“It was no trouble. I’m downstairs. At the front desk.”
“You are!”
“Yes. It was a spur of the moment thing. I decided to just drive up. Uh, can I see you?”
“Jon, like I said, I was about to get into bed.”
“It’s important, Miranda.”
She noticed he used her given name, which told her he probably wanted something serious. After a moment’s hesitation she said, “All right. But you’ll have to make it quick, okay?”
“Sure. Give me your room number and I’ll be right up.”
Miranda tried to process the fact that he was at the front desk. What had made him change his mind and drive up? And what could he possibly want to talk about that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?
She did a quick check of her appearance. She’d washed her face and rubbed aloe vera into it, and had been in the process of brushing out her hair when he called. She wore a decided un-sexy flannel sheep shirt that buttoned down the front, long-sleeved and fell down to her knees in the front and back, a little higher on the sides in shirttail fashion. It was light blue and printed with black-and-white penguins indulging in a variety of winter sports, ice fishing, skiing, tobogganing. She decided not to change. He’d be here any second anyway.
At that moment he knocked.
She opened the door for him, surprised to see that he’d brought his duffel bag with him. She supposed he hadn’t gone to his own room yet.
He got right to the point upon closing the door behind him. “Legs, they have no more rooms left,” he said bluntly. “Not only here in the hotel, but anywhere within a twenty-mile radius. Apparently everybody thought it would be fun to come to Bottineau and ski on opening weekend.”
Miranda didn’t know what to say. Surely he didn’t think he could share her room. “Um…have you tried Canada?” They were only ten miles from the Canadian border.
“I don’t have my passport with me,” he replied dryly. “I was hoping you’d let me bunk here with you.”
Her mouth went dry. “Here? Jon, I only have one bed.”
“And a small one at that,” he said, taking in the queen-size bed. His eyes went to her in that silly nightshirt. When he thought about them sharing a night of passion—and he thought about that pretty often—she certainly wasn’t wearing a flannel shirt printed with cartoon penguins.
Miranda swallowed hard. “Jon, we can’t sleep together.
“I’m not asking to sleep with you. I’m only asking to sleep with you.”
She understood exactly what he meant, but noted it sounded ridiculous.
“Legs, it’s eighteen degrees outside. Are you really going to turn me away?”
Why don’t you call Jae and Brian? Even as Miranda made the mental suggestion, she knew it wouldn’t work. Jae and Brian had been uncharacteristically amorous while having drinks and were probably making love in their room right now. If they felt Jon really had no other place to stay they would take him in, even if it meant canceling their plans for intimacy…but the Gallaghers were well aware of the sexual magnetism going back and forth between her and Jon and would be almost certain to urge him to ask to stay with her. But if they didn’t know about Jon’s room trouble they wouldn’t have to know he stayed with her…and she preferred that they didn’t. She’d rather keep it just between herself and Jon.
Because there was no way she could turn him out in this weather.
With a sigh, she finally said, “You’ll have to sleep in the chair. And this is to be our secret. I don’t want to hear any innuendo from Jae and Brian.” She gave him her best no-nonsense look. “Do you promise on both counts?”
“I promise. Can I sit down now?”
She realized he was probably beat and waved toward the chair as if it were a grand prize on a game show. “Welcome to Casa Rhett.”
“Thanks.” Jon tossed his black nylon duffel on the floor, removed his jacket, then sank into the easy chair and raised his booted feet to the matching ottoman.
“Not bad, considering we’re in the middle of nowhere,” he remarked as he looked around the room. “Wow. They have satin sheets here?” he asked incredulously, looking at Miranda’s satin-sheathed pillowcase. She carried it with her everywhere she traveled.
“No. That’s mine. I carry it with me. Cotton pillowcases are bad for my hair.”
He looked at her and smiled. “I like it when you wear your hair loose. Why do you wear it pinned up so often?”
Miranda swallowed hard, and she considered that maybe she should have pulled it back into a pony tail. “Because the cold, dry air is bad for it. My hair is very dry.”
“It doesn’t look like it,” he said, admiration in his voice.
His expressed approval combined with the way he took her in from her loose hair to her bare feet made her twitch between her legs, and the bed in the room seemed to grow larger, an optical illusion fueled by her intense desire for him.
“I hope you’ve got an extra blanket,” he said. “It’s kind of chilly in here.”
Miranda went to the closet, where she found extra pillows and linens on the shelf. “Here you are,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind if I go to sleep now. Jae, Brian, and I had dinner, went tubing and then stopped at the bar.” She chuckled. “You know, I never drank as much as I have since I’ve been living in North Dakota.”
“I think we have one of the highest alcoholism rates in the country,” Jon remarked sleepily. “Not that I’m implying you have a drinking problem, of course.”
