Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  He cupped her chin in his square, competent hand. She leaned into his fingers, eyes fluttering shut.

  They kissed.

  His lips were warm on hers, fluid, tasting her gently. Edie sighed. She tasted him in return, mint, fresh air, pine and all male.

  His arms came around her, securing her against him, his tee wet but his body steaming hot. Her hands framed his face, palms sliding over his chiseled cheeks into his sleek hair, urging him closer. Groaning, he deepened the kiss. “You taste wonderful.”

  Edie’s muscles melted. “Everett … why?”

  “What?” He trailed kisses along her jaw.

  “Why haven’t you done this before?”

  “Kiss you?” His lips chased fire down her neck. “I wanted to.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Edie arched against his mouth. He nipped the tender skin of her throat. Her languidness flamed into something more passionate. More dangerous.

  “The company,” he nipped gently until she shivered, “doesn’t allow relationships between employees.”

  “What?” Edie came bolt upright on the couch. “You wanted to kiss me but didn’t because the company wouldn’t let you?”

  Everett rocked back, his eyes wide. “Well, not exactly — ”

  “Because the damned board didn’t approve? Does the board issue you potty passes too?”

  “Don’t get crude.”

  “Crude? What’s cruder than the company controlling private lives? Big Brother lives, he spies, and worse, he censors any emotion at all!”

  “Edie, sweetheart. There are good reasons for discouraging personal relations — ”

  “So forget team building exercises! Might be misconstrued as a ‘relationship.’”

  “That’s not it.” Everett pushed back his straggling hair with a short, sharp shove. “Consider the repercussions. What if I asked you to dinner? Hell, what if I dated you? Your raises and promotions would be tainted with accusations of favoritism. Someone in the company, or even your team, would call you a brown-nosed bi — ”

  “Language!” Edie sprang off the couch. “My team is interested in honest personal relations. If I dated you, they’d know it was because I loved — ” Her mouth hung open in horror.

  “Damn it Edie.” His eyes were on her thigh. “You’ve started bleeding again. Lay down, now.”

  He hadn’t heard. Edie fervently thanked the Omega Point and meekly lay down.

  Love. Where had that come from, anyway? He wasn’t the complete enemy butthead she’d thought, but that didn’t mean they were compatible.

  In fact, they were opposites. They went together like gunpowder and a match. No, no! Like a hot fiery brand thrust into oil … Her body convulsed with pleasure.

  Okay, sure, fine. They were physically compatible. But a devastating chest in a wet T-shirt and the fun she had arguing with him and his kindness tending her cut were rather shallow reasons to fall for a man. Which she hadn’t.

  Fussing over her bandage, Everett apparently hadn’t noticing her silence. “Now stay put. I’ll make dinner.”

  “Dinner? Out of what, your executive command?” Her words held no real heat.

  “I’ll find something.” He rummaged in the cupboards.

  She figured he’d have as much luck finding dinner as she would figuring out her annoying, misguided heart.

  Chapter Eight

  To: ED@mythicmail.com

  From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  Subject: Re: Re: Friendship

  See, I was right! If I told anyone here at work I was teetering on the edge of disaster, they’d be happy to give me the final push.

  But you truly care.

  Who’s trying to get me? The most obvious candidate is a woman who makes constant trouble. Except I can’t believe it’s her. I like her. A lot.

  There’s the man I replaced — no love lost between us. Not to mention his girlfriend, who’s as political an animal as he is.

  I’d appreciate your perspective on this, ED. I don’t know which way to turn anymore.

  — Prez

  Edie sat on the couch, watching Everett evaluate their meager fare. He did it competently, as he did everything: his chopping wood, his caressing hands, his beautiful hot … throw her to the mat with kung phooey.

  She reminded herself that Everett wasn’t the epitome of masculinity. Well, he was, but … Philip would have handled this situation just as well as Everett. Wouldn’t he? Philip was outdoorsy too, with his big truck and bigger house in the country … well, no. Philip’s house wasn’t rustic in the least.

