Fire And Ice

by Diana Palmer

  Cannon was in the sitting room, uncovering dishes apparently left by room service. There were eggs, sausages, toast and coffee, all laid out on the small table.

  He looked up as she came into the room, his hard arms shown to their best advantage in a short-sleeved yellow knit shirt. His eyes were as bloodshot as her own, and the dark shadows under them had no camouflage of makeup as hers did.

  “Good morning,” she managed in a tight, husky voice, avoiding his dark eyes.

  “Good morning,” he replied with equal reserve. “Sit down and we’ll have a quick breakfast before we head back to Florida.”

  She sat, placing a napkin in her lap before she picked up her coffee and sipped it.

  He seated himself across from her, and neither of them spoke while they ate small amounts of the food. Cannon’s dark, troubled eyes watched her the whole time.

  “Margie,” he said softly.

  She looked up, her fork poised over the delicious scrambled eggs that she’d hardly touched. She saw her own regrets mirrored in his hard face.

  “Nothing happened,” he reminded her.

  She smiled wistfully. “By the skin of our teeth,” she observed.

  “And if it had, would the world have ended?” he asked. He got up, kneeling beside her chair with one arm across her knees, one hand curving around her waist. “Answer me. If I’d had you last night, would it have been so terrible?”

  “You said it yourself,” she sighed. “I have a very Victorian outlook on life, a legacy from Grandmother McPherson who thought that a girl should fling herself out a window if she let herself be seduced.”

  “Doesn’t it depend on who does the seducing?” he asked dryly.

  “Not to her, it didn’t.” She looked into his dark, smiling eyes and relaxed for the first time that morning. “It was the wine, you know,” she told him softly.

  “I’m afraid I don’t believe that,” he replied. He touched her thigh, and her leg tautened involuntarily at the sensuous caress. “We wanted each other, Margie. There’s no shame in that. It’s the most human thing in the world.”

  Her lower lip thrust gently forward. “It’s cheap.”

  Both eyebrows went up over laughing eyes. “Not in my income bracket, it isn’t.” He chuckled.

  She hit his shoulder with the palm of her hand. “Stop that,” she chided. “You know what I mean. People can…make love to each other without strings these days. Except that I can’t be casual about it.”

  He drew in a slow breath, studying her averted face quietly for a long time. “I didn’t tell you what I felt, did I?” he asked. His fingers moved up to her chin, turning her eyes back to his. “Did you think it was all physical with me? That you were just going to be another notch on the bedpost?”

  “It’s nothing against you,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You’re a man.”

  “And you’re a woman. Very much a woman. The first woman,” he added with a level look, “that I’ve touched in several months. I work hard and I play hard, but I don’t have affairs. Not even brief ones.”

  “Just the occasional one-night stand?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” he admitted. “And even then I’m damned particular about the woman. Since my divorce, I haven’t cared all that much for commitment.”

  She studied his hard face intently.

  “Looking for scars? They don’t show,” he told her.

  She shook her head. “I’m trying to imagine what kind of woman would attract you enough to get you to the altar.”

  His sensuous mouth curved. “She was a voluptuous redhead and I literally lost my head over her. I was twenty-five, fresh out of college with a vice-presidency under my belt and visions of love everlasting in my mind. She cured me in two years, and I divorced her the night I found her latest lover in my bed.”

  “Did you know him?” she asked.

  He laughed. “He was her interior decorator.”

  “She went from you…?” Her tone was incredulous.

  He studied her. “You say that as if you couldn’t imagine a woman going from me to another man.”

  “I can’t,” she confessed, and turned her face away. “We’d better finish our breakfast.”

  “What would you say,” he said softly, catching her fingers to lock them into his, “if I were to tell you that I couldn’t go from you to another woman?”

  She felt her eyes dilating, her lips parting as she met his quiet, unblinking gaze. “Are you…telling me that?”

