Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Hang on,” Grant shouted.

  Still they spun, until Delaney couldn’t tell which direction they faced or if they were even on the road. A blur of lights flashed past as another car spun around and barely missed them. Grant’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he fought against the momentum of the spiral. On they flew, until the thunder of hard-packed snow crunched against the metal of the car as they plowed into the ditch. Scraping, metal crushing, followed by a bang, and at last, the car came to an abrupt and total stop. Her body flew forward, the seatbelt jerking her back and kicking the breath from her lungs.

  How many seconds had passed? Ten? Ten thousand? Dazed, she looked over at Grant. His face was as white as the winter sky outside.

  He looked back and reached over to clasp her arm. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded. “I think so. Are you OK?”

  “I think so.”

  Their rapid breathing hung like fog in the car. Delaney looked past him, out his window, to see that they had stopped ten or twelve feet away from the side of the freeway, but it felt as if they could have spun around for miles. Her own window was nearly covered in snow because they’d plowed into a drift. The engine had cut when they collided. Taking a breath, Grant turned the key with an unsteady hand. The engine sputtered, but unbelievably, turned over and revved up.

  “Do you seriously think you can drive us out of here?” She pointed at the snow out her window.

  “No, but I’d like to know if we can keep the car warm until somebody rescues us.”

  He felt around on the floor until he found his phone. She watched him dial 9-1-1 and press the speaker button.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  “We just spun off the road on Interstate 94, just past the Portage exit. We’re on the side of the road, not the median, and we’re in a yellow Volkswagen.”

  “Is anyone in the car injured?”

  “No, we’re both fine, but there’s structural damage to the car and no way we’re driving out of this. We’re definitely stuck. We have about half a tank of gas.”

  “All right. What’s your name, sir?”

  “Grant Connelly. My passenger is Elaine Masters.”

  She flinched as he lied to the dispatcher. If they were rescued by the police, she was going to have to give them her real name. This alias thing was tricky. It was most certainly a crime to give a false name to law enforcement, but in the scheme of crimes committed, swiping a backpack full of money was worse. Hopefully the police graded on a bell curve.

  “All right, Grant,” said the dispatcher, “I’ll notify the sheriff’s office. We’ve had lots of accidents this evening and they’ll get to you just as soon as they can. In the meantime—” Her voice disappeared.

  Grant looked at his phone. “Shit. We lost the signal.” He looked around as if trying to get his bearings. “Do you have anything in the trunk? Like flares or blankets or anything.”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Sorry.”

  “No, I should have thought of that myself. It was stupid to head out in this weather with no supplies. You’d think a survival guy would know that, huh?”

  He turned off the engine, then pressed the silver handle, pushing his shoulder against the door.

  “Now what are you doing?”

  “I need to make sure there isn’t snow plugging up the tailpipe. I’ve already tried to kill us once today. I’d rather not poison us with car exhaust.”

  Cold wind and snow rushed in as he climbed out and shut the door. He was back in minutes, but was already covered in white as he settled back in behind the steering wheel.

  “It’s really coming down out there. We’ll be damn lucky if they see us. I can’t get the trunk open to get our overnight bags. What color bra are you wearing?”

  “Excuse me?” This hardly seemed the time.

  “I want to tie something bright to the car antenna to help the police spot us. Something dark might work too, but I thought you might be wearing one of those neon-colored bras you like to hang all over my bathroom.”

  “I don’t hang . . .” Yes, she did, but they weren’t neon. Neon would be tacky. “They’re not neon. They’re just . . . whimsical.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m always thinking when they fall all over the floor. What a whimsical C cup that is.”

  She was a B cup, but no woman in her right mind ever told a man her breasts were smaller than he thought they were.

  “I don’t remember which bra I’m wearing,” she said, but she unzipped her coat and tried to reach inside the neck of her sweater to see the strap. The seatbelt hampered her actions and she reached down impatiently to unlatch it, her chest aching in the process. That had been a hard hit. Finally she’d wriggled around enough to hook her thumb in the strap and pull it up so he could see.

  “What color is it?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s the red one. I like that one. Take it off.”

  “Are you kidding me? You think I’m going to take my bra off?”

  “I’m not kidding. It’s getting darker by the minute and the sooner we get something bright on the antenna, the better chance we have of somebody figuring out we need help. I have no idea when the police are going to show up and it’s cold as hell.”

  Take your bra off. Was he joking? But Grant’s face was serious, even as he said, “It’s either your bra or my plaid boxers. What’s it going to be?”

  “I’d like to see you try to take your boxers off inside this clown car,” she said as she unzipped her coat the rest of the way.

  “Under any other circumstances, I would be most happy to oblige you.” His eyes darkened as she reached up inside her sweater.

  “Could you turn around, please?” she asked.

  “We could die in this car. Are you going to begrudge a dying man the chance to see your breasts?”

  She stopped moving. “Could we really?”

  He shook his head. “No, of course not. I’d never let that happen. But if I say, ‘yes, we could,’ would you show me your breasts?”

