Outside the dance, he’d helped her onto a bench, had turned away while she slid off her hose, and had wiped the blood from her knees with a tissue he found in her bag. Even then, he was caring for injured creatures.
When he’d stripped earlier, she’d been knocked off her feet by a wave of lust. All thoughts of who he was, their history, had been churned up, like sand in seafoam. Now, the memories of Nick merged with the reality of who he was now. A man she found attractive. An available man, who at one time had found her attractive too.
She poured the last of the wine into her glass and drained it. Nick wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t judge her, and it had been so long since she’d had a man’s arms around her…what happened in a snowstorm, stayed in a snowstorm, didn’t it?
*****
So, that happened.
He’d made a complete idiot of himself with Summer. Had confessed a teenage crush, which still seemed to be very much alive, if his body’s reaction to her was anything to go by. Talking to her—hearing her reminisce about that vacation in Kerry, had re-awoken sensations long buried. He remembered it all in vivid Technicolor. Summer in her white bikini, wriggling into the wetsuit, and him holding the board in front to hide the evidence that merely the sight of her gave him an erection.
The look in her eyes when he picked her up from the churning surf. Grateful for a moment, and then horrified as the others laughed. She’d brushed his hands away and loudly shouted, “Get off me!” as though he was attacking her or something.
He’d been the embarrassed one then.
Declan had tried to say she was just being like that because she couldn’t bear to fail, but Nick felt a fool, being turned on like that. The incident hadn’t killed his feelings for Summer, but had made him cautious.
And by the time he built up the courage to try again, she belonged to someone else.
Since then he’d made a decision, conscious or not, to never let a woman tangle with his emotions.
Now he felt like he was back there…worse, that he was in deep water, in danger of getting dragged into the undertow.
Jesus, get a grip. Nothing had changed. She was still Declan’s sister. She had a life in London, a successful restaurant to go back to. And hearing that he’d had a crush back then had come as a total surprise. Don’t be weird. Just act natural. He snatched up Declan’s quilt and pillow and stomped downstairs.
She’d cleared away the dinner things by the time he walked back into the room, and was sitting at the table. “I thought we could play cards.” She held up a deck. “I guess we could watch TV, but I don’t want to leave the warmth.”
“I haven’t played cards for years,” he said. “And from what I remember, you’re a bit of a card shark. You used to fleece me and Declan.”
“Okay, you choose the game then.” Her mouth curved in a smile.
He eyed her carefully. “Poker’s your game, isn’t it?”
He had a distinct memory of her winning a trophy for a poker tournament while she was in college.
She held up her hands. “Busted. Yeah, I won a couple of years in a row.”
“In that case, I choose snap.”
She snorted. “Snap? Who plays snap? That’s a child’s game.”
“It’s a game we both have an equal chance of winning. Do you want to play for money? I have a few euros…”
“Euros.” Her lip curled. “Come on, we can do better than that.” She’d cleared away the wine as well, and had put two shot glasses and a bottle of whisky on the table. “Shots.” She poured a measure into his glass and then her own. “Every time you lose a game, you have to take a shot.”
He could drink most people under the table. “Okay, you’re on.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Or lose a piece of clothing.”
Nick felt his eyes widen. “You want to play strip snap? With snow outside?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I guess that’s a stupid idea. Let’s forget it.” She shuffled the cards, looking down rather than at him.
What messages was she sending? If it had been anyone else but Summer, he’d think there was some flirtation going on here. He tested the waters. “If you want to see me naked, you only have to ask.”
Her gaze shot up. “I almost did already.”
“Almost asked?”
“Almost saw you naked.” She cut the deck and started to deal. “Upstairs, earlier. I just thought we could make playing cards more fun.”
She was a study in awkward, although she was hiding it well. She picked at the end of her sleeve, tugging the wool down at her wrist. Tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. Rubbed the nape of her neck.
“I can think of nothing more fun than winning every hand and seeing you naked,” he said without the trace of a smile. “But I’m not about to risk hypothermia.” He picked up the pile of cards. “Let’s play.”
She won the first game, shouting snap and slamming her hand down on the cards so enthusiastically he laughed. “You really can’t bear to lose, can you?”
“What can I say, I have an over-developed sense of competition.” She gestured to the shot glass of whisky. “Drink.”
He swallowed the amber liquid in one swallow. “Let’s go again.”
The same thing happened for the next game. He drank another shot. “If we were playing for clothing, I guess I’d be down to my jeans and socks by now.”
“Wouldn’t you lose your socks first?” She tilted her head to the side.
Flirting.
“Socks would be the last thing to go. You’ve gotta keep your feet warm.” He leaned across the table and stared into her eyes. “I can’t help thinking you’re trying to get me drunk.”
“Why would I do that?” Her eyes sparkled. Her chin angled up. Definitely flirting.
“I don’t know. Maybe you find me irresistible, and want to lower my inhibitions.”
“That would make me a very calculating older woman.”
