by Peggy Webb
o0o
Hannah leaned over the boat railing and watched as the graceful humpback exploded from the bay, spreading its flippers for a splashdown. Bopeep was back, she thought. She recognized him by the pattern of white on his underside and by the left flipper that was shaped somewhat like the crook of a shepherd’s staff. She made rapid notations in her record book. Bopeep had not been sighted in these waters in two years. She’d feared that he had fallen prey to the whale poachers.
Suddenly the haunting song of the humpback echoed from out of the deep. Goose bumps rose on Hannah’s arms, and she quickly swung her gaze to her recorder, double-checking that it would be capturing the rare and beautiful music of the whale. Leaning farther over the railing, she listened. The song became fainter as Bopeep sounded. Eventually it ceased altogether, for the whale either had gone too deep to be heard or had stopped singing.
Hannah glanced at her watch. Six P.M. She’d meant to leave her vigil at six and head north toward the small building that housed the North Pacific Institute of Oceanographic Research, but she decided that further sightings of Bopeep were more important than catching up on the paperwork that awaited her at the institute.
She stayed out four more hours, taking advantage of the summer light that made night nearly indistinguishable from day. Then, drawing her wool parka close to combat the chill, she turned her boat toward shore.
The minute she caught sight of her cabin she knew something was wrong. But in the misty evening light, everything looked the same—the heavy log door was shut, the tiny white maiden flowers along the path were untrampled, the dogs were quiet in the kennels. When Pete rose from the front porch to greet her, she dismissed her suspicions as foolish. She’d done lots of foolish things since her sister’s wedding in Greenville, she thought as she patted her dog’s head, and she’d placed the blame squarely on Jim Roman.
Hannah pushed open her cabin door, and there he was, the West Coast Warrior, tipped back in one of her cane-bottom chairs, looking as if he owned the whole place. His typewriter was set up on her wooden table, his duffel bag was on the floor, and his coat was tossed over the coat rack.
She stood in the doorway, transfixed. A part of her wanted him to be a figment of her imagination, and a part of her wanted to rush forward and throw herself into his arms.
“Hello, Hannah.” His smile was just as devilish as she had remembered, and every bit as devastating.
“How did you get in?”
“I’m an expert at getting into places that would keep me out.”
“How did you get past my dogs?” She tried to look as severe as possible and hoped he didn’t see her hands trembling.
“I charmed them.”
“You’re trespassing.
Jim rose from the chair and came toward her. “Where are your southern manners, Hannah? Is that any way to treat a guest in your home?”
“Don’t you come a step closer.”
He never slowed his pace. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll kiss you or afraid I won’t?”
“Why, you arrogant jackass.”
“Still the same old Hannah.” He chuckled. “How reassuring to know that some things never change.” He lifted her face with his finger. “Aren’t you even going to say hello?”
The exhilaration she’d felt at sighting Bopeep was nothing compared to the gale of excitement that swept over her now. All the old doubts she’d felt in Greenville began to come back. Or had they ever left in the first place?
She studied the familiar face that had haunted her dreams for six weeks.
“Why are you here?”
Instead of answering, he traced her face with one finger as if he were trying to make himself believe that she was real.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Not to play games.”
His hands lingered over her lips, circling slowly, while her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. When the questing hand moved on to her cheek, she took a deep, shaky breath.
“Why did you come all the way to Glacier Bay, Jim?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and moved back to the chair by the fireplace. “I’m on assignment. I’m going to write a series of stories on your work here.”
“Surely not for America’s Elite.”
“No. You and I don’t fall into that category, do we, Hannah?”
“Hardly.” Now that he was safely on the other side of the room, she felt that she could move. She peeled off her parka and began to putter around in the small cooking alcove. It would be best to look his way as little as possible.
“What category would you say we fall into? Lovers?”
She felt as if somebody had socked her in the stomach. Jerking her head around, she stared at him, then she wished she hadn’t. He looked too cocky, too handsome, and altogether too desirable.
“We didn’t . . .”
“No, we didn’t, but we will.”
“I thought you said you didn’t come to play games.”
He tried to look contrite and failed. “I didn’t. This trip is strictly business. I’m here to do a series for Untamed America.”
“I always welcome a story on our work at the institute. The more people who know the plight of the whales, the better.” She held a shaker over the halibut she planned to have for dinner, then realized she’d already coated it with herbs. “My only regret is that John Searles didn’t send another writer.”
“You like variety, do you, Hannah?”
“Yes.” She was going to learn a lot about the art of lying while Jim was there, she thought as she slammed her dinner into the oven and leaned against the counter. “But since you’re here, we’ll make the best of it. You can stay here for the night. Tomorrow I’ll try to arrange other accommodations for you. There’s a lovely lodge in Bartlett Cove.”
“The present arrangement is to my liking.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” When she didn’t answer, he asked again, softer, “Why not, Hannah?”
“Because . . . I don’t like distractions in my work.”
“Then I can stay in Bartlett Cove.”