  “Do you really think this is the time for this?”

  “I’m just trying to keep warm.”

  “Turn around.” Her voice was stern, but his teasing had warmed her up a little too. He finally complied and within seconds she had shimmied out of her bra and back into her coat. She reached over and tickled his ear with the strap and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath as he caught it with his fingertips.

  “Yes, I definitely like this one. Be back in a minute.” With a quick smile in her direction, he was out of the car again. It was already several degrees colder, and the light was just beginning to fade. What if they did die out here? Did that really happen to people? They were on Interstate 94. Surely the police or some motorist would spot them soon.

  It seemed like forever before he was back in the car. It might have been one minute, it might have been ten. Her brain was as frozen as her breath in the air, but at last he tugged open the door and climbed back in. He was twice as snowy as before. His pant legs were coated with it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Awesome. It’s colder than the fucking South Pole out there. And I’ve been to the South Pole.” He rubbed his hands rapidly up and down his arms, then tried to brush off the snow. Delaney reached over and helped him, bumping her head against his in the process.

  “It’s OK. I’ve got it,” he said. He turned the key. The car moaned and choked before the engine finally turned over. “We’ve got about ten minutes to heat up the car and then we have to turn it back off. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Chapter 11

  TEN MINUTES TURNED INTO THIRTY, and the temperature inside the car plummeted. It was beyond frigid. It was whatever temperature came right after ice age and just before the end of days. Delaney couldn’t stop shivering
. She was like one of those creepy little wind-up monkeys that clashed brass cymbals together and clicked their teeth.

  “I don’t suppose you could knit us a blanket, could you?” Grant tried to tease, but mostly he sounded frozen.

  “I don’t think so. My fingers are numb.” She’d retrieved the yarn and needles from where they’d flown to the floor and stuffed everything into a bag that now sat uselessly in the backseat.

  “OK, in that case, I’m totally not making a pass at you, but we need to share some heat. Tilt your seat back as far as it will go.”

  She didn’t care if he was making a pass. Whatever it took to get warm. She pulled the metal bar under her seat and it creaked backward until it hit the backseat cushion. She looked at him for further instructions. Her brain was too frozen to formulate a question.

  “Good. Now unzip your coat.”

  What? That her brain needed clarification on. “Unzip? Why would I unzip it?”

  “Because we’re going to combine body heat and that will work better if we’re . . . sweater to sweater instead of coat to coat. Just trust me.” He unzipped his own coat.

  She didn’t have much choice but to trust him. She unzipped her coat and leaned back. Grant moved his right leg around the stick shift and pushed off from his seat. He got stuck for a minute, his hip caught up against the steering wheel. Then it popped free, and he landed on Delaney with a thud. The air burst from her lungs and the seat belt bruise ached again. She gasped loudly.

  “Oh! Sorry,” he said. “That could’ve gone better. Are you OK?”

  She nodded and drew in a deep breath as he lifted his chest up off of hers. Their legs were tangled, and he moved so that one of his was between hers and the door, as if he was trying to completely cocoon her in the shell of his making, which would be nice if it wasn’t so completely and utterly awkward.

  “Put your arms around me, inside my coat. I know this is a little . . . personal, but trust me, we’re going to be a lot warmer this way.”

  She believed him. She felt every inch of her skin heating up, some spots more than others, as he settled himself on top of her like a big blanket of Grant. She slid her arms up under his coat and around his waist, lacing her fingers together.

  “I’m sorry if I’m heavy, but you’ll be warmer underneath me.”

  He adjusted his legs again, settling in against her. He was heavy, but it felt good. Not just because he was warm but because she felt safe, for the moment, and if she could feel safe under these circumstances, well, that was saying something.

  Grant’s face was inches from hers. There was no avoiding eye contact.

  It was as if he was about to kiss her. And she wanted him to kiss her. It wasn’t just because he was all pressed up against her business. She’d wanted to kiss him for days. It was partly why she’d been so ready to leave Bell Harbor. Her attraction to him was a problem she didn’t have the emotional strength to overcome.

  His smile turned sheepish and at last he rested his head against the crook of her neck and sighed. His breath was wonderfully warm against her skin. It was all so unavoidably intimate.

  “So . . .” he said about fifteen seconds later. “What do you want to talk about?”

  She giggled at that, but the sound held a hint of hysteria. She could feel the edges of it tapping at her mind. She’d just wanted a little peace and quiet, a little privacy. She hadn’t meant to end up here, but oh, what irony would it be if her ultimate fate was death by cameraman?

  “How about if we don’t talk at all?” she said.

  “Oh, I need to talk. I need us to talk about something completely unsexy. Like the most unsexy thing imaginable.” He lifted his head and his hazel-green eyes met hers. His voice was terse and stretched thin.

  “Why do you need—? Ohh . . .” Delaney caught his meaning. Poor man. Poor testosterone-driven man with no control over the blood flow inside his own body. Now her laughter was prompted from genuine humor.