  He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them softly. “Yes, I am.” He turned her hand, and touched his mouth to her palm. His breath sounded uneven and his fingers crushed hers. “Margie, if you want the moon, I’ll get it for you,” he whispered half in jest. “Just promise me you won’t ever try to walk away from me.”

  Tears misted her green eyes as she watched him get to his feet and pull her up against him. His arms swallowed her against his large, powerful body, and he cradled her gently. What could she say? In just a few hours, she was going to be back in Panama City, and she was going to have to tell him the truth. She saw now that there was no future for them as long as any pretense lay between them. She was going to have to trust him enough to level with him, and it might be the end of everything.

  “I won’t go unless you send me away,” she compromised, and pressed close to him, drinking in the scent of him.

  “Send you away?” He laughed mirthlessly. “My God, ask me to do something simple, like cutting off an arm; it would be less painful.” His arms tightened. “Margie, I…want you.”

  It sounded as if he was saying one thing, but meaning something very different. Her breath caught and she looked up at him. “Cannon, when we get back, I’ve got something to confess; something that I…have to tell you. And you may not like it, or me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not on the pill—is that it?” he murmured wickedly.

  She smothered a grin. “Actually, I’m not, but that isn’t what I have to tell you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He looked so concerned, so genuinely concerned, that she almost told him right then. But the words stuck in her throat.

  “Not today,” she said.

  “All right. Not today.” He took her by the waist and lifted her up against his body so that her lips were level with his. “I dreamed about you,” he murmured as he tugged her closer. “I dreamed…that we made love….” His mouth nudged her lips apart, bit at them, teased them. “It was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat and reached for you.”

  Her arms went around his neck and she nuzzled her nose against his, smiling lazily, lovingly. “Was I there?” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “It felt like you,” he murmured back, “but when I opened my eyes, I was squeezing the hell out of a feather pillow.”

  “I didn’t realize I was that flabby,” she whispered as he kissed her.

  “That soft,” he corrected. “And only in certain places. Here…for instance,” he added, lifting her higher so that his mouth could reach the soft swell of her breasts. Even through the fabric the kiss was shatteringly intimate, and she caught her breath with an audible gasp.

  He let her slide down his body until her feet reached the floor, and his eyes probed hers for a long time. “All I have to do is look at you,” he said in a deep, quiet tone, “and I ache to the soles of my shoes. Sorcery. Witchcraft.”

  “You cast a few spells of your own, you know,” she replied. Her hands flattened on his chest, feeling the powerful muscles contract at the light, sensuous touch. “I wondered when we met if you were as hairy all over as your forearms were. Did you know?” She laughed suddenly, her eyes lighting mischievously as she looked up.

  He burst out laughing and linked his hands behind her to swing her with rough affection from side to side. “I am,” he murmured, “as you almost found out last night.”

  “I’ve decided that I like hairy men,” she returned. “It gives me something to do with my
hands.”

  “What does, pulling all the hairs out?” he chided. He jerked her close. “My God, you’re tying me in knots. I don’t want commitment, but I’ll be damned if I could stand a brief affair with you. In between making money and giving it away, you’re all I think about.”

  “I’m very glad,” she said. “Because you’ve been all I’ve thought about since the first time I saw you.”

  “Oh, honey,” he whispered shakily. He took her mouth with such tender sweetness that tears welled up in her eyes. She held his face between her hands, holding his mouth over hers while the kiss went on and on and on.

  After a long minute, he gently pushed her away from him with a heavy sigh. “No more of that for the moment,” he said huskily. “For the next few days, we’re going to get to know one another in a strictly verbal sense.”

  She studied him quietly. “And then?”

  He smiled slowly. “I think you already know. I do.”

  Her eyes were troubled. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”

  “I’ll learn,” he murmured. He kissed her softly. “Let’s go.”

  “Cannon…”

  He turned at the doorway, with her suitcase in his hand. “What, honey?”

  “What about Andy and Jan?” she asked quietly.