  She’d only been to his house once, back when he was first grooming her for management. High atop a hill, back deck extended over a breathtaking two-story escarpment, Philip’s house screamed new construction. A carpet-like lawn (probably peeled away like a carpet too) held a life-sized statue of a spectacularly endowed but not particularly well-sculpted Greek goddess. Hopefully the stone wasn’t marble since the artistry wasn’t quite up to forever.

  Philip met Edie with a glass of French champagne. “How do you like the landscaping?”

  “Magnificent.” Edie meant it but secretly preferred her grandparents’ small roses and herb patch.

  “Speaking of magnificent, let me introduce you to the wife.” He escorted her into a house that was as overdesigned as an aging star with too many facelifts.

  A blonde detached herself from a couple guests. Bee-stung lips curved in a smile that was friendly, for a realtor — or a buzz saw. “You must be Edie. I’m so glad you could come. I’m Petra.” She shook Edie’s hand with a two-handed grip. Three carats of diamond flashed.

  “Nice to meet you.” Edie kept her eyes glued to Petra’s. From the neck down, Philip’s wife was the model for the Greek goddess on the lawn.

  “There are a few people Phil and I want you to meet — the right kind of people.” Petra led the way to a buffet table laden with shrimp cocktail and pâté de fois gras, barbecued pheasant wings and creamed artichoke hearts, enough rich food to harden the arteries of an entire small country.

  “Time to network,” Philip murmured in Edie’s ear. Petra smiled her brilliant, cutting smile.

  That was when Edie knew she’d never fit into Philip’s mold for her. Oh, she recognized the value of socializing. But she’d never quite gotten the hang of working the room.

  “Food,” Everett called.

  Edie shook herself. She got up and hobbled to the table. “Dinner?”

  “A handful of spaghetti and a bag of hardened raisins. Some dinner.” Everett looked glum. “Oh yeah, and dessert — two granola bars.”

  In contrast to Philip Sedgwick’s cornucopia, Everett’s table looked clean and wonderfully ascetic. Edie patted his arm. “Well done, considering there wasn’t anything left. Oh, you found salt!”

  “Goodie, now we won’t sweat to death.”

  She hid a smile. Poor Mr. President. “You did the best you could.”

  “As far as I can tell, you made a feast out of old shoes and cobwebs. I made spaghetti and raisins.”

  “Nouveau cuisine.” Edie sat and wolfed down her food in less than a minute. She pushed away, patting her belly. “I needed to lose weight anyway.”

  “Hardly.” Everett scowled. “If you get any thinner they’ll hoist flags on you.”

  “Such a lovely compliment.”

  “Well … ” Everett’s lips quirked. “They’d have to be very short flags.”

  “Even lovelier.” Edie smiled back encouragingly. He might irritate her in the extreme but she didn’t like seeing him unhappy. “What about you? Are you still hungry?”

  “Of course not. How could I fail to thrive on my own cooking?” Everett’s stomach let out a loud growl, contradicting him. He rose from the table and took the dishes to the s
ink, reached for the dish soap and then let his hand fall. “Let’s leave these for later.”

  “Fine with me.” Edie rose, started to limp toward the couch.

  “Stay off that leg.” Everett swooped in, scooped her up easily, and carried her to the couch.

  So fast. So strong. It left her breathless. She blinked at him.

  His focus was on her mouth.

  He was going to kiss her again.

  Her belly lurched. She wanted that. Wanted his mouth on hers, his talented lips melting her, his thrusting tongue making her helpless with desire … Yet she shouldn’t want him. They had no real future. It would only be sex. Except even corporate antagonists could learn to like each other …

  While her mind was churning, his mouth closed on hers.

  Silky lips moved with exactly the right firmness to coax her throbbing response. His mouth was so warm, moved so sweetly. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her fingers slipped into his hair. His arms tightened on her, pulling her flush to him, waking her nipples, making her breasts tingle. Her bones liquefied.