He picked her glass up and handed it over. “You should drink one too. So both of us lose our inhibitions at the same rate.”
She swallowed the shot and spluttered. “What could that lead to?”
What indeed? “We’re alone. Anything could happen—if you want it to.”
She sucked on her bottom lip, her mind definitely running over the possibilities. “This is crazy, you’re Declan’s best friend.”
“You think of me like a brother.” A knot formed in his stomach. He forced himself to consider the truth—that she didn’t want him, couldn’t get past the brothersfriendzone…
“No. I never thought of you like that.” She tossed a card down on the table. “I always thought you were sort of hot, but, you know…you were younger.”
“Age doesn’t matter.”
“Not now, but when you were seventeen it sure did.”
“You thought I was hot when I was seventeen?” He threw a card down on the table.
“I did. I admit it.” She threw a card down too, followed by her hand on top. “Snap.”
“I always thought you were gorgeous.”
Her eyes widened.
“I still do.”
She put down her cards, stood up, leaned over the table and kissed him square on the mouth.
*****
She tasted of whisky. The kiss was an impulsive thing, over in a moment. She pulled back and smiled as though it hadn’t been anything, hadn’t meant anything.
Forget that. “You call that a kiss?” He really shouldn’t take it further, but there was no way he could pretend it was nothing. He’d dreamed of kissing her for years. Really kissing her, not just the quick touch of closed mouths.
“This is how I’d kiss you.”
She didn’t move, didn’t look away. Her lips parted and awareness was in her eyes, awareness that maybe she’d poked a snake. Teased, without assessing the consequences.
He stood. Walked around the table. Slipped a hand behind her nape, and brought his mouth a millimeter away from hers. Her
pupils expanded. Her eyelids dipped, but she still watched him. He breathed in the scent of her—heady, arousing. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”
She stayed silent.
Nick teased her lips with his. Traced the seam of them with his tongue, then angled his head and poured all the long years of wanting into his kiss. He’d meant to make a point, to show she couldn’t just kiss him and sit back down as though nothing had happened. But the moment she opened her mouth and started to kiss him back, his ability to think clearly evaporated.
Her hands were on his chest, tugging his sweater, demanding he get closer.
He snaked his other hand around her narrow waist, kissing her as if there would be no tomorrow—would be no consequences of their actions. As if nothing in the world existed but the two of them and this moment. Their mouths parted for a split second, then she moaned and started to kiss him again—as though she was just as intoxicated and mesmerized by the taste of him as he was of her.
Intoxicated. Shit. Intoxicated. He pulled away. Just how much of that wine had she drunk?
Her eyes flickered open. “Nick?” Her cheeks were rosy, and the fevered light in them could be desire, or could be something else, could be alcohol induced.
“Not like this.” His hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back.
And then the lights went out.
Chapter Seven
Summer could see Nick’s outline, but nothing more. She swayed, trying to make sense of what had occurred in the last few moments. She’d been touched by his words—flattered with the idea that he thought she was gorgeous, especially as she’d looked like the creature from the black lagoon when he arrived.
A shadow of the boy he’d been was in his eyes—the boy who hadn’t laughed like the others, but had run his hands down her arms when he picked her up from the sand. Disturbed by his touch, thrown off-kilter by the warmth in his eyes, she’d overreacted.
She hadn’t owned it, but she couldn’t forget how she’d pushed him away and diverted attention from her humiliation. For a mad moment, she’d been thrust back to that time. She’d kissed him, not just because of his words, but because she remembered what a bitch she’d been back then.
An apology, of sorts, but he’d sure turned that on its head. The moment he touched her, electricity zinged through her, silencing her voice and frying her synapses. And that kiss…her bones melted at the memory of it. The taste of him was still in her mouth. Her fingers itched to touch him again. But he’d pulled away just before the lights went out…
“We need a torch. Or candles.” He was back to being Mr. Organized, while she stood, still stunned by the effect of his kiss. “Summer. Focus.”
She shimmied her head. “There’s a torch under the sink, and candles on the dresser.” With her hands out in front of her she shuffled forward until she found the edge of the table. “I’ll get the candles.”
She fumbled to the dresser, located the tea-lights in candleholders that always lived there, and sent silent thanks to her absent mother for being so organized that a box of matches nestled next to them.
By the time she had them lit, a flashlight’s beam was playing across the room.
“It might be a fuse.” Nick jerked open the fridge. “No, the sockets are out as well. We have no power.”
Outages were common whenever there was a storm, so she was inclined to agree. “Damn, they’re not likely to fix it quickly with the snow…” Her mind raced. “The heating system won’t work, or the pump for the water.”
She carried two candles to the table.
“You should go up and fill the bath,” Nick said. “I’ll build up the wood burning stove, and bring in some more wood.”
“I saw water bottles in the storeroom earlier.” There were bound to be more candles in there too. She picked up the candle from the table and went to look. As she filled them at the sink, Nick trekked out to the woodshed with the wheelbarrow.
