by Rachel Hanna
The firelight caught in his golden hair and outlined the clean square jaw and the sensual mouth. He kicked back on the futon and put his hands behind his head, staring past where I huddled in the one of the armchairs, and into the fire.
He listened, to how Nevada had pulled itself together after the last recession, the Governor's Office stepping into unify all the different silos into one umbrella with all the regional and city authorities under it.
Which was great for the state and for the economy, but meant my position, one of the many vice presidents in a Southern Nevada authority, was duplicated and unnecessary.
None of it was very interesting, how I lost my job. Just disheartening and it reminded me of the charge on my credit card, that I should go grab my phone and cancel the damn hotel reservation, but even as I thought that I realized I didn't have a clue what he did, and asked, phone in hand, one thumb hovering over dial.
"Advertising," he said, as if waiting for me to make some kind of discouraging remark.
"My sister Jill is in advertising," I said instantly, happy for the connection.
"Is she local?"
"Jill? Los Angeles." No connection. "So how did you get into advertising?"
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Creative writing meets inability to hold a normal job."
"Advertising's not normal?" I asked. Jill was normal. Jill was dull even if she was my sister.
"I don't know. I took business, too, dual major. So it's like the sides of my brain fight."
I stared at him. Seriously not time for jokes about schizophrenia, dude, I'm alone here with you. "Um. What?"
He laughed, which didn't endear me to him, but went on. "Creative work uses the right side of the brain, intuitive, silly, playful side. Business uses the left, which is alarming and frightening and analytical and serious."
I probably used that side. You get that way when your father alters your entire childhood in one week. Being playful and silly means taking a chance at blurting out something that will make everyone hate you.
Rick worked for an advertising agency in Atlanta, one with a long name made up of partners' last names. He didn't seem any more interested in that than I was. His work was routine, or maybe he was just ready for a change. I would have listened, but he didn't talk about it.
We went on talking like that as time crept by. I wasn't ready to try and let go of the day and neither was he. It was just conversation, less spicy than before, less direct disagreements and rudeness.
The fire was almost out. I was getting really cold again, bundling into the afghan I'd taken off the back of the futon a while ago and wondering if the tiny bedroom I'd passed on the way to the bathroom had enough quilts to share because the afghan wasn't going to do it overnight unless we kept the fire going a lot hotter than it was now.
I thought it was getting on toward ten but a glance at my phone showed two things – first, it was nearly midnight, and I wanted to get an early start in the morning, get back to my rental car as the sun came up and burned off the snow, and second, I had no signal anymore.
That scared me enough to get up off the futon without thinking. It's all claustrophobia, really, the snow and now the fact that I couldn't communicate with anyone. I didn't really think Rick Barnes was going to murder me in my sleep. I just hated being trapped.
"What's wrong?" he started, when the cabin-jarring crash came from outside.
Chapter 3
Rick was still wearing his boots. He'd never taken them off. He was on his feet before the cabin stopped vibrating, before the light over the tiny kitchen table stopped swinging. He grabbed his coat from the rack by the door and was outside with a mega bright flashlight before I had even thrown off the afghan and started looking for my shoes.
"Wait!" I shouted.
Right. Because what I really wanted to do was run out into the freezing night after whatever had caused that.
But that's what I did.
Rick was outside laughing.
OK, good. Great. Wonderful. My host had lost it. Something like a comet had just hit the cabin and he was laughing.
"What was that?" I shouted. From where I stood, I could see a few other people from the circle of cabins coming out to investigate. For a few minutes the moonlit snow was full of was full of voices and shouted questions and answers. No one seemed upset like I was. My panic rode high in my throat, making me cough around it. The evident lack of concern from everybody else was just obnoxious. They were all acting like it was a party.
I found Rick in the glow of porch lights and moonlight. "What was that?" I demanded. My stomach muscles were still shanking.
"Where's your coat?" he asked.
As if alerted to the cold, I started shivering.
