by Marlow Kelly
Even though her hair looked like a bird’s nest, she didn’t want to cut it, which was stupid. She’d never considered herself vain, and it wasn’t as if it wouldn’t grow back, but it was another loss of self, another piece of her stripped away in this frantic fight for survival. But he was right. It was necessary. She sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
She turned her back to him and the mirror and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see her hair fall to the ground. When it came to her appearance, she was normally a rational person. She didn’t wear high heels because they weren’t practical, she wore warm clothes in the winter and cotton blends in the summer, and she’d always kept her hair long because it was easy. Most people thought short hair was practical, but in her experience, that was a misconception. Shorter styles needed tending everyday. And you had to trim your hair regularly to maintain the shape, whereas with longer hair you could just tie it up and forget about it. There was also the fact she wanted to look pretty for David, which was absolutely ridiculous. In her present condition, she looked like she had used a tornado to blow dry her hair, all the while burning her eyes with acid.
He stepped behind her, placing himself between her and the bathroom counter. And then dipping his fingers into the warm water, he wet her hair and lifted it away from her neck. Shivers tingled down her spine. She’d been fighting her attraction to him since the moment he’d checked her toes for frostbite. She licked her cracked lips. The contrast between his powerful body and gentle touch unsettled her. Her skin flushed as her breasts pressed against the fabric of her long johns. Her nipples were so sensitive, the soft cotton fabric chaffed.
He clasped the ends of her hair as he combed, careful not to pull on the tangles, and then held it taut. “Hold still.”
Short strands brushed against her nape as he snipped off her waves. He repeated the process, his fingers gently grazing her neck each time he cut her hair. Maneuvering around her until he stood in front of her, he judged his handy work. “You look cute.”
She shook her head, getting used to the shape and feel of it, but also shaking away the quivers that resonated through her body.
She reached up and touched his cheek, unable to hold back. He closed his eyes. A small tremor racked his body. She saw it, felt it, and was empowered by it. She ran her other hand down his neck, feeling his pulse under her fingertips. It was powerful and vigorous, proof of his compelling life force.
He coughed, clearing his throat. Without taking her hands away she stared into his eyes. His irises were enlarged, making them appear almost black, only the outer rim light green. His gaze flickered down away from her. He tried to turn his head, but she held his face, gently coercing him to look at her. She understood his reaction because she had experienced it herself. He was unsure, and somehow his vulnerability made him more appealing.
She tugged his head down until his lips met hers. He was soft, warm, and gentle. She snuggled closer, wanting him to wrap his arms about her, but he didn’t.
Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He pulled back.
What was she doing? She’d just forced herself onto a man who had shown no interest in her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—
“Why’d you stop?”
“I forced—”
“No, you didn’t. It’s just—”
“Just what?” If he said he didn’t want her or wasn’t attracted to her, she’d die of mortification.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Obligated? Why should I feel—?”
“Because…ah shit. We had a moment, and I ruined it.” His cheeks seared to a bright red. Only his scar was pale.
She poked his chest. “Tell me why you think I would owe you.”
“You know, the whole saving you thing.”
“You think I’m the type of woman who would have sex with you because I’m grateful?” She punched his shoulder, hard. “While I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, maybe you can tell me what it is about me that makes you think I’d repay you with my body rather than a hearty handshake.”
He shrugged. “Well, you have to admit, I’m not exactly handsome.”
“Yes, you are.”
He gave her a quizzical look that suggested she’d gone blind.
“You have a scar. Big deal. Get over it. My father has plenty of friends who are successful and handsome, and they’re not as good-looking as you, so don’t tell me I can’t be attracted to you, otherwise there’s a good chance I’ll punch you again, rather than—”
His lips touched hers, soft and demanding. He ran his tongue along her lips, sensually urging her to open her mouth to him. She complied, deepening the kiss. His hand splayed across her back, the heat of his touch melting her insides. His other hand cradled her head, his fingers kneading her scalp. She should push him away. Tell him she’d changed her mind. She was angry with him. She tugged him closer, rubbing her sensitive breasts against his naked chest. The cotton fabric of her underwear frustrated her. It was a barrier, a layer of clothing that prevented her from touching him and being touched in return. His tongue stroked hers, and a ball of light that started at her breasts flashed through her body, searing her. The feel of his hands on her hipbones made her want to rub herself against him. He grabbed her hips and lifted her so she sat on the counter.
She’d always considered herself logical, and yet in this moment, she couldn’t form a coherent thought. It was as if her mind had shut down and her body had taken over, instinctively reacting to him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him emotionally, but physically, at least, she wanted him. She needed to feel his hands on her skin. He must’ve understood her urgency for he grabbed her legs and tucked them around his waist. In this position, she was open to him, vulnerable. He rubbed his erection against the apex of her thighs in a mimic of lovemaking. Oh god, it had been years since she’d been intimate, and she had never experienced sex with a testosterone-fueled man like David. The thought of him driving into her sent another wave of lightening through her body, and she arched again.