The blast of air from the open door was frigid so she closed it behind him. The house was warm now, but wouldn’t remain so for long.
The dog whined. “Calm down, Fella.” She dropped another couple of tea-lights into jam jars that she’d found in the storeroom and lit them. “Everything will look better in the morning.”
*****
He’d done the best he could for tonight. They had water, and the wood stove was fully fuelled.
Summer had headed up to bed a couple of hours ago. She’d been quiet since the lights went out. Unusually quiet. Probably regretting the foolish impulse that had made her kiss him. He should have just let it be, but impulse control where Summer was concerned was a problem. He remembered the look in her eyes, the dawning awareness. When he’d kissed her, for a moment she hadn’t responded.
But then she’d kissed him back with such passion all his misgivings had disappeared in an instant.
He was no monk. There were some fine looking women in Brookbridge—many of whom he’d dated at some time or another. But he’d never been aroused as quickly as he had with Summer. Maybe it was because he’d spent so many years craving her.
He’d crawled onto the sofa fully dressed under Declan’s duvet, and had spent the last while trying to get comfortable. The damn thing was too short—his feet hung over the ends. And a spring or two had broken in the middle, making it damn uncomfortable.
If he had to stay here for another night it would be in Declan’s bed.
Fella would have to deal with being alone. There was nothing wrong with being alone—Nick preferred his solitude, didn’t really like sharing space with anyone. But the thought of sharing a bed tonight with the woman upstairs was appealing.
If she wasn’t drunk.
Stop thinking about her. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
A couple of hours later he shot up in bed—heart pounding.
A long, mournful howl.
Fella. Nick clambered off the sofa and re-lit the candle. “It’s okay, Fella.”
The dog looked back at him, tilted his head to the side, then pointed his nose at the ceiling and howled again.
What the hell? There was no aggression in the dog’s body language, he sat in the basket rather than standing, and his hackles weren’t rising. “Shush.” A sound came from upstairs, a high-pitched, discordant sound.
He picked up the candle and walked to the bottom of the stairs. The sound was louder—more distinct. Was she… Was she singing?
An answering howl came from the kitchen.
Nick pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. Four-twenty. It was four-twenty in the goddamn morning and Summer and the dog were having a karaoke session. Jesus. He tramped up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door.
She lay in bed with eyes closed. Earbuds hung from her ears and she was singing at the top of her voice. He couldn’t fault her music choice—heck, everyone loves the Foo Fighters—but she was murdering The Best Of You.
She was wearing fleecy pajamas and a wooly hat, and had a blanket around her shoulders and the covers pulled up as high as possible around her chest. Her head tilted side to side, keeping pace with the music. Her hands rose from the coverlet, and her wrists rotated as she mimed the drum solo.
“Summer.”
She kept singing, and the tinny sound of music bled from the earbuds. There was no way she could hear him over that.
He knew the song well—she was only halfway through. He could walk over and tap her on the arm, which might cause a heart attack, or worse still, a scream…or he could wait until she finished and then speak in the silence at the song’s end.
He propped a shoulder on the doorjamb and waited.
*****
She never should have gone to sleep that afternoon. In the months after the double disasters of losing first the restaurant and then Michael, she’d been plagued with insomnia, and resorted to sleeping pills.
It had taken the help of a doctor to break the habit—she couldn’t add the shame of having become addicted to sleep
ing pills to her trophy cabinet of failures. She’d built up a careful routine—hot bath, warm cocoa, never napping in the day—to get her over it.
And then she’d blown it by sleeping in the day, and not having any of her usual tricks to fall back on. So she’d read for a while on her backlit Kindle, tried lying there, mentally counting sheep, and given up when the vision of sheep had been replaced by visions of Nick, wearing just a towel, leaping over hurdles.
Every leap, she imagined his towel falling off.
It wasn’t working. So she’d plugged her earphones into her phone, and dialed up her favorite playlist. There was nothing soothing about it, but at least listening made her feel better.
The music faded.
“Summer!”
Her eyelids shot open—a crazy drum-solo crashing in her chest.
Nick walked toward her. She pulled out the earbuds and flicked off the music.
“You were singing.” He dropped down on the side of the bed. “Really loudly.”
“So loudly I woke you up?” She loved singing, but had such a terrible voice she never did it when someone could hear. Apart from now. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A couple of minutes. I did try to get your attention, but…” He shrugged. “I reckoned I better wait.”
“So you heard everything.” Every uninhibited yowl. And he’d seen her air-drumming too. She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t wake me. At least not directly. You have a fan downstairs. Fella does an awesome howlalong.” He rubbed his arms. “Christ, it’s cold in here.” He stood. Then he looked at the little white box in her hands. “That’s not your phone, is it?”
“Of course it is.” Her music collection lived on her smartphone, there seemed little point in doubling up with a dedicated device.
“It’s off now, right?”
She looked down.
“We have no power. When the battery runs out…”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Crap, I didn’t think of that.”
Snowbound Summer (The Logan Series Book 3) Page 5