Rick said something rude and abrupt, but he was still laughing. He put an arm around me, tucking me against him, then called to the neighbors, "Best of all possible results!"
Laugher, a few equally incomprehensible responses, and we were back inside.
"Are you an idiot?" He plunked me down on the couch, knelt at my feet, took both my hands and started chaffing warmth back into them. "You can't do that. Hypothermia, frost bite, freezing to death. Any of these ring a bell?"
I shook my head. "I was right outside the cabin!"
He just looked annoyed. "Right. I should have realized you were in the banana belt."
That almost made me laugh except he wasn't laughing, he looked like he meant to yell at me, and I wasn't having any of it.
"Look, I can take care of myself. All I did – "
"It's below freezing outside," he interrupted. "Other hand."
I'd have argued, but it felt too good. Deep shudders were happening now and my teeth started to chatter as I warmed up. I gave him my hand.
"You could have gotten seriously hurt."
"I get it." My cheeks were hot. I'm twenty-five. I can take care of myself. Sunny sent Rick Barnes to me. I would have gotten out of the snow jam if she hadn't. On my own. In the rental car. I'd probably be in Hanlin by now, reclining in the hotel room I still hadn't canceled the booking for.
Damn.
Rick was still talking about what could have happened.
"I get it," I snapped, yanking my hand back from him and standing up so fast he staggered up out of his crouch. "I'm not stupid and I'm not helpless. I appreciate your coming to get me out of the traffic jam and all, but Sunny called you. I didn't call for anyone."
Rick had gotten to his feet and stood in the center of the living room, looking furious. "Well, excuse me, your highness. I didn't realize I was intruding on your independence."
That just made me mad. "I didn't say that. I didn't say anything like that. Damn it. But your acting like – "
"Like you went running outside in twenty-two degree weather in the snow without a coat."
"Because I wanted to know what was happening! Don't these places have propane or kerosene or something? How was I supposed to know the cabin wasn't blowing up?"
He looked incensed. His cheeks had gone red, and he was squinting at me. "Do you feel blown up, princess?"
My fists tightened. "Stop. Calling. Me. That."
"That's what you're acting like!" he shot back. He'd started to pace. There wasn't room for him to pace. It was a very little cabin. Every circuit brought him into my sphere and every time he got close to me the shivers got worse. Almost like it was him, and not the cold.
I wasn't that cold anymore. I was hot. Getting hotter by the minute.
"You send out to social media to everybody you know that you're stuck in the snow and you're afraid of snow!" He said it like that was stupid.
"I'm afraid of driving in it!" I snapped back. "Lots of people from Las Vegas are."
"That's not what Sunny said. She said you're afraid of snow. She thinks it's cute." He said it tauntingly, leaning in as he paced by me.
Damn it, Sunny.
"I don't even know what we're fighting about!" I half shouted.
"Really?
Because I can recall it just fine. Shall I recount?"
"Oh, you're impossible! Can you please just tell me where I'm going to sleep and I'm going to go to b—sleep." Hastily catching myself before I said anything that might sound like an invitation.
"I suppose you'd like the bed," he said nastily.
I stared at him. "Where do you get the idea I'm a princess? You don't even know me. I've been on my own since before college. I've got a degree. I got here from Nevada, didn't I?"
That seemed to stop him briefly, so he went back to the part about the cold. If I didn't know better (and I didn't) I'd say he was trying to make certain there was a wedge between us.
Abruptly he stopped and ran both hands through his hair. He sat down on the futon I assumed would be my bed and indicated the armchair, though not as arrogantly as he'd been doing everything for the last couple minutes.
"What happened out there... a very old oak tree on the property next to mine that's been threatening to come down for about a year came down because of the snow."
I stared. "It's not snowing that hard."
"No," he agreed. "The tree was that unstable. But old Walt Billings is a jackass and he wouldn't take it down when everyone asked. Neighbors even offered to go in together and pay for it. His tree, his business, he kept saying."
I considered. "'Best of all possible outcomes,'" I said. "So it fell on his place?" I hadn't seen any tree-flattened cabins.