  He laughed at her worried expression. “You know damned well I’d give you anything you wanted right now. I’ll give them my blessing, all right?”

  Her face lit up. At least one good thing was going to come out of all this subterfuge, she thought miserably. At least Jan would be happy.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling.

  He drew her to his side as they went toward the door. “I only hope they’ll be as happy as we are,” he said softly.

  Eight

  She was to remember those words later, when they landed in Panama City. And remember them vividly. She followed him into the air terminal, holding the sleeve of his lightweight tan jacket as she tried to keep up with his long strides. It was there that providence overtook her.

  “My gosh, it’s you!” a wild voice gushed out as a woman with white hair positioned herself directly in front of Margie and looked back and forth from the inside cover of Blazing Passion to Margie’s face.

  Margie quelled the urge to run. It wouldn’t do a bit of good.

  “Isn’t it a marvelous likeness?” the woman asked, handing the book to Cannon. He stared in fascination at the small photo of Margie inside the front cover of the bestselling book. “I’d have known her anywhere! When is your next book coming out, Miss McPherson?” the woman continued, blissfully ignorant of the disaster she’d just precipitated. “I read everything you write!”

  “It, uh, it will be out early next year,” Margie managed. “Excuse me, please…”

  She rushed past the woman, who was just getting the book back from a glowering, harsh-faced Cannon. She felt her world coming to an end, and she fought back a flood of hot tears as she waited outside in the blazing heat for him to join her.

  It didn’t take long. She felt him before she saw him, raising her eyes to his reluctantly.

  “Well, well,” he said coldly. “A few political articles for the local paper, didn’t you say?”

  She dropped her eyes to his shirt and drew in a deep, slow breath. “I thought you were a very conventional man,” she said quietly. “I was afraid of spoiling Jan’s chances with Andy by telling you the truth. I’m…I’m fairly notorious.”

  “Yes,” he agreed curtly, “you are that. I’ve seen the damned book on half the desks in the secretarial pool, and the cover’s been screaming at me from bookstore counters all over the country. Too bad I didn’t take the time to look inside it, wasn’t it?”

  She drew back from him, her eyes showing her pain. “Does it matter so much, Cal?’ she asked hesitantly.

  His expression was cold. He didn’t even smile at her. “You lied to me.”

  “Not a lie,” she protested. “Just…an omission.”

  “It amounts to the same thing,” he said shortly. “And the worst damned thing of all was that you did it for your sister. Was that what last night was about as well?” he added coldly.

  She didn’t even realize that her hand had moved until she felt the sting as it connected with his tanned cheek.

  He caught her wrist in a bruising grasp, but he didn’t hit her back.

  “You’ll have to let me know how much I owe you,” he said in a stranger’s mocking voice, a faint, harsh smile on the lips she’d kissed so ardently the night before. “I like to pay for my pleasures.”

  She couldn’t have been more wounded if he’d slapped her. Her eyes misted with tears and she turned away.

  “Where are you going?” he asked coldly. “The car’s this way.” He led the way to the car, put her inside and drove all the way back to the beach house without saying another word.

  She went into the house like a zombie, thankful that no one seemed to be around, and headed straight for her bedroom. She’d no sooner walked inside and put down her purse than Jan came rushing in, her face hopeful, her eyes troubled.

  “Did you talk to him?” she asked quickly, oblivious to the fact that the bedroom door was still open. “Did all that `buttering up’ work any miracles?” she added in a light tone, referring to the gentle teasing of days past, which had only been a joke between them.

  However, to the coldly furious man standing at the doorway with Margie’s suitcase in his hand, her words were the final confirmation of his suspicions.

  “Come into the living room, both of you,” Cannon said quietly. He turned and left the room abruptly.

  Margie felt tears well up in her eyes and run down her cheeks while Jan stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  “He knows who I am.” She swallowed, and Jan’s image blurred. “And what’s worse, he thinks I was only playing up to him for your sake.”

