by Lori Foster
She stared at the phone, appalled by his preemptory gall. She was more than ready to tell him what she thought, despite the bitter cold, when the phone went dead.
She returned the receiver to its cradle. Five minutes? Only if he sped. More like ten, probably. Bracing herself for the blast of bone-chilling cold, Shadow left the dubious comfort of the phone booth and hurried back to her car. She immediately locked herself inside—which she would have done with or without his instruction.
It was only about four minutes later when she saw the man approaching. But it wasn't Brent; she was certain of that. He wasn't nearly tall enough, didn't have Brent's long-legged, purposeful stride. The lighting at this section of the lot was dim, not quite reaching into the corner where she'd parked. Shadow stared, wide-eyed, as a face came into view.
The stocking cap pulled over his forehead and the scarf around his neck concealed his features until he stood directly in front of her window. He gave a broad smile and motioned for her to roll down the window. With immense relief, Shadow recognized him.
"Hi," she called through the window.
He leaned against her door, propped his arms on the window frame and stared in at her. "You need some help?"
She shook her head. "No, everything's fine."
Again, he motioned for her to roll down the window.
The lie came easily to her lips. "I can't," she called loudly. "It's broken."
He frowned then, but said, "Open your door. I'll see if I can fix your car."
Again she lied. "There's nothing wrong with it. I'm just waiting for someone."
He seemed surprised by her answer. He straightened, stalked two steps away from the car, but quickly returned. There was a distinct scowl on his features now. "Open the door," he said again, and added, "I need to talk to you about the contest."
Shadow looked up in relief when headlights flashed across her windshield. Staring toward Brent, she said, "There's my friend now." She watched, awed by the midnight-black Jaguar XJS he drove, as he pulled up close. He parked directly in front of her, his headlights nearly blinding, and after he'd climbed from his car, she turned to open her door.
The other man was gone.
Brent looked past her. He frowned ferociously when Shadow stepped up beside him.
"A friend of yours?" he asked, his gaze still focused on the darkness beyond the lot.
"N-no." The cold immediately wrapped around her. "He was one of the contestants, actually. The pharmacist. I have no idea what he was doing here."
Brent noticed her shivers then, and quickly hustled her to his car. The motor was still running and the interior was filled with warmth. He pressed her into the passenger's seat, quickly asked her to explain what her car was doing, then gave her a firm kiss on her trembling lips. He closed the door, leaving to investigate her engine.
Shadow watched as he lifted the hood. He was very commanding, taking charge, ushering her about with a proprietary air. She couldn't decide if she should let him get away with it or not. On principle, she shouldn't. But cold as she was, she couldn't honestly say she resented his assistance.
Brent finished in only a minute. She saw him close her hood, make certain her doors were locked, then he moved his big body heavily into the seat beside her. He was silent a moment, gazing out the windshield. When he did turn to her, his expression was impassive.
"Where did the guy come from—the contestant—and what did he want?"
Something in his probing gaze drove away the last of her chills. "He just showed up," she admitted, "and asked if I needed any help. I told him I didn't, refused to open my window or my door, and told him I was waiting for someone. Why?"
"Your distributor cap is gone. Someone had to have taken it."
Incredulous, Shadow demanded, "Someone had the nerve to tamper with my car? With my car?"
Brent looked down at his clasped hands on the wheel. "I'd suggest we call the police, but I don't think there's anything they could do about it." Then he looked up again. "I just hate leaving your car here overnight. A classic like that, someone might feel tempted to make off with it."
Shadow considered that, then suggested, "I could have the security guys keep an eye on it for me. They're really nice, so I don't think they'll mind."
Brent slanted her a look. "Do you know everyone around here?"
"I'm friendly," she said with a shrug. "And when I first leased the shop, it needed a lot of decorating done to it. I spent some pretty late hours here. The security guys made a habit of checking up on me. Still do sometimes. I only recently put the finishing touches on everything, like the window blinds the day I, ah, met you." She flushed, remembering that day. She rushed on, saying, "They're nice men, but they flatly refused to enter the contest."