A click sounded, and David’s head snapped up as he pushed away from her. “Shit.”
In the doorway was a red-faced man, his moustache encrusted with ice. The hood of his dark winter coat was pushed back, revealing a black woolen hat. He pointed a long-barreled gun at David’s head.
David disentangled himself from her legs and raised his hands.
It took a moment for Marie to grasp the fact that there was a man, a stranger with a gun in the house. She lifted her hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Please put the gun down.” Marie slid from the bathroom counter and stepped toward David, planning to position herself between them.
David leveled his arm blocking her. “Marie…honey, why don’t you do us both a favor and take a step back?”
“Listen to him. Move away. I don’t want to accidently shoot you,” the stranger said.
Marie straightened. “No.”
David lent toward her. “Damn it. You are a pain in the butt.”
“I’m a pain—”
“Step away from the woman, nice and slow.” The stranger waved the weapon at David.
David took one step, but there was no room to maneuver in the small confines of the bathroom. “Who are you?”
“Someone who knows you’re trespassing.”
Marie wanted to explain. “We were caught in the storm—”
“Save it.” He waved the weapon in her direction. “Okay, girl, I want you to grab the flashlight and lead the way down the stairs. Nice and slow. No funny business. I’m going to have this shotgun aimed at your boyfriend. If you make any sudden moves, I’ll shoot him. Got it?”
She nodded, picked up the light, stepped in front of David, and started down the stairs.
A grunt sounded. She stopped and spun. David had one hand on the barrel, pointing the weapon at the ceiling. A deafening shot
echoed through the house. Wood chipped from the wall at her side.
She ducked, her heart racing, while the men struggled for control of the gun. She switched positions so the flashlight shone in the stranger’s eyes, blinding him. David took advantage and grabbed both ends of the weapon and used it to slam the older man against the wall. He pulled the stranger forward and then smashed him into the wall again and again. Marie flinched with every blow and groan. The man went limp. With the shotgun in hand, David backed away.
Chapter Seventeen
Marie watched as David pushed the stranger into the kitchen.
“Are you alone?” David barked.
“Go to hell.”
The flashlight illuminated the kitchen, but not enough to see into the corners, and the fact she couldn’t tell if anyone was hiding freaked her out.
David pointed the shotgun at him. “Yes, I probably will, but that doesn’t answer my question. Stand with your arms wide, feet apart.”
The stranger obeyed. “Your picture is all over the news.”
David patted him down. He retrieved a cell phone from the man’s coat pocket and held it to his ear. “No dial tone.” He threw the phone onto the table. “Are you alone?”
The man nodded. “Of course, I am. No one would wait outside in this.” Then he glanced at Marie. “Do you need rescuing? Or is this a lover’s thing?”
“No.” Marie and David snapped at the same time. For her, the answer was true of both questions. They weren’t lovers and she didn’t need rescuing, but David’s vehement answer smarted. If the stranger hadn’t interrupted, she might have had sex with him. She liked to think she would’ve shown some restraint eventually, although she wasn’t sure.
Her head throbbed. She’d been absorbing metaphorical body blows all day. Everything was happening so fast. It was like flying a commercial jet through turbulence, except she didn’t know where she was going and when the journey would end. It seemed that the woman who had arrived in Montana yesterday was a different person. Since then she’d survived a home invasion, a shooting, a kidnapping attempt, a blizzard, and an angry man had held a gun on them. It was a lot to deal with, and she wasn’t sure she could cope.
It wasn’t just the danger. David was different from every man she’d ever met. He was dark, cynical, hard, protective, and his kisses were intoxicating. One memory snapped into her mind and wouldn’t budge. He thought she would sleep with him because she was grateful, which was a conceited, stupid thing to think, and idiot that he was, he’d said it aloud. That was a man-brain for you, too stupid to know when to shut up. Maybe her obsession with him was a result of stress. Yes, that was it. In order to function, she needed a distraction from the trauma of the last day, and her mind had compensated by fixating on David. She studied him as he finished searching the stranger, using swift, practiced movements. He was athletic, intelligent, and forceful. No wonder she was enamored.
“Sit.” David used the gun to point to one of the kitchen chairs.
“I want you out of my house,” the older man spat.
“You’re lying. This isn’t your house.” How David knew that she couldn’t imagine.
“You asshole.” The stranger surged to his feet.
“Stop.” David placed the flat of his hand on the man’s chest and thrust him back into the chair. “I’m fit and trained. I will hurt you. Is that what you want? Now sit.”
“Do you have a name?” Marie searched the cupboards looking for candles and found four in a drawer containing an assortment of bric-a-brac.
David pointed the shotgun away from them and slid the barrel back and forth, ejecting the cartridges. Shells fell about the floor.
“I’m Mac.” Everything about him was coiled tight as though he were ready to spring out of his seat and attack.
David placed the unloaded gun on the kitchen counter and then picked up the shells and tucked them in the pocket of his cargo pants. “I’ll keep these. That way you can’t shoot us.”