“No offense taken. Wisconsin actually has more than its share of alcoholics, as well. My drinking is strictly on a social basis. I guess I just didn’t expect to be this social.” Miranda thought of the friends she had made and smiled. She’d been fortunate to meet such nice people. She’d even developed a friendly relationship with Chelsea, her landlady, where they sometimes went shopping at the mall or to a chick flick matinee on Sunday afternoons. Her parents didn’t even seem to be as worried about her safety, now that she’d assured them she made a full life for herself here in Bismarck. Sure, most of her activities tended to happen during the week and her weekends sometimes stretched out in front of her like a long and winding road, but she used that time to do laundry, clean her living space, read, wash and condition her hair, and shop for food.
Jon removed his boots and replaced his sock-clad feet on the ottoman. He plumped the pillow and put it behind his head, then in one swoop unfolded the blanket to its full size, covering his feet to the chest portion of his multicolored knit striped crew neck sweater, and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep.
Miranda got into bed, turned out the light, and followed suit.
Miranda, in a sound sleep after a full day, awoke with a start at the sound of a door slamming. The light that showed under the bathroom door told her Jon was in there. He probably wasn’t sleeping well in that chair, which had an ottoman but didn’t recline, but it couldn’t be helped. It surprised her that she could sleep at all, what with him sitting just a few feet away from the bed where she lay. She was grateful for the nearly full day of working with patients, for the long drive, the dinner, the tubing, and most of all, for those two Plantoon Punches, which more than anything had contributed to her being so sleepy.
She lay dozing when she heard the bathroom door open and Jon sleepily stumble into the room. The metal cover of the climate control clanged open, and a few seconds later banged shut. It did feel a little chilly in the room, and for Jon, with only a thin blanket for warmth, it apparently was too cold.
She waited for the sound of him settling back in the chair, but no such sound came. Instead she gasped when she felt the bed sag on one side. Her eyes flew open in time to see him stretching out on his stomach on the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the opposite wall.
Miranda’s mouth dropped open. She quickly slid her hips as far as she could to her side of the mattress without falling off and just sat there, waiting for an opportunity to order him back to the cha
ir. None came. Within a few minutes his breaths became regular with sleep, and her own eyelids felt heavy. Slowly she slid back into a reclining position and, poised near the edge of the mattress, she went back to sleep.
Chapter 14
Jon opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. He was immediately aware that he wasn’t at home in his California king bed, not the way his feet hung off the edge.
He realized he had all his clothes on, and his whereabouts came back to him. He was in Bottineau, bunking in Miranda’s room. Her very dark, stiflingly hot hotel room.
Jon generally slept in sweat pants and an undershirt, and in the raw if he had female company to snuggle up to. But it was too hot in here to snuggle. He must have turned the heat up too far. Damn these hotel rooms. It was usually either too hot or too cold.
The lined privacy curtains made the room only slightly lighter than the Carlsbad Caverns. He sat up and pulled off his sweater and the long-sleeve polo shirt under it, then felt his way to the climate control unit. He adjusted the heat setting, and because he couldn’t see the settings he held his hand in front of the fan. When he felt frigid air against his palm, he turned it in the opposite direction until the air blasted out with a comfortable hint of heat.
As he returned to the bed he managed to make out Miranda’s form so far toward the opposite edge of the mattress that he half expected her body to hit the floor. Her arms stretched upward to hug her pillow, and the back of her head facing him, her dark hair sprawling in all directions against the glowing satin of her cream-colored pillowcase. The covers were down around below her waist—she’d probably thrown them off when she became warm. Her right leg was hidden under the linens, but her left leg was bent, with the knee jutting out and visible. Much of her back was exposed, covered, much to his regret, by the night shirt she wore.
Jon walked around to her side of the bed for a better look, hard to do in the extreme darkness of the room. This time he noticed a distinct dark-colored gap between her pale blue nightshirt and the stark white sheets. With an excited gasp he realized it was her bare thigh. He felt himself lengthen and harden, and he had an unbearably strong desire to touch her. Was she wearing panties under that shirt, he wondered.
He walked back around to the other side and tentatively lowered himself onto the mattress, sliding to the center closer to where she lay. After a minute or so of unsuccessfully trying to see her upper leg in the darkness, he reached out and placed his hand on her hip. Miranda didn’t move, and after a few seconds he boldly moved his hand down to her bare thigh. Knowing he ran the risk of being thrown out on his ass into an outdoor temperature that by now had probably slipped into single digits if she awoke to find him touching her without her consent, he dared to touch her at the rear juncture of her thighs. She moaned softly in her sleep and rotated her hips. Her unconscious reaction to his touch only increased Jon’s already out-of-control arousal.
Despite Miranda’s shock when Jon emerged from the bathroom and plopped onto the other side of the bed, she had allowed herself to fantasize that he would awaken in the middle of the night and make love to her. She’d fallen asleep with that secret thought, and now she was dreaming about it, dreaming that his probing finger was moving between her thighs, reaching into her warm, wet crevice, so tight from a long period of inactivity, and stroking her, bringing her to orgasm and preparing her body to accept what she was certain was a large, virile penis. She writhed in her sleep, an occasional moan escaping from between her lips. His finger was so long, and her muscles contracted around it, squeezing it tightly as if she never wanted him to withdraw. He stroked her faster and faster, and she was bucking her hips wildly, her moans getting louder.