He made a sound somewhere between laughter and irritation. "Have you solicited every guy in the area?"
"Yeah, pretty much." She grinned at him. "I was about out of hope when I found you. Now I only need two more."
He touched her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "Do you have a number for the security people?"
"Yes."
"Are you hungry, or would you rather I just take you home?"
"Well," she said, feeling suddenly shy, "I was thinking, if you hadn't already eaten, we could pick up a pizza and take it to my place. I could call security from there."
Brent went very still beside her. "Your place?"
"It isn't an invitation for anything more than pizza. I … I'm trusting you."
Slowly nodding, Brent answered just as quietly. "I can handle that. Pizza sounds great." Then he reached across the seat to take her hand, and to Shadow's immense pleasure, he didn't release it until they had reached the pizza parlor and had to get out to order.
She wanted to be with Brent, but she didn't want to sit in a crowded restaurant and look at him across a table. She was willing to trust her instincts, and that meant trusting Brent, because she felt safe with him. Even stranger than that, she was relaxed in his company, comfortable with him as a man. There was no way she was going to let such an appealing aberration pass her by.
* * *
Opening the wine was a mistake. Brent had purchased it, along with the large, loaded pizza, while she'd gone to the ladies' room to refresh herself. She'd been nervous over her decision to take him to her home, and had needed a few private moments to collect herself. When she'd returned, Brent had already paid and was waiting for her by the door.
He pointed out his house on the way and Shadow noted she would pass it each time she traveled to or from work. It was every bit as massive and impressive as she'd imagined it to be. Brent had, predictably, shrugged off her awe. What had surprised Shadow, though, was that he was just as impressed with her much smaller home. It, too, was very old, but not nearly as large or in as excellent shape. But she was working on that.
"Did you do all these renovations by yourself?"
She puffed up with pride. "For the most part. My father was a handyman. He taught me quite a bit about repairs and upkeep. But you can see I have a long way to go yet."
Sitting in the kitchen, a large airy room with solid oak cabinets and an ancient, rustic stove, Shadow pointed out the need for new wainscoting and chair rails. Wallpaper would be the last thing she purchased.
A fat, bright red candle burned on the round, pedestal-base oak table between them. Shadow watched, slightly light-headed, as Brent refilled her wineglass. The pale, golden shimmer of the candle shone through the crimson wine, illuminating it, fascinating her. She hadn't particularly liked the taste of it at first, but had been hesitant to admit that to Brent. He was more sophisticated than her and plainly assumed wine was necessary with pizza.
Now, however, after three full glasses, and the resulting lethargic unconcern, Shadow was beginning to wonder if she should tell him the sorry truth. She was, plainly put, a down-home girl and painfully unsophisticated.
Shoving the empty pizza box aside, Brent caught her limp hand and tugged her from her sea
t. "Show me the rest of your house."
Blinking at his handsome face, Shadow noticed things she hadn't noticed before: the way his light brown hair curled slightly over his forehead, despite the perfection of the cut, and his rugged beard shadow, now apparent at this hour of the evening. And the way his green eyes seemed so warm and mellow, so … caressing. Swaying toward him, Shadow whispered, "Kiss me again first."
Brent drew up short at her request, but only for a moment. He lowered his head and touched his mouth discreetly to the corner of her parted lips.
Shadow sighed in disappointment. Her heart shuddered, her breathing quickened, but mostly in anticipation. His kiss was over with before she even finished reacting to it.
His smile was gentle now, the grip on her arm firm.
Turning her away with a small chuckle, Brent reminded her, "Your house? I would like to see the rest of it. You'd made me think it was small, but it's not. Not at all. How many rooms do you have?"
It was impossible to hide her disgruntled irritation with him and his avuncular kiss, but she tried. "There are five bedrooms, four upstairs. But I haven't done a thing up there yet. It's all locked up, and it'll probably stay that way until summer."