“Do you expect me to sit here and chat like we’re having afternoon tea?” Mac growled.
David shrugged. “Talk or don’t talk. You can do whatever you want, but you’re stuck with us for the duration of the storm so you might as well make the most of it.”
Mac glared at David. “You’re one cool customer.”
“Mac, what’s your last name?” Marie lit each candle and tilted them so melted wax dripped onto a saucer. Then she plunged the unlit ends into the hot puddle, securing them.
“Klein.”
“I’m Marie, and the scary man across from you is David.” Marie smiled. There was no point in being hostile. There was a chance he was just taking shelter from the storm. “Well, Mac Klein, you look cold. Why don’t I get us all a bowl of stew?”
Grabbing a tea towel, she escaped into the living room. She needed a moment alone to think. She eyed the couch where David had warmed her and held her while she wept. She never cried, not since her mother’s death when she was five years old. When she considered everything that had happened, it wasn’t surprising she’d chosen this place and time to have her breakdown. She decided in this instance she’d be kind and not beat herself up for her childish behavior. David hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d been gentle and caring. Yes, he’d also been angry with her at first, but had looked after her anyway. She threw the tea towel on the coffee table as she folded the afghan. Then she placed the throw on the back of the couch. She sat on the couch, needing a few minutes peace, a chance to sort through her feelings.
She liked David, which was a revelation since she didn’t really know anything about him. She had no idea if he was a morning person, what his favorite foods were, or if he had a favorite color. But what she did know about him sat on the pro side of the chart. He was a good person, despite the fact he obviously knew some unsavory characters. He was solid, and he had put himself in harm’s way to protect her. Plus, he’d been in the army for… She had no idea how long he’d served his country, nor did she know his age. Those were things a woman generally knew before she kissed a man in a bathroom.
Surprisingly, David didn’t think her timid and had cited her behavior to prove his case. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Perhaps he had a point. She argued with him, freely, without fear of consequences, and wasn’t emotionally intimidated by him. Whereas arguing with her father was devastating because he withheld his love as punishment. In fact, the reason he had refused to answer her calls for the last three months was because she'd asked him for funding, he had refused, and they had quarreled. She couldn’t imagine David doing such a thing. He was too straightforward. He wouldn’t stay silent for months, waiting for an apology. He’d tell her to her face why he was mad and then let it go.
Her coat lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She glanced at her breasts. Her nipples were poking through the thin cotton fabric of her long johns. Great, she’d been virtually naked when she’d kissed David. Worse, Mac had snuck up on them and caught her wearing next to nothing. She shrugged into her coat and zipped it up, hiding her body from view.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything nutritious since yesterday. She wrapped the tea towel around the handle, and then using both hands, carried the pot into the kitchen.
David was hard and rough, but he was also generous, not in a I'll-buy-you-a-castle kind of way, but in all the ways that mattered. He made her feel strong. He’d had the opportunity to humiliate her and hadn’t taken it. Even after the disaster at the airport, he hadn't scolded her. He’d told her they were doing things his way, and that was that. On the con side, he was high-handed, but she could live with that. Mac seemed calmer, less belligerent when she returned to the kitchen, making her wonder if David had said something when she was out of earshot.
She divided the food into three bowls while David laid the table.
Mac stared at his serving and then sighed. “You’re right. This isn’t my house. It belongs to my daughter, which means you’re trespassing.”
Mac scooped up a spoonful of stew and blew on it. “Understandable, I guess.”
“As long as you leave us in peace, we won’t hurt you.” David stood and walked to the cabinet and retrieved a can.
“You didn’t kidnap this young woman?” Mac yanked his knit hat from his head and placed it in his lap.
Using a can opener, David opened both ends of the tin. He pushed the cylindrical doughy substance onto a plate and placed it in the middle of the table.
“No, he didn’t.” She pointed at the latest addition to their meal. “What’s that?”
“Canned bread.” David placed three butter knives on the table. There were probably sharper knives in the drawer, but even she wouldn’t put a weapon in front of Mac.
“That’s not what they’re saying on TV,” Mac said, turning the conversation back to her “kidnapping.” He seemed less tense, but not relaxed. “There’s video of you forcing her into a car.”
“On TV? We’re on TV?” David’s eyes widened as his voice rose.
“Yes.” Mac pointed to David. “You’re running out of a building. You push a cop and grab her. It’s pretty incriminating.”
David groaned. “That’s not what happened.”
“Why would the police say you took her?”
“It’s a set up,” David said.
“Why would I believe you when I know firsthand just how dangerous you are?”
“I served in Afghanistan.” David pulled his bowl of stew closer and scooped a spoonful into his mouth.
“Are you still caught up in it, you know… What do they call it? P-P—”
“PTSD,” Marie supplied.
“That’s it.” Mac smiled at Marie and then turned to David. “Do you have that?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why would these people want to kill you?”
“That’s a damn good question.” David eyed Marie. “I would really like to know what’s so different about your solar panel and why Portman is so threatened by you.”