He’d agreed with her much too easily, she decided. Somehow that didn’t reassure her. Furthermore, when he reached into his pocket and casually pulled out his pipe, he reminded her of a lion—a hungry lion. Even his smile was predatory.
“However,” he continued, taking a slow drag on his pipe, “it will slow your work down considerably, waiting for me to make that long, bumpy ride and that incredible mountain-goat trek back to your cabin every day. I can hardly report on your work without seeing it firsthand. No” —he paused, taking a long drag on his pipe— “I think it will be best if I stay here.”
Unconsciously Hannah glanced up toward her sleeping loft. Across the room Jim chuckled. “Worried, wildcat?”
She tossed her head. “Not in the least. I’ve handled everything from a maverick wolverine to a rampaging bull moose. I can certainly handle you.”
Jim roared with laughter. “I would have been disappointed if you’d said otherwise.” When his laughter ceased, he grew very still. “I’ve missed you, Hannah,” he said quietly. “Lord knows I tried not to, but I missed you anyway.”
“And I’ve missed you. . .” Hannah was spellbound by his eyes.
Don’t look at me like that, she thought.
The delicious aroma of baking halibut and the heat of Jim’s passion filled the cabin. She didn’t know what she would have done if her quirky sense of humor hadn’t saved her. Suddenly she thought of herself, seated in a fancy restaurant, smelling halibut and getting hot for Jim. She’d have Pavlov’s salivating dog beat by a mile.
She shook herself out of her reverie and finished what she’d started to say. “But not enough to make a fool of myself.” She turned her attention to the baking fish. “Do make yourself at home. There’s no reason in the world why we can’t each go about our usual business for the duration of this assignment.”
“
None whatsoever.”
Jim tamped out his pipe and moved across the room, driven by his need to be near Hannah. When he reached the small cooking alcove, he moved in and leaned over her shoulder, close enough to inhale her fragrance. She smelled like wind and sunshine.
“Is that fish I smell?” He took a deep breath, pretending to be sniffing the dinner, and a silky strand of her hair brushed against his cheek. He felt as if he’d been branded. “I thought you didn’t cook, Hannah.”
“Halibut is my one and only specialty. One can hardly survive without—” She went very still as his hands cupped her shoulders. Slowly he turned her in his arms.
“One can hardly survive without touching you, Hannah.” His hands caressed her shoulders and moved up the back of her neck. Tiny sparks lit the center of his eyes as he watched her sable hair drift through his fingers. “Do you know that I spent two hours one day thinking of the way your hair felt against my skin?” He twirled a long lock around his finger. “It was one of my better days.”
“Why are you here, Jim?”
“Don’t you know?”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Jim felt as if he were gazing into the sun. “Yes, I know.”
“I’m here because I couldn’t stay away.”
Hannah reached up and gently traced the scar on his forehead. “How shall we start this time, Jim?”
Now that he was there, he’d be damned if he knew. He’d tracked her all the way to the Alaskan wilds with no other thought than to hold her in his arms one more time and purge her from his system. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that. He wanted her as he’d wanted no other woman. And that very obsession scared the hell out of him.
“Why don’t we start with a kiss, Hannah, and then we’ll go on to the halibut?”
Hannah laughed, and as she did, she felt the tension ease out of her. She’d survived one invasion by the West Coast Warrior. There was no reason she couldn’t survive two.
“Are you asking this time, Jim?”
“Yes. You once told me you like to be asked.”
“Only if it’s the right man who’s doing the asking.”
“Am I the right man?”
Her lips told him what he wanted to know. They spoke the same wild and hungry language as his own.
She tasted of the sea and of wildflowers. And as he kissed her, he knew he would never get enough. She was both satin and steel. Her slim, athletic body was softened by enticing curves and inviting hollows. In six weeks time he’d forgotten how a woman’s body could make him lose his mind. Hannah, his mind whispered, Only Hannah.
She melted into him, pressed so close that she wasn’t sure whether the hammering against her chest was Jim’s heart or her own. And she didn’t care. She was in Jim’s arms and that’s all that mattered at the moment. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.
He lifted his mouth from hers, and she felt deprived. “It’s been so long, Hannah.”
“Too long,” she said softly.
His lips brushed across hers, then wandered down her throat until they were pressed in the hollow where her pulse beat like the wings of a frightened bird.
“I’m so hungry.” His tongue did magic things to her throat. “So hungry,” he murmured as his mouth moved lower.
“The halibut . . .”
“Can wait.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jim had his hands on the buttons of her shirt before he came to his senses. Taking Hannah now would not be release: It would be bondage. It would also be foolish. Nothing had changed between them. There in her sparsely furnished, primitive, functional cabin, he was more aware than ever that Dr. Hannah Donovan was a dedicated professional. He wanted more. He wanted a soft, yielding woman who would be completely his, one who would be content to remain at his side, always. He wanted a woman whose mind was on children not whales. He wanted a woman he could take care of in the manner in which Brick Roman should have cared for the woman he’d married.
Pulling back, he crammed his hands into his pockets. “That was a nice appetizer. Now I’m ready for the main course.”
“The main course?”