"I love your dining room and living room."
"Thank you." She sent him a sappy smile. "I refinished the floors myself. There was this musty old carpet hiding the hardwood floors. Some of the flooring had to be replaced along the outside wall, but other than that, it was in good shape, just needing a thorough polishing."
* * *
As Shadow extolled the magnificence of her house, Brent made appropriate sounds of appreciation, but his attention was on her. She wasn't walking quite steadily, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him for more than a few moments.
Shadow grinned at him suddenly. "My room is the only one I have completely finished. Would you like to see it?"
He hesitated in answering, but only for a second. "Lead the way."
The living room and dining room were on the left side of the house, a curved, polished wood stairway gracing the middle. The kitchen and a small guest bathroom were situated at the back, and to the right was a family room with a huge, full wall stone fireplace. Behind that, adjacent to the kitchen, was the room Shadow had claimed as her own.
Double doors opened into a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with an ornately etched cornice framing the walls. Patterned rugs in pastel shades of yellow, green and blue covered the floor. The down-filled comforter on her bed was plush and colored the palest yellow, with deep green floral throw pillows tossed near the high headboard.
The room abounded in plants, hanging from the corners, set on the sills of the three high, narrow windows and placed on every available surface. Vine printed wallpaper covered three of the walls, but behind her bed there was a thin, gauzy, pale yellow material, parted to hang on either side, framing her bed and giving it prominence in the room. All the furniture was antique, heavy and dark. It was a mix of feminine and masculine, beautifully done.
Brent wandered about the room, idly touching various picture frames, small jewelry cases and the abundance of womanly items: hair bows, earrings, perfume bottles. He came to a closed door, not the type to open to a closet, and turned to Shadow.
"You can go in. It's my bathroom, another room I'm real proud of. Maybe my favorite room in the house."
Shadow remained by the door where they'd first entered. To Brent's discerning eye, she appeared to be propping herself up against the wall.
She waited for his reaction to the bathroom, watching him closely. What wasn't to like? The antiquated tub sat on clawed feet, two narrow wooden Shaker tables beside it holding an array of bath oils, thick towels and a few lush plants. Directly over the tub she'd built a ledge, trimmed in brass and nearly covered with different sized colored candles that gave off a blend of subtle fragrances. He thought the room downright decadent, but it also showed what a traditionalist she was.
Everything—sink, tub and ceramic tiles—was white. The wide window on the back wall, glazed and opaque, was covered with only a thin, pale sheer to allow sunlight, or moonlight, to shine into the room. Brent stared at the tub for a long time, imagining her in it, naked, with each and every candle glowing around her.
He turned just in time to see her tip up her glass, gulping the remainder of her wine, which she had carried with her. He watched her with a slight smile as he approached.
"These rooms are very much like you, Shadow. Bright and open. A little different, but pleasantly so. And very inviting." He took the wineglass from her hand and set it on her nightstand. "You've turned bathing into a hedonistic experience, sweetheart."
Her eyes widened at the endearment. She gave a slight groan and swayed toward him, her gaze on his mouth, which Brent couldn't keep from tilting up in an amused grin.
He caught her shoulders and held her away, his sigh long, but indulgent. "You don't drink very often, do you, Shadow?"
"Never." She nestled close to his chest and he allowed it, even stroked her soft hair. "You smell delicious," she said, rubbing her nose against the front of his shirt, then upward, against his throat.
Brent went rigid as his body reacted predictably to her innocent—intoxicated—seduction. It wasn't easy, and his hands even shook, but he caught her shoulders again and moved her back so her body could no longer lean into his.
"You're going to force me," he said with a growl, "to prove how noble I can be."
Ignoring his proffered nobility, Shadow ran her small, warm hands over his chest, down his ribs. His breath caught as she skimmed her fingers over his abdomen, but she stopped there. He was equally disappointed and relieved.
"Brent," she implored in a whisper, "kiss me."