Not until her body began to quake with a sensation she hadn’t experienced in far too long did she suddenly realize that this was no dream. Her eyes flew open and she rolled over onto her back. As she expected, she saw Jon lying down, a lot closer to her than he had been at the time he first crawled into bed with her. With effort she sat up, pulling the linens to cover the bodice of her sleep shirt in a reflex action that was probably fruitless, since he’d already touched her most intimate region. “Jon! What are you doing?”
He gave a maddening chuckle. “I’m trying to seduce you, but if you’re asking what I’m doing I must not be doing it right. Although,” he said, raising his hand with bent fingers to the side of his mouth, “something tells me I did a pretty good job of it.”
The room was incredibly dark, so much that she saw him more as a shadow, but Miranda suspected he was tasting the finger that had just brought her to climax. She bit on her lower lip to keep from letting out a strangled cry of frustrated wanting at the blatantly sexual action.
“You were supposed to be sleeping in the chair,” she said, not sounding nearly as stern as she wanted to. “You promised.”
Jon grunted. “This bed is bad enough. I’m too tall for a queen mattress. That chair was impossible. At least I can lie flat in the bed. Plus, you’re in it, and that cinches it for me.”
“We’re not supposed to be in this bed together, Jon.” This time she sounded like she meant business. “I made that perfectly clear.”
He reached for the hand that held the sheet and blanket over her front, and as the linens fell he swiftly moved into a sitting position, holding her hand in both of his. “You know there’s something percolating between us, Miranda. It’s been there ever since that first night at the dance studio, and now it’s about to boil over. Maybe this isn’t the most romantic setting…Bottineau’s finest hotel leaves a lot to be desired, and maybe I wasn’t able to be more subtle in my approach, but you were sleeping, and sprawled in such a way that I couldn’t resist. I had to touch you. Uh, just last weekend you did say that was what you wanted.”
Miranda shifted uncomfortably, cursing herself for sharing her true feelings with him. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, she’d probably slept with her thighs apart in an unconscious display of her wish to have Jon make love to her.
“But now that we’re both awake…” Jon’s face, just a shadow in the extreme darkness, moved in close, and even as Miranda prepared to open her mouth to protest she felt her eyes closing.
They kissed with him holding her hand in his but not otherwise touching, slow, deep, and full of longing. Those giveaway sighs of wanting escaped from her throat again, once more betraying her desire for him.
“So,” he said when he gently pulled away, “what happens now?”
Miranda wanted to weep with frustration. “Oh, Jon.”
“I guess…” he paused to nibble at her ear…”we have two choices. We can go back to sleep, you here and me in the chair, or…” he moved forward to nuzzle her throat…”we can just continue what we were doing.”
Even as Miranda threw her head back to give him full access to her neck she shook her head in slow motion. “Jon, we can’t.”
“Are you telling me…” his tongue flecked the skin of that sensitive area behind her earlobe…”that you want me to stop?”
“Ye-es.” Miranda’s shaky voice belied her intention, and she knew Jon knew it.
“Does it feel hot in here to you?” he murmured.
“Jon, we can’t.” Her repeated declaration came out as a breathy whisper. “You know we can’t. We could lose our jobs.”
“This is Bottineau, not Bismarck. No one has to know, not even Brian and Jae.” His lips, traveling all over, brushed over hers before moving to the corner of her mouth and running his tongue over that. “Mmm, you smell good.”
“Jon!”
“C’mon Legs, lie down with me for a minute. We’ll think on it.”
Think, my ass. Once she laid down next to him she’d be as done as toast, and he had the butter to melt on it and the jelly to make it sweet. “I can think sitting up.” But her back was starting to ache as it leaned against the hard wooden headboard that was fastened to the wall, and with reluctance she slowly slid into a reclining position. She deliberately put her back to him, wh
ich seemed like a safe choice—it would prevent him from kissing her again—but within seconds she realized there was no such thing as safety when she and Jon were in the same bed.
Jon pressed the front of his body against her back of hers, and for the first time she felt the hard outline of his male muscle against her backside, right through the stiff denim of his jeans. Who was she kidding? This is what she’d dreamed of. Dance classes were nearly over. They were miles away from anyone who knew them, and even if Jae were to learn they’d shared a room she’d hardly report them; if anything she seemed to want them to get together. What did she have to lose, except more climaxes like the one she’d just had?
Jon was working hard to convince her. He had one hand draped over her waist, holding her lower body close to his, with her buttocks flush against his groin. With his other hand he lifted her hair, tossed it over her shoulder, and proceeded to nuzzle the back of her neck.
A Kiss of a Different Color Page 13