He crooked one eyebrow upward. “Halibut—unless you have something else in mind.”
She put her hands on her hips, her face alight with challenge. “What I have in mind is taking my gun to you, Jim Roman, and sending you back to San Francisco, where you belong.”
Brava, Hannah, he thought. He loved her fiery spirit.
“You’re right. I do belong there—just as you belong here.” He turned toward her cabinets and began to rummage. “Where do you keep the dishes? I’ll set the table.”
“On your right, above the sink.” She opened the oven and took out the halibut. “Let’s get a few things straight: I won’t cook for you, I won’t pick up after you, I won’t change my schedule for you, and most of all, I won’t kiss you. I rise early and work late. If you want a story, you’ll have to keep pace with me.” She slammed the halibut on the table with the outraged vigor of a woman in charge.
“Do you do laundry?”
“I certainly do not.
“I didn’t think so, but then a woman of your talents doesn’t have to do laundry.” Feeling only a small twinge of guilt at the way he was protecting both of them from their attraction to each other, he chuckled as she rose to the bait.
“And that’s another thing. I won’t share my talents, as you so shamelessly call them, with you.”
“It takes two to kiss, wildcat.”
“I made one mistake—long ago. I won’t repeat it.”
He was stunned at the black jealousy that ripped his gut. At that moment he hated Rai Ghayami as intensely as he’d ever hated any man. The dishes clattered to the table as he strode over and cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “No man stands between me and what I want, Hannah. No man.”
“And what it is you want, West Coast Warrior?” The fire in her eyes challenged him.
At that moment even he didn’t know. He conceded the victory to Hannah. “Dinner. Then bed.”
“I’ll share my dinner, but I won’t share my bed.”
“It’s inevitable, Hannah.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks before he let her go.
“Never.”
Seeing the indomitable Hannah in her glorious moment of triumph made the trip from San Francisco worthwhile. She’d generated more excitement in half an hour than all the silly, artificial women he’d dated in the last six weeks.
Finally he knew why he’d come to Glacier Bay: He was addicted to Hannah Donovan. How he could ever reconcile that to his addiction to the big city and to his search for a dream woman, he didn’t know.
“Fish is getting cold,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
“Eating on an angry stomach is bad for the digestion.”
“Shall we kiss and make up?”
“You blackguard.” Hannah could tell by the way he was grinning that he was no longer serious. Their skirmish was over, and she’d won. “Don’t you ever behave?”
“Rarely.”
“How well I know.”
They sat down to the halibut and a salad Hannah pulled from the refrigerator. Jim silently applauded as Hannah made the transition from enraged female to perfect hostess.
“Jim, how long do you expect this story to take?”
“A few days.”
“I want the story to be great.”
“So do I.”
“Then shall we put our personal feelings aside— for the good of the institute and the good of your story?”
Could he? Could he concentrate on anything except the magnificent woman sitting across the table? He had to; he knew that. For both their sakes.
He smiled. “You strike a hard bargain, lady, but you’re on.”
o0o
After dinner Hannah began to prepare immediately for bed. In order to make the most of her day, she got up early, she’d explained to Jim. That meant early to bed.
He listened
to the sounds of her in the shower. There was hardly any way he could do otherwise, since the cabin was so small. The sound of the water tightened his already jangling nerves. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Hannah, her trim body gleaming with moisture and slick with soap. To combat his own increasing passion, he unpacked his faithful Remington, rolled paper into the machine, and began to type.
The tapping of the typewriter keys soothed him, as it always did. The pleasure of seeing his thoughts transform a blank sheet of paper into something akin to a manuscript filled him with joy. He pitied the poor fools who had been wooed away by that electronic, whirring monster—the word processor. Let them get eyestrain from looking at the phosphorescent screen. He’d stick to the old ways.
When Hannah came out of the bathroom, his fingers went still and his thoughts scattered like frightened mice. Her hair was wet, slicked back, as black and shiny as the pelt of a seal. There was not a trace of makeup on her face, but she was still as vivid as a poppy. Standing almost shyly in the bathroom doorway, wearing a red terry-cloth robe, she was the most magnificently gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.
He cleared away the sudden frog in his throat. “Finished already? Judging from your bathing habits in Greenville, I expected you to be in there at least an hour.”
“You can’t take a bubble bath in a shower.” She moved across the room with that grace that had captured his imagination—if not his heart—in Greenville. When she leaned over his shoulder, he caught a whiff of her. She smelled like flower-scented soap and herbal shampoo—a heady combination.
“What are you working on?”
“A little background for the story. Will the typing bother you?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I find the sound soothing, like rain against the roof.”
“Good. I’ll work awhile, then.”
“Well . . . good night, Jim.”
“Good night, Hannah.”
Although he turned back to his typing, he was aware of every movement she made as she prepared for bed. When her robe hit the loft floor with a soft plunk, desire punched him in the gut. The squeaking of her bedsprings almost did him in. He nearly bolted from the cabin. Sleddog had told him there were bears in the woods, but at the moment he’d rather face a grizzly than face a night sleeping in the same room with Hannah Donovan.