She didn't wait for him to comply, but grasped the hair at the back of his neck and pulled his face down so she could reach his mouth. Brent was half laughing, half groaning at his predicament, until her soft breasts came up against his chest and her belly pressed into his erection.
He wasn't a damn saint, Brent told himself, giving up all at once and kissing her as he'd wanted to since he'd first spotted her in the window. He forced her mouth open, sank his tongue deep, tasting her, devouring her. She was an irresistible temptation and he was tired of resisting.
She groaned with appreciation. "You make me crazy, Brent," she said between kissing his throat, his ear, his mouth again. "I've never felt like this before."
"It's the wine," he rasped harshly, struggling between guilt and lust.
But Shadow only shook her head. Taking his words as an excuse, not the complaint they had actually been, she whispered, "It's not just a physical thing, you know? I mean, all those books that proclaim fireworks and explosions and…" Her hands curled into the front of his sweater, fisting in the material. She shook him slightly, or at least tried to, and said, "I'm feeling them, Brent!"
He almost laughed at her turbulent expression. He did untangle her fingers from his clothes and carefully pinned her arms to her sides. If he wasn't so damned aroused, the situation might actually have been funny. "Shadow, we have to stop now. I'm only here for the pizza, remember?" He smoothed her dark hair, continually drawn by the silkiness of it. "If you keep kissing me like that, I'm going to lose my head. And unfortunately, I have the feeling you'll never forgive me if I take advantage of you tonight."
"Oh, Brent, please," she said, "take advantage of me." Her look was earnest and filled with worry. "It might not ever be like this again."
Damn, how could one eccentric little woman twist him inside out? "Sweetheart, the feelings aren't going anywhere. When you're ready, you'll feel them again, I promise."
Abruptly moving away from him, she asked, horrified, "You don't want me?"
Brent ran a hand over his face. He should give her what she wanted, nobility be damned. But the truth was he didn't want to alienate her and possibly lose her so soon simply because he couldn't control himself. Even now she was swaying where she stood, the wine affecting he
r more than he would have thought possible. She trembled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy. All in all, she made a very enticing picture standing there before him in the Christmas tree dress and red tights.
And she looked so damned forlorn, as if she really believed he didn't want her. If she took a closer look at his lap, she'd find the evidence she wanted. But he was a man, not a boy, and he had himself firmly in control. Always.
It was that thought that made up his mind. He could use this situation, as absurd as it seemed, to show Shadow a thing or two about his character. Come the morning, she would no longer doubt who was in control.
She whispered suddenly, "I'm in an agony of suspense, Brent. What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking," he said gently, "that you're drunk."
She licked her lips. "It's true, I don't drink much. But it wouldn't have happened this way with any other man, I'm sure of that." She stared up him, her big brown eyes slumberous, heated. "There's just … something about you."
Feeling very pleased with her statement, Brent said, "I'm glad," and he hugged her close. She misunderstood his intent and cried out in relief, squeezing her arms around his neck in a near choke hold.
Carefully, Brent gauged his actions and her responses as he took her mouth again. She tasted sweet, and he wanted to kiss her all over. He'd prove himself trustworthy, a man in control, if it killed him.
She accepted the thrust of his tongue and gave him her own. He held her steady for his well-planned onslaught. When her body moved against his, he countered her movements, making her heartbeat race and her breathing hitch. His erection throbbed against her soft belly. He stroked her slender back, down her spine, until he could fill his hands with her firm backside. He lifted her a bit, caressing her, holding her against him.
Their mingled groans echoed loudly in the silent room. Slowly, Brent began backing her toward her bed. He wanted her—as much or more than she wanted him.
The bed was large and raised high off the floor so that the backs of her thighs bumped into the firm mattress. Brent didn't lower her right away, as she seemed anxious for him to do. Instead, he went to work on the zipper at the back of her dress, teasing her by lowering it slowly, letting the tips of his fingers graze her spine as he did so.