  His stomach let out a loud roar.

  Her eyes flew open. “You are hungry.”

  He bit off a curse. “All right, yes. Starving.” He lay her gently on the couch. Then he marched off to the sink, adding in a barely audible mutter, “The question is, what am I starving for?”

  • • •

  Edie hugged her knees. Everett was stalking the cabin like a caged lion. He stopped, stared at the dishes, and then stalked away to the wood burner to stare at it. He swung open the doors, jammed more wood inside, and shut the stove with a clang. Then he resumed his stalk, only to stare at something else.

  She knew how he felt. Her lips were still tingling, her breasts aching, and she wanted him to kiss her again. To do much, much more. How crazy.

  Edie sighed. “Would you stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  “That pacing. It’s making me nervous.”

  He reached the end of the cabin and started back. “I’ve got a headache. The pacing helps relieve it.”

  “Take an acetaminophen.” She chafed her sore leg.

  “You had the last one. Leave your cut alone.”

  She wanted him to kiss her, he wanted to mother her. “Sure, blame your headache on me.”

  “I’m not blaming it on you.” Everett halted, face grim. “I’m perfectly aware that if we had taken your car, or I had stopped somewhere safe, or at least asked directions, we wouldn’t be in this fix. That you would be safe and whole.”

  Perversely, that made her want to defend him. “If we’d left when you wanted us to we’d have made it safely to the motel.”

  “If I didn’t eat so damn much, we’d have plenty of food.” Everett’s voice rose.

  “If I didn’t cook so damn much, you wouldn’t have eaten it all!” She wanted to kiss him and damn the stupid company policy and his stupider self-discipline.

  “Don’t swear.” Everett started pacing again. “At least I’m doing something about it.”

  “You swear. Why can’t I? What are you doing, the snares? You can’t possibly expect to catch anything.”

  “Of course I expect to catch something. Trust me. I wouldn’t have spent all damn morning laying them if I didn’t.”

  “No damn swearing if I can’t. You are so stubborn. Delegate, Kirk!”

  “Some things can’t be delegated.” He snatched up his coat and tugged it on. “Especially not to a stubborn firebrand who would rather cut off her leg than accept help!”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Edie hopped off the couch, hobbled toward him.

  “I’ll show you I’m not playing. Stay down, damn it. We don’t have many more bandages.”

  “Stop using that word, dammit.” Fear pushed her into his personal space. Not fear. Anger.

  “I’m not as creative as you are. What word do you want me to use, rats?”

  She thrust toe-to-toe, so close she felt his blazing heat. Glared up. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” He glared down. His eyes fired. His head lowered … “Rats.” He spun for the door.

  “Wait! Your jacket is still wet. It’s freezing outside.” She hobbled after him.

  He spun back. “Get back on the da … the rats couch.”

  “You’re not — ”

  “You are.” He took two strides, scooped her up and deposited her on the couch, so she was. “Now stay the rats there!”

  He stomped out.

  She swore, jumped up and hopped to the window. He was long gone. Rats, he was fast. How could he leave? Did he really believe those bits of string would catch them breakfast? Ridiculous.

  She hobbled back and forth, fretting. Waiting anxiously for her man … rats.

  She put the teakettle on, rummaged around for cup and tea, and did not fret. Especially not about how they’d parted. The kettle whistled. Why did they always end up arguing? She dropped the teabag into the cup and poured. She wanted to argue with him right now. If her leg weren’t injured she’d be running after him to have a good fight with him, the kind he deserved, where she could grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face and then kiss him and kiss him … She dunked the teabag so fast water sloshed onto the table.

  Idiot. She tossed the bag away.

  Unless they fought because she was drawn to him, clashing like two gears going different speeds. If they could find a common speed, if they could ever mesh …

  The sudden shock of need made her thighs clamp, her whole body clench. She breathed through it. Compatible physically, oh yes. Unfortunately oh yes.