  He let out a puff of icy breath. “God, don’t do that. Don’t laugh. When you laugh your whole body wiggles and that’ll make it even worse.”

  Delaney laughed harder, making Grant harder too.

  “Seriously. Have some mercy here, woman.” He pressed his face into her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not doing this on purpose.”

  “Yeah, OK, well, just try to remember that my dick isn’t doing this on purpose either. I don’t want you to think I’m some defiler of damsels in distress. I’m not trying to take advantage here.”

  She could feel his arousal, deliberate or otherwise, pressed against her thigh. Maybe she should feel worried or offended, but mostly she just felt amused. And maybe a little turned on. OK, probably a lot turned on. It all felt quite delicious, really. What a way to die.

  “I don’t think you’re trying to take advantage.”

  “Good, but for what it’s worth, I may as well admit that even if we were not in this life-or-death predicament, I’d still want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first moment you walked into my shower.”

  A rush of warmth burst through her. “Then why haven’t you?”

  “Quite frankly, you haven’t been very approachable, and because I can’t shake the feeling you have a jealous husband or possessive boyfriend out there who might like to show me the business end of his shotgun.”

  “I don’t. There is no jealous gunslinger from anywhere in my past.”

  He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes intense. This body heat swap was delightful.

  “So you’re telling me you really are just traveling around with a bag full of money and it’s got nothing to do with a man?”

  Technically it had everything to do with a man. Boyd Hampton. But he wasn’t a jealous ex in any sense of the word, and that’s what Grant was asking. Add that to the list of half-truths she’d told.

  “There’s no man.”

  Grant’s smirk was relieved and mischievous. “A woman, then?”

  Delaney chuckled. “Nope. Sorry, no girl-on-girl action for you to fantasize about either.”

  “Oh, God. Now why would you go and say something like that?” He pressed his hips against her to emphasize his body’s reaction. “It’s thirty-five degrees below zero in here but somehow I’m sweating.”

  He wasn’t sweating but he certainly was hot, and his hard-on was demanding some attention. “You really have no control over that thing, do you?” she asked.

  “I have control over what I do with it, but I can’t, you know, make it go back to sleep once it’s wide awake. So I suggest we start that unsexy talk now. Tell me about making soap. Or better yet, let’s talk about grandmas or food-borne illnesses. Let’s talk dysentery.”

  Delaney burst out laughing again, her body trembling in good humor. He groaned into her ear, nuzzling his head against the curve of her shoulder. “You’re killing me.”

  God, he felt good, and so warm. She splayed her hands over his back and moved one of her legs. She was trying to get more comfortable but heard his breath hitch in his throat.

  She gasped at the even more intimate contact. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s OK. It’s just . . .” He lifted his face from her shoulder. It was nearly dark outside, with everything cast in shadows of muted gray, but his eyes were still green. His breath was shallow and warm, soft against her cheek.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered.

  It wasn’t a question, or even a demand. Simply a declaration that now was the time. She’d known for days that things were leading to this, and so had he. It was as unavoidable as this accident had been, and now it was her taking the wheel. Or maybe it was her letting go of it.

  Her left hand slid from his back to reach up between them and touch his jaw, tracing a line over his cheek before cupping the back of his neck. Just the slightest tilt of her head, the softest pressure from
her fingers, and then he was kissing her. The full weight of his body pressed down and she welcomed it, pulling him closer and twining one leg around his. His lips moved over hers, their tongues teased and tangled, and their breaths grew fast. His mouth was warm and tasted like mint and heaven. She hadn’t been kissed in a while, a long while, but nowhere in her memory had she ever been kissed like this. She was lost in it. In him.

  He kissed down the column of her neck, nudging her scarf down with his chin.

  “God, Elaine,” he murmured against her skin.

  “Lane,” she whispered. “Just Lane.” It was a small thing, but it felt important to her in that moment, that little bit of honesty in the puddle of lies. She wanted him to know her, the real her. Not the brand of Delaney Masterson, or the ruse of Elaine Masters, but just . . . her. The essence of her that was true.

  He raised his head and gazed down at her. “OK. Lane. You are a beautiful woman, you know that?”

  She smiled back, and believed it for a moment.

  “And you’re a very handsome man. I didn’t realize that when I first saw you.”

  “Really? Because it seemed like you got a pretty good look at me while I was in the shower.”

  Delaney felt the heat stealing over her cheeks. She had gotten a pretty good look, but judging from the bulk pressing against her thigh right now, she’d actually underestimated him. “You ruined my book.”

  “That book is fine. It just needed to dry.”

  “It’s still ruined. I can’t read it now. Every time I open it I keep wondering which pages were pressed up against your . . . you know.”

  Grant’s laughter was full of teasing. “Can’t you even say it? Pressed up against my what?”

  The blush turned scorching. “Oh, you know. Your . . . penis.” She whispered the last word and glanced away, sending him into a fit of laughter.

  “Wow, you really are a Girl Scout. How did you get to be twenty-five years old and still be so innocent?”