He grinned, looking mischievous rather than bossy and annoying. "Better. Old man Billings has, or rather had, a nasty little lean-to that looked seconds away from spontaneously combusting and in which he insisted on storing flammables. We've taken those out, anyway, but we'd had to have taken him to court to get the building taken down." He spread his hands, very ta da.
"His tree, his property, his lean-to?" I asked, starting to smile.
Rick aimed a finger at me like a gun. "Got it," he said.
"Sucks to be him. That's really what the sound was?" It had seemed so close and so much louder.
Rick shrugged. "Snow masks a lot of noise. So those it doesn't hide sound louder."
That sounded totally unscientific but I didn't care. He was laughing with me, sounding young and relaxed. I took a deep breath, let it out slow. It came out shaky, like I'd been crying. He was right – I could have fallen out there, could have disappeared right under the noses of a bunch of people who didn't even know I was staying there and a host who didn't know I'd gone outside.
I'm usually more careful than that.
Unbidden, my eyes went to the messenger bag with my presentation – what I'd do to diversify Hanlin's economy and to bring in business, how I'd run my campaign and spend my budget, technology, a think tank report on finding the correct industries for the correct regions, to capitalize on what exists, not invent it wholesale new.
I'd been so careful of that. The hole in the messenger bag was reinforced with layers of canvas inside. I wasn't going to lose anything. I wanted the job. The hole reminded me every time I looked at the bag how close to the financial edge I was getting. I'd waited so long I couldn't go get a job in fast food. I had to get something professional and get on my feet again. That's why getting to Hanlin mattered. That's why not being distracted by Rick Barnes mattered.
But I was distracted. Easiest fix would be to apologize and yawn and claim I was sleepy and go to bed for the night. Or to futon. Whatever. And definitely to sleep. Alone.
I didn't. I said quietly, in a breathy voice, "I'm sorry I worried you."
He crossed his arms over a very impressive chest. "You didn't worry me. I'm just responsible for you. I'll go get you a quilt. Will that be enough with the – what?"
Deep breath in through my nose. "You are not responsible for me. Who do you think you are? Did you tell me to run out there in my shirt sleeves?"
"Jeez," he said, backing away from me, hands up in surrender. "It's fine. You apologized. Whatever. Let it go."
"I did not apologize," I said loudly. Yeah, the breathy voice was gone. "I have nothing to apologize for!"
He was still backing away, apparently surrendering. "Whatever, OK? Tomorrow you go your way and I go mine. We're almost done with each other. Let's just try to make it through tonight."
I nodded. Sure, why not. Tomorrow I'd be gone and the temptation to slip into something stupid would have passed.
He went to get me the quilt and a fuzzy blanket and I went and brushed my teeth, and when I came out he was still arranging the blanket and the quilt. It didn't seem that hard a task. I looked at him quizzically and he blushed.
"I thought if I put the opening toward the back of the futon you wouldn't get any gaps where cold air creeps in. But it would be hard to get into and you said you're claustrophobic."
I did? But we'd talked a lot over dinner and dishes, before he became so didactic.
"I think it will be fine," I said. I'd stopped in front of the fireplace, letting the last of the embers warm me before I got into bed. "Thank you." Go, I thought at him. He'd taken his boots off, and was wearing warm gray wool socks. That shouldn't have sent shockwaves rolling through my system but apparently everything did.
"Are you OK?" he asked, and before I could answer, "Don't bite my head off. I'm not saying anything about what either of us did. But it is dangerous out there and I just." He broke off and looked like he wasn't going to finish. I wasn't going to give an inch. I waited. "Want to make sure you're OK."
He wasn't fighting. His eyes were gentle, his voice quiet. "You've seen my hands," I said. "I had my boots on and my feet were dry when I came inside."
He nodded. He looked more relieved than I would have expected. His eyes lingered on my face, going down to my mouth until I almost raised a hand to touch it.