  Jan’s face crumpled. “You’re in love with him,” she whispered.

  Margie managed to nod, before she broke down completely. “He’s going to send us home, Jan.” She wept on her sister’s sympathetic shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

  Suddenly Jan was the strong one, comforting, despite her own fears and apprehension. “It will be all right,” she said, echoing the words Margie had so often spoken to her in times of distress. “It will all work out.”

  “I let you down.”

  Jan held her tighter. “Andy and I will find a way. It’s you I’m worried about. Oh, Margie, forgive me for dragging you into this! If I’d stood up to him in the beginning…!”

  But Margie wasn’t listening. Her heart was breaking inside her shaking body.

  * * *

  Andy was glowering at Cannon when Margie and Jan joined them in the living room.

  Cannon barely spared Margie a glance. He was smoking a cigarette, and never had Margie seen him look more unapproachable.

  “I’m leaving for Chicago in the morning,” he told them without preamble. “Under the circumstances, I think it would be wise if your…guests left for Atlanta at the same time,” he advised Andy.

  “My fianc;aaee and her sister,” Andy corrected, his eyes bright with anger.

  “Over my dead body,” Cannon returned coldly.

  “If that’s what it takes,” Andy said agreeably.

  “Andy, don’t…” Jan said softly.

  “I love you,” the younger man told her, completely unembarrassed at the admission. “I won’t have a life if it doesn’t include you. If it means fighting my brother, all right. I’d rather lose his respect than your love.”

  Cannon shifted, glowering at Andy, but there was a glimmer of admiration in his dark eyes all the same.

  “I’ll go home with you,” Andy said quietly, “and Jan will come with me. She still has vacation time coming. We’ll hash it out there.”

  Cannon lifted the cigarette to his mouth. “Ganging up on me?” he muttered.

  “I’ll call in the neighbors, too, if I need to,�
� Andy said with a weak smile. “I’ve got as much right to live with someone as you have to live alone. Just because you’ve gone sour on women, that doesn’t mean I have to be doomed to bachelorhood.”

  “Women are treacherous,” Cannon returned, and his eyes went straight to Margie.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Don’t you know who our houseguest is?” Cannon asked sarcastically, glancing toward his mother who was just joining the commotion.

  “Of course I know who she is,” Victorine said haughtily, glaring at her eldest. She put a comforting arm around Margie. “She’s probably one of my favorite novelists.”

  Margie stiffened, and Victorine patted her comfortingly. “It’s all right, dear,” she said softly. “I’ve known from the beginning. I have all your books, you see.” She glanced toward Cannon. “And if you’d ever once bothered opening one of them, you would have known her on sight. I did.”

  Cannon didn’t smile. “What a pity someone didn’t fill me in.”

  “And have given you another stick to beat Jan and Andy with?” Margie asked in a subdued tone. She smiled bitterly. “You might as well know it all, since this is confession time. No, Jan,” she said when her sister started to speak, “Andy has the right to know it, too.”

  “Oh, I’m not arguing,” Jan protested. She moved forward, just in front of Cannon. “It’s my fault anyway. I begged Margie not to tell you what she did for a living. I had some crazy idea that I could let you think we were independently wealthy and…” She straightened, her eyes apologetic. “Mother died when I was born, and our grandmother McPherson took us in and raised us. She had to. Our father…” She paused and then plowed ahead. “Our father was an alcoholic. He drank us literally out of house and home, and when he was really high, he’d come and demand that Granny give us back to him. A couple of times,” she recalled uneasily, “he tried to take us with him forcibly. Ashton being a small town, everyone knew about him. He was…noto-rious. We had a hard time at school because of that.”

  She tossed back her short hair and went ahead, and Margie had never been more proud of her. “When he died, and our grandmother followed him soon after, we had very little left. Barely enough to put Margie through two years of college. When she married Larry Silver, I had to live with them, and a lot…a lot of the problem with their marriage was me.”