“Okay. If you want to split hairs, I’ll play,” she said. “Have you ever been in the grocery store?”
“Here in Thunder Canyon, or ever?”
“Let’s get wild. Here in town.”
“No. I leave a list for the housekeeper.”
“Of course you do.” While he drove, she settled into the soft leather of the heated seat. Because Rob was Rob, he’d turned on the heater and the interior was warm in addition to feeling like a spaceship with all the dials and doohickeys on the dashboard. “I want a housekeeper and a Rob,” she said wistfully.
“With great privilege comes great responsibility.”
“Confucius says...” She glanced over at him, the rugged profile, the strong jaw and stubborn chin. There was something so appealing in his smile, a quality that tugged at her, made her want to touch him. “Would you translate that for me?”
“It means that money is a reward for hard work. A benefit of having it is being able to hire help so that when you’re not working, complete relaxation is possible.”
“So, getting into the milieu of my car, your batteries are recharged and you can go to work with renewed energy and make gobs more money.”
There was irony in the glance he slid to her. “Something like that.”
From where she was sitting, the rich were different, no matter what he said. That didn’t mean their houses wouldn’t burn in a wind-driven brush fire or their cars didn’t break down. But when bad stuff happened there were no worries about the cost of fixing it. And you could hire someone to change a battery or flat without batting an eye.
Gianna would bet everything she had that the actresses, models and famous-for-being-famous women he dated wouldn’t be fretting about how they were getting to work in order to earn the money to buy a car battery for a clunker. It was too depressing so she decided to change the subject.
“So, when you went to Real Vintage Cowboy, what were you shopping for?”
“I’m building a house.”
That wasn’t really an answer. “I heard a rumor to that effect. People talk about you.”
“Because I’m different?”
“No. Because you’re a celebrity.” When the car stopped at a stoplight under a streetlamp, she saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “So, because of the house-building rumor, I was a little surprised when you said you might not be renewing your contract at The Gallatin Room.”
“All I did was confirm that it’s only six months.”
“Again you’re splitting hairs.” Now that she thought about it, he was pretty stingy with personal information. “If you’re not staying, why build a house?”
“I found a great piece of land that was begging to be developed.”
So, of course, he bought it and did just that, even though his time in Thunder Canyon might be limited. So much for his assertion that the rich weren’t different. She thought about using what he’d just told her as evidence to support her statement, but decided against it. He would never understand.
The windshield wipers rhythmically brushed snow away as the car glided smoothly along nearly deserted Main Street. When they drove past The Hitching Post, Gianna tensed. The new and improved bar and restaurant had been thoroughly overhauled by new owner, Jason Traub. He’d managed to respect its Montana history and maintain the Western style while using reclaimed lumber and stones.
The upstairs, which used to be rooms for rent, had been converted into an intimate salon with overstuffed leather chairs, hand-carved rockers and antlers that hung on the wall. A large stone fireplace and cozy floor rugs made it a welcoming place for a quiet drink and conversation. None of that is what made her nervous.
A minute or two after going by, Shane turned the car into the lot behind Real Vintage Cowboy and pulled into a parking space closest to the building.
“Thanks a lot, Shane. I don’t want to keep you.” She started to open the passenger door.
“Let me turn the car off.”
“Don’t bother. You don’t have to see me to my door. I’ll just run upstairs. You’ve done enough already.”
Her effort to make a smooth exit was wasted and she knew it when the car’s dashboard lights revealed his amusement.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous about something.”
Not something, everything, she thought. “Not at all. I just don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”
“Oh, please.” He turned off the engine. “I’m not in the habit of barely slowing down to let a lady out of my car. Just so we’re clear, I’m walking you to your door. No argument.”
He’d left her no graceful way out of this and did it in such a gentlemanly way. Could be because he didn’t know her very well and was on his best behavior. Could be an act meant to disarm her. If so, it was working. She was almost completely disarmed.
“Okay,” she said. “But you should know. My apartment is on the third floor.”
“Real men don’t flinch at a second set of stairs.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Shane came around and opened her door, then walked beside her to the wooden stairs on the outside of the building. When they got to the landing, Gianna had her keys out. “Thanks, Shane. I had a great time tonight.”
“Me, too.” His gaze searched hers. “Did I redeem myself for first-kiss faux pas?”
She laughed. “Yeah.”
“Good. Here’s another better first.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. It was soft and warm where their lips met, but the breeze swirled snow around them and made her shiver.
Instantly he pulled back. “I’m an idiot. Your clothes are still wet, aren’t they?”
“Y-yes.”
“You need to get inside. Good night, Gianna.”
