wasn’t a huge fan of bachelor parties, especially not with the diverse group of people staying here.

  Alvardo leered. “If she’s anywhere as sexy in person as she sounded on the phone, we’re in for a treat.”

  “Did you go out for your run this morning?”

  He nodded. “Just a quick run. I’m on my way to the treadmill in the game room to get in the rest of my exercise.”

  The general descended the staircase and nodded to him. “Blake, come with me.”

  Together, they went down the hallway to Sarah’s office, where the general took the position of authority behind the desk. He didn’t waste words. “I want more information on Norman Franks, specifically on his gun shop.”

  “I spoke to Kovak this morning.” It irked Blake that his best telephone connection with the deputy had been through Sarah’s landline. His satellite phones utilized space-age technology, but the thick cloud cover and the snow made the old-fashioned system the most effective. “The firing range and gun shop—Frank’s Firearms—are a relatively small part of his business. Mostly, he’s a landlord who owns several low-rent buildings in east Denver.”

  “What about restaurants?” The general leaned back in the swivel desk chair. “Or import-export concerns?”

  “Kovak didn’t mention anything like that. The Denver detective called him an opportunist—a guy who finances other people and walks away with a chunk of the profit.”

  “That’s the sort of investigating I need—a local
cop, boots on the ground, poking around and asking questions about associates. We’ve already got the computer data. Alvardo did a detailed background search using classified information.”

  The general’s resources went far and deep. A classified source might mean Homeland Security or CIA. “And?”

  “Franks has a tie to the illegal gun trade in the Middle East. He’s not one of the bosses, not a kingpin.”

  “I didn’t have that impression of him,” Blake said. Cowardly weasel was a description that suited Franks just fine. “He was quick to back down when we took his hired thugs into custody. And he surrendered as soon as Jeremy and I had him surrounded.”

  “I don’t want to make too much of this.” The general stood. “I’m not like that hothead, Hank Layton, seeing conspiracy theories behind every shrub.”

  The two men had been doing a semi-believable job of getting along, even if it was only a show for Emily and her mother. “What are you saying, General?”

  “Franks isn’t our problem, but his bosses might be. He could be working for some high-powered gunrunners.”

  “Terrorists?” Blake hated the word and all it implied. In spite of the initial gunplay and the explosive device in the backpack, he’d been treating Franks as a fairly low-level threat. “If we’re dealing with international gunrunners, we should get the hell out of here before we get snowed in.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” the general growled. “Alvardo did the research and he’s good at his job. The connection to Franks is tenuous at best.”

  “What’s the worst-case scenario?” Blake asked.

  “I believe Franks has already fulfilled his purpose. He was sent to deliver a message.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m not safe. My family isn’t safe.”

  Blake’s thoughts went immediately to Sarah. If anything happened to her or to the B and B, he’d never forgive himself. “Have you received other such messages?”

  “All the time.” His voice was weary. “Ninety percent are all talk and no action.”

  That left a worrisome 10 percent.

  The general massaged the heavy creases on his forehead. “I trust Alvardo’s sources. He says we’re okay.”

  Blake didn’t feel comfortable about putting their safety in the hands of Alvardo—an obsessive, ambitious Pentagon officer working his way up the ladder. “The next time Kovak calls, I’ll ask about possible Middle East connections.”

  “You do that.” He swiveled around to face the desktop and turned on the computer. “I’ll see what I can find from this end. And if Senator Hank starts babbling about a pro-gun lobby tracking him down, just mention Area 51. That’ll distract him. Alien invasion trumps survivalists.”

  Maddox poked his head into the room. “Sir, there’s a vehicle approaching on the road. A white van.”

  “What else can you tell me?” Blake asked.

  “The sign on the side says Belle’s Bakery.”

  In the kitchen, Blake tracked down Sarah. She was working with two other women on a fried chicken lunch. When she saw him, her dark eyes glistened. It seemed to him that she was glowing, but she didn’t draw him aside into that handy little alcove beside the pantry for a quick kiss. Had he done something last night to tick her off?

  “This is the last meal I have to worry about,” she announced. “After lunch, these wonderful ladies are going home, and the caterers are responsible for feeding everybody.”

  “Great.” He reached toward her, but she moved away. “There’s a van coming up the—”

  “Wish I could stay for that catered dinner,” one of the ladies said. Her name, he remembered, was Carrie. “Crab cakes and that beef dish with mushrooms. Yum.”

  “The general picked the menu,” Sarah said.

  The other woman—a tiny creature with frizzy gray hair—fussed at the sink. “I need to get home and batten down the hatches. We’re in for a blizzard.”

  “They say it’s going to be worse than the blizzard in ’04. I couldn’t get out of my house for three days.”

  “At least the ski areas are happy.”

  Their chatter created a shield around Sarah, making it difficult for him to get closer until her handmaidens moved away. Was she trying to be hard to get? That wasn’t like her. She wasn’t someone who played games.