  But philosophically? He was from PC and she was from Mac.

  Although … even committed lovers disagreed. It was significant that, during the worst of their arguments, Everett never tried to make her feel wrong or bad. He’d even taken her side a time or two in the HHE tug of war. She never admitted she knew, because he might be embarrassed.

  She folded her hands around the hot cup. That wasn’t true. What she couldn’t admit was that Edith Ellen Rowan ever needed rescuing. How could her grandparents be proud of her then? She especially didn’t want to admit that it was the Evil Overlord who rescued her. Then she might have to see him, not as Mr. President Kirk, but as a kind and generous man.

  He might be embarrassed, right. She was the one who was embarrassed. He’d called it, all right — she didn’t accept help very easily.

  She owed him an apology. When he got back, she’d make it. What happened after, well, they’d see.

  Mind set, conscience relieved, but body still throbbing and pent-up, she sat down with her tea to wait.

  Chapter Nine

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Problem spotted

  It’s that trouble-making woman. How can you like her? Believe me, I’m your friend. It’s her, she’s the one.

  — ED

  Edie woke cramped and aching, and automatically checked her phone for the time. Two thirty in the morning. What was she doing on the couch? It was her turn on the bed. They hadn’t explicitly agreed to trade nights, and it would be hard for Everett to fit his great height on the couch. But it was only equal. She got up, shuffled to the sink, drew a glass of water, and shuffled into the bedroom.

  The bed was empty.

  “Everett?” Her voice rang through the cabin in a distressingly echoey way. She speed-hobbled from room to room, even going so far as to check under the couch. No Everett.

  She hobbled to the door, swung it open. “Everett!” Snow blew into her face, her open mouth. She slammed the door shut and coughed. “Damn it, if you’re not dead, I’m going to name you Bill and take a whole movie franchise to kill you.”

  Her aching leg benched her. She fre
tted on the couch past three, past three thirty. Enough was enough. Leg or no, she was going after him.

  She’d just tossed on her jacket when the door swung open. A blast of cold air carried in a swirl of snow and a very white Everett.

  Edie turned. “What the hell — ”

  “Thhatt’s rats,” he stuttered between pinched lips, staggering into the room like his legs were stilts.

  “Where have you been?” She pushed the door shut behind him before attacking him with fussing, yanking off his ice-crusted coat and slapping the slush out of his hair a bit harder than necessary. “Where are your gloves?”

  “Lost ’em. Dumb.” A shiver passed through his big frame.

  Edie grabbed his arm and guided him to the couch where she pushed him down and cocooned him in blankets. “Let me see your hands.”

  He poked them out of the cocoon.

  She wanted to cry. His competent hands were dead white, along with his nose and the tips of his ears. “Damn it, you’ve got frostbite.”

  “R … rats. And n … no.” Everett’s words were accompanied by the castanets of his teeth. “N … not f … fr’ssbite.”

  “Of course not.” Edie threw off her jacket and started the kettle. “Take off your shoes.”

  “Stupid.” The word was huffed.

  “And the rest.” She grabbed a bucket and filled it from the tap. The water was just a few degrees from ice but it would feel like fire on his “not-frostbitten” feet. She glanced at him to see if he was following orders.

  To her surprise, he was. Piece by sodden piece, clothes came out from under the huddled mountain of blankets. Everything was wet, even his undershirt — the thin white cotton that had molded so faithfully to his chest —

  No. Now was not the time to provoke her pent-up, aching, heavily throbbing … phooey.

  She lugged the bucket to the couch and stuffed his white feet in. Impressively, all he did was grimace.

  The kettle whistled. She retrieved it and slowly poured hot water into the bucket. Gradually, his feet gained color. He sighed.

  She left him to soak and made the rest of the hot water into tea. Before she let him drink, she lifted the mug to his mouth and blew its wafting steam into his lips until they were a healthy red. He really had the most kissable mouth … She tipped the mug so he could drink.