She nodded, but as he started to back away it hit her that she really didn’t want him to go. A third kiss didn’t mean she’d known him any longer, just convinced her that she wanted to spend more time with him. It wasn’t smart, but the words came out of her mouth, anyway.
“You’re cold, too. How about a cup of tea?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” He stared down at her, questions in his eyes. “But only if you’re sure it’s not too late. You’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.”
His hand was on her arm; his gaze held hers. She was definitely sure. “It’s not too late.” Or maybe it was. “Just don’t expect much. My apartment is nothing like your place.”
Gianna unlocked the door and he followed her inside. She tried to tell herself that the actresses, models and TV personalities he dated probably had places this small but it didn’t work.
The apartment was long, narrow and divided into two spaces—living room and kitchen, bedroom and bath. There was a window looking out on Main Street and the other faced the parking lot with rugged, majestic mountains in the distance. When you thought about it, she and Shane sort of shared a scenic view, but his was way better.
She’d separated her cooking and eating area with a hunter-green love seat. Braided rugs in green, coral and yellow were scattered over the wooden floor. The walls were painted a pale gold and had white baseboards and crown molding. Scattered pictures hung in groupings, a lot of them framed in cherrywood ovals. To shake things up, she’d put a two-foot section of a scaled-down ladder over the outside door and a hanging fixture over the stove held several copper pots and an orange colander. It was bright and cheerful, in her opinion.
Sh
e watched Shane, trying to gauge his reaction. “Be it ever so humble...”
“Have you ever heard the expression, ‘it’s not the square footage, but what you do with it’?”
She tapped her lip. “Is that like ‘size doesn’t matter’?”
“In a way.” His grin was wicked and exciting. “You’ve created a space that’s homey, comfortable and charming. A reflection of its occupant.”
“So, let me see if I understand what you’re saying. I’m homey and comfortable?”
“Don’t forget charming,” he said, looking around again, then coming back to meet her gaze. “Among other very attractive attributes. My place doesn’t have this warmth...” He stopped. “And speaking of that, I’m an idiot. Get out of those damp clothes into something warm.”
Your arms would be warm.
Gianna hoped she hadn’t said that out loud and when his expression didn’t change, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Let me get tea first—”
“I’ll do it.”
“But...”
“Do you have tea bags?” he asked.
“In the appropriately marked canister by the stove. It won’t take a minute—”
“You don’t trust me?” He shook his head. “I’m CIA. My culinary genius is the stuff of legend.”
“Humble, too,” she muttered.
“I think I can handle putting a couple of mugs with water in the microwave.”
“Okay, then. Knock yourself out.”
She walked through the doorway that separated the living room from her bedroom and bath. After closing the door, she stripped off her coat followed by the rest of her wet clothes. Still chilled to the bone, fashion and seduction were not her priority now. She pulled a pair of fleecy Santa Claus pants from her dresser and a green thermal shirt and put them on, then slipped into her oversize dark blue terrycloth robe, thick socks and fuzzy slippers.
In the adjoining bathroom she turned on the light and recoiled from her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, dear God.”
Mascara from the lower lashes gave her “raccoon” eyes and her hair looked like she’d combed it with a tree branch. After washing her face to remove the makeup and free her freckles, she applied cream and ran a brush through her red hair. The cut that had layers falling past her shoulders was good, the color—not so much.
She was finally warm thanks to Shane getting her home as fast as possible. Inviting him in was equal parts boldness and stupidity. Conventional-dating protocol dictated three dates before sleeping with someone. Between dinner at his place and tonight’s walk in the snow, they were barely at one.
She had no illusions about a future with Shane Roarke because he’d been honest about his uncertain plans. Still, she wanted him. That was the downside of giving him a first kiss do-over. The touch of his lips, the feel of his hard body pressed against hers had just made her want him even more.
And that was the stupid part of giving in to her boldness. Her heart was telling her to slow down; her head was saying take me now.
There was very little danger of him doing that, she thought, looking at her reflection. The old robe and Christmas pants would prove to the seduction police that she hadn’t dressed to lure him to her bed.
“You’re comfortable and homey, the complete opposite of a temptress,” she said to herself. “Charming is debatable.”
With a sigh she opened the door and joined him in the kitchen. “I see you found everything.”
“Yes.” He’d removed his coat and settled it on the standing rack by the front door. Now he was leaning against the counter with two steaming mugs beside him. His jeans were fashionably worn and fit his lean legs perfectly. The white cotton shirt fit his upper body in the most masculine way. But what hiked up her pulse was the amusement in his eyes as his gaze scanned her from head to toe. “Love the outfit.”
Looking down she said, “I’ll start a new fashion trend. Montana practical.”