  A commotion at the back door drew her attention, and she flew to unlock the door.

  A bulky woman who must have been Belle the baker, because that was what it said on the back of her hot-pink parka, tromped in from the snow. Her van was parked as close to the door as possible. Though he offered to help, she and her helper did the unloading. They carried a flat board with a two-foot-high box centered on it. When they had it placed on a rear counter, Belle carefully lifted the cardboard to reveal a three-tier cake with red rose and lily decorations.

  While Sarah and the other two ladies made appropriate oohs and ahhs, Belle dug into the pocket of her parka and took out tiny figures of the bride and groom, which she placed on the top tier.

  “Wait until you taste,” Belle said. “It’s red velvet with cream custard filling, dark chocolate with peanut butter mousse and French vanilla with mint mocha.”

  “You’ve outdone yourself.” Sara turned to Blake and continued, “Belle is famous for the fancy cakes she makes for the celebs in Aspen.”

  “But I always save the best for the locals.” Instead of turning around and heading back to her truck, Belle unzipped her parka, strode up to him and gave him a long, hard look. “Are you the handsome groom I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Only the best man,” Blake said.

  “Ah, yes. Dolly at the Laughing Dog told me all about you. A great big army ranger, she said. Pretty blue eyes, she said. You and our Sarah are an item.”

  Blake didn’t have pretty blue eyes in the back of his head, but he could feel the other two women gesturing behind his back for Belle to keep quiet. Everybody in a small town knew everybody else’s business, and Sarah was a native daughter. They were all concerned about her, protecting her. From him?

  He’d had enough. If Sarah wanted to play games, he’d show her how it was done. He confronted Belle. “I guess you could say we’re an item.”

  Three smiles encouraged him. Carrie the cook said, “You look real cute together.”

  He focused directly on her. “I was thinking of inviting Sarah on a vacation, a trip to Puerto Vallarta.”

  “In Mexico?” Carrie clapped her hands together. “I love it. I’ll take care of the B and B.”

  “Hold on,” Sarah said. “There’s no need to make plans.”

  “You’d better take that offer.” Belle clapped Blake on the back. “Or I will.”

  “Can’t go to Mexico,” Sarah said. “Don’t have a passport.”

  He enjoyed watching her squirm. “If not Mexico, how about New Orleans?”

  “For Mardi Gras,” Carrie said. “Sarah, you have to go.”

  Through tight lips, she said, “Will you ladies excuse us?”

  She hooked her arm through his and dragged him into the mudroom. Here, away from the stove, it was colder. Through the windows, he saw the snow coming down more heavily. In spite of the senator’s efforts with the snowblower, the area between the garage and the house was piling up with fresh snowfall.

  Sarah closed the door to the kitchen. Through the glass window in the door, she could still see her friends watching with well-meaning interest.

  “We need more privacy.” She shoved open a painted door that opened onto a staircase going down. “This way.”

  With all his exploring and checking security, he’d been in the basement only twice, never through this access staircase. Plain concrete stretched from one end of the house to the other in the rough, unfinished basement. Directly in front of them was
a laundry, equipped with extra-large machines, tables for folding and bins for storing the sheets and towels. Other shelves held what looked like camping gear. There was a furnace, wires, pipes, two water heaters and a generator.

  He asked, “Do you always leave this door unlocked?”

  “Does it matter if the outside door is locked?”

  His conversation with the general about terrorists had heightened his awareness of the threat. “It might.”

  She braced her fists on her hips and looked up at him. “You can’t just spring a trip to Mexico on me.”

  “Come to think of it, I like the idea of New Orleans better. It’s going to be tough to get reservations for Mardi Gras, but I know a guy.”

  “Stop it,” she snapped. “I don’t want to go to New Orleans, either.”

  “I would have asked for your dream destination this morning, but you were already out of bed when I woke up.”

  “Is that what this is about? You’re mad because I got up early to make muffins.”

  “I wasn’t angry before, but I’m getting there.” He squared off to confront her. “Here’s the deal, princess. I don’t like playing games.”

  “Neither do I,” she said.

  “Why are you avoiding me?”

  “I’m not.”

  But she was, and she knew it. If he walked into a room, she went out the other side. She kept other people standing between them like sentries. “Tell me the truth.”

  Her dark eyes blazed. “The first person I saw this morning was Emily, who wanted details, details, details. You know what? I didn’t feel like sharing. Last night belongs to me and to you. Nobody else needs to know what happened. Everybody gets in my face about dating and getting married and it’s my business. My private business.”

  “And mine.”

  “And you’re right. I have been avoiding you, running away and hiding and putting off this moment.” Her fingers laced together in a knot. “I might pretend to be a princess, but that’s not me. I’m realistic. Last night was magic. But it wasn’t a promise or an obligation. It’s over. You’ll go your way, and I’ll stay right here.”