"You've got toothpaste on your mouth," he said. His voice was husky. He moved slow, like he was trying not to frighten me off, coming across the space between us so we both stood in front of the fireplace. With one thumb he gently brushed the corner of my mouth. My eyes fluttered closed, opened again when he ran that thumb gently, softly over my lower lip, his fingers curled loosely under my chin. When I opened my eyes, they were half-lidded, heavy with want I couldn't disguise.
I met his gaze and saw his eyes smoldered as he looked at me. His lips were parted. I went up on tiptoes to meet him halfway.
His mouth was hot, his lips soft, the kiss delicate. Just our lips met, sliding gently across each other, the faintest brush and we both pulled back, searching each other's eyes. We sank back into the next kiss, mouths meeting harder, breath hotter. His tongue caressed my upper lip. I licked out and caught the tip of it, then let his tongue go in favor of sucking his lip, biting gently.
His hands came down lightly on my shoulders, stroking down my arms before pulling me closer but somehow chastely, as if he held the distance between us on purpose. When the kiss broke, I opened my eyes slowly, looking up into his face. He was watching me, waiting to see how I'd react, and I turned my face up to his, waiting for more.
The spell broke then. His mouth was suddenly hot, his tongue everywhere. His hands tangled in my long dark hair, and he made a fist of it, tugging gently. My head went back and his mouth found my throat. He licked and sucked his way from my collarbone to my earlobe, making me laugh and squirm against him, reaching for him and when he came into my arms, not sure what I meant to do with him. He was beautiful, his mouth smoking hot, his eyes telling me everything I needed to know.
The kiss deepened. Another tree could have gone over. Another cabin could have smashed. Neither of us would have noticed. His lips played against my jawline. His mouth covered mine, hot, deep kisses. His hands stroked up and down my arms, sending chills racing through me, pleasurable heat building where before there'd been fear and cold.
I moved closer. I forgot the inhibitions that were always with me, the past I never quite forgot. There was Rick and there was me, and there was heat building.
We got from the living room into his bedroom without b
reaking the kiss. Hands fumbled at clothing, laughing because winter means way too many clothes, and then not laughing, because we wanted it so much, wanted each other so much and so much faster.
He pulled my sweater off, the long-sleeved t-shirt going with it. My earrings caught, pulled, got removed, my hair shoved back out of my face. I tried pulling his flannel shirt over his head with his Henley, let go, freed his arms, laughed while he pulled it off and threw it on the bedroom floor.
The bedroom was cold, the floorboard heaters not up to the task of warming it. His hands on my naked upper body were flashes of heat along the ice of my skin. I felt my skin go to gooseflesh and shrugged away from the sensation, heading for his bed, one last look to see that was all right.
He was right behind me, stopping only when he reached the enormous, down and micro fleece covered bed, and struggling with jeans that had gotten wet from snow. I'd already stepped out of my sweatpants, convenient things even if not sexy, and kept my socks on, feet curling away from the floor as it was.
I reached out to tug at his jeans, forcing them down his legs, and understood the danger of having gone outside unprepared. Even after all the time we'd been inside his legs were ice cold.
"You're freezing," I said. I ran my hands up and down his legs like he'd done for my hands. It did nothing. "I'm going to turn on the shower."
He nodded. "Wasn't cold until those jeans started to cling."
He followed me into the bathroom, the doors closed and the baseboard heaters working overtime against the cold. The water ran hot, steam billowing up, and he dropped his underwear, giving me only a flash as he climbed behind the curtain. I gave him a minute, shivering in my underwear, then followed him in.
By the time I stepped over the side of the tub, steam was rising thick in clouds. Rick leaned under the spray, one hand against the shower wall, his head down, his body exposed in shifts of light and obscured again in billows of steam. He had a broad, strong back, lined with muscle, and the arm that braced on the shower wall showed triceps in sharp relief. His back tapered down to slim hips and a beautiful ass, round and perfect, and legs like most men don't have, strong and well formed, not the forgotten workout part that stay too thin or turn too fat.