“I think you look pretty cute.” He traced a finger across her cheek. “Love the freckles.”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “Me, too.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“When I was in grade school, the boys wanted to play connect the dots on my face. That got really old. The curse of a redhead.”
“Your hair is beautiful and unique.”
“I always wanted to be a blonde or brunette.”
“Boring.”
The simple, straightforward word warmed her the way fleece, thermal and terrycloth never could. “Still, there’s something to be said for blending in. Being different made me a target of teasing.”
“It’s a well-known fact that boys are stupid.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” She raised her gaze to find him watching her and a sizzle of awareness sprinted down her spine. When he moved closer, her heart started to pound.
“But we get smarter.” He cupped her face in his hands and slid his lips over her cheek, soft nibbling kisses that made drawing air into her lungs a challenge. “How’s that for connecting the dots?”
“Great technique.” Her voice was a breathless whisper and she felt his lips curve into a smile. The only thing that would make this better was his mouth on hers. “Definitely smarter.”
“But wait. There’s more,” he said a little hoarsely.
Gianna pressed her palm to his chest and felt the heavy beat of his heart then shivered at the heat in his gaze. “More sounds good to me.”
Strangely enough she didn’t agonize over the right or wrong of this. It just was. She wanted him, wanted to give herself to him. No questions; no regrets.
She felt his hand loosen the belt of her robe and slide inside, cup her hip. The good thing about oversize clothing was how easily you could slip it off.
When their gazes locked, she saw invitation in the smoldering depths darkening his blue eyes. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”
“Only if you want to show it to me.”
Her answer was to take his hand and lead him through the doorway. The light beside the bed was on, illuminating her simple, white chenille spread. Throw pillows in light pink and rose gave it color, but she threw them onto the floor. Shane was the only man she’d ever brought in here and he seemed to fill the room, complete it somehow.
Gianna folded down the bedspread and blanket, revealing her serviceable flannel sheets. “Not sexy, just practical for a Montana winter. Otherwise I scream like a woman when I go to bed.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose as his mouth curved into a wicked grin. “There’s nothing wrong with screaming like a woman.”
“I agree—when it’s not from cold sheets.”
“I promise you won’t be cold.” He traced his index finger along her collarbone and proved the truth of those words.
Shards of heat burned through her, warming her everywhere. Her toes curled and she stepped out of her slippers. But she hadn’t let him be the first man in this room just to be a passive participant. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and started undoing its buttons. Then she pressed her palms to his bare chest, letting the dusting of hair scrape across her hands, the nerve endings in her fingers.
The moan that built inside her refused to stay contained and Shane took it from there. He shrugged out of his shirt, then took the hem of hers and lifted it over her head.
He cupped her bare breasts and brushed his thumbs over the soft skin. “Beautiful.”
She put her hands over
his knuckles and gently pressed, showing him without words how perfect it felt. His breathing increased and the harsh sound of it mingled with hers. The scent of him, the heat of his skin, the feel of his hands all capsized her senses and drowned her in need. She backed toward the mattress and tugged him with her. Then she pushed off her fleece Santa pants and toed off her socks. His eyes darkened with approval and the heat of desire.
Gianna sat on the bed and even though the flannel sheets were cold on her bare skin, there was no screaming. Just acute anticipation. She watched Shane unbuckle his belt and step out of his jeans, then pull a condom from his wallet and set it on the nightstand. She wasn’t sure he could see it in her eyes, but she most definitely approved. His shoulders were wide, his belly flat, his legs muscular. He was fit and fine and—for tonight—hers.
She held out her arms and he came into them, pressing her back on the mattress. He kissed her deeply and she opened, letting him stroke the inside of her mouth. While he ravaged her there, he slid a hand down her waist and belly, then her inner thigh. The touch tapped into a mother lode of desire and she could hardly breathe.
“Oh, Shane, I want—”
“I know.”
He reached for the condom and covered himself, then rolled over her, between her legs, taking most of his weight on his forearms. Slowly he entered, filling her fully, sweetly. Her hips arched upward, showing him, urging him.
She could hardly draw enough air into her lungs as he stroked in and out with exquisite care. Then he reached between their bodies and brushed his thumb over the bundle of nerve endings at the juncture of her thighs.
The touch pushed her over the edge where she shattered into a thousand pieces. Shane held her and crooned words that her pleasure-saturated mind couldn’t comprehend but knew were just right.
As if he knew the perfect moment, he started to move again. His breathing grew more ragged until there was one final thrust and he went still, groaning out his own release. Like he’d done for her, she wrapped her arms around him and just held on.
The Maverick's Christmas Homecoming Page 6
