Pretended? Scowling, he grabbed the bag of borrowed clothes and started back to the cabin. That was his problem in a nutshell. The smitten-suitor role was coming far too easily to him. He had barely slept last night. His mind was too full of images of Dana in her bed. The image had been tempting when he had been separated from her by hundreds of yards and the lens of a telescope. Separated by nothing but a wooden door that was thin enough to hear the creak of the bedsprings through had been a test of his willpower.
She had been restless last night. Although the sliver of light beneath her door had gone out shortly after midnight, he had heard the bed creak as she tossed and turned. Had she been thinking about him as he had been thinking of her? How would she have reacted if he’d gone to her?
That was the question that wasn’t letting him rest. They were two adults. They were attracted to each other. They were alone in an isolated cabin. What would be the harm in finding out? If they let nature take its course…
He swore under his breath and reached for the cabin door latch. A quick one-nighter wasn’t his style, and he doubted it was Dana’s, either. She was an innocent, as sweet and trusting as the characters she wrote about. Despite his growing list of lies, he still had some scruples left. He needed to remind himself of that, he thought, opening the door.
The interior of the cabin was lit only by the fire on the hearth, but Remy immediately saw a figure in front of the window. Dana stood beside the low table there, her hair tousled with sleep, her nightgown covering her to her ankles. For a crazy moment he thought she might have come into the living room looking for him. Maybe she hadn’t been the only one wishing there hadn’t been a door between them. Could she have arisen early to join him on the couch or invite him back to her bedroom?
But the crazy moment passed. A log shifted in the fireplace, and in the sudden flare of light, Remy saw the gleam of the telephone receiver in Dana’s hand.
Not taking his gaze from her, he kicked the door shut behind him and dropped his bag on the floor. “Good morning, Dana. I hadn’t expected to see you up so early.”
“Me, neither,” she said. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”
“I’m an early riser.”
“I had forgotten. Where were you?”
“I went out to look for my bag.”
“Your bag?”
He gestured at the gym bag by his feet. “I had packed some spare clothes before I came up north. I had dropped it when I went to dig you out of the snow.”
“Oh. Lucky you found it.”
“Yes. Who are you talking to?”
“What?”
He nodded to the telephone.
“No one.”
Another log popped. In the silence that followed, Remy heard the buzz of a dial tone.
“It was a wrong number,” she continued, replacing the receiver. She pushed her hair behind her ear. “It woke me up. I rushed out here to answer it so it wouldn’t wake you up, too, but then I noticed you weren’t asleep anyway so it hadn’t mattered.”
Across the width of the room in the firelight, he couldn’t see the expression in her eyes. He didn’t know whether or not she was lying. He supposed it was possible that she was telling the truth.
Just like it was possible that she didn’t know who he was?
Oh, hell. What if somehow she had known all along? What if she had been about to call the police right now? Or worse, what if she had already reached them?
No, he’d heard a dial tone. If she had gotten through, there would have been a voice. If she had completed her call, she would have hung up the phone.
Dana flicked her hair behind her ear again, although it didn’t need it, and moved forward. “How did you sleep, John?”
“Fine. What about you?”
“Not too well. I was thinking about you.”
“Really,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She halted in front of him and reached up to unbutton his coat. “You were right. There is something special between us. I felt it, too, but I hadn’t believed it could happen so fast.”
Was she humoring him, trying to allay his suspicions so she could try her call again?
Or was she telling the truth? What if it really had been a wrong number that had brought her to the phone?
He felt the gentle touch of her hands as she continued to open his coat. He drew in his breath and tasted the scent of lilies and sleep-warmed female. How was he supposed to think straight when she stood this close?
He could see her pulse beating fast in the vein on the side of her neck. Was that because she was telling the truth about her feelings? Or was it because she was nervous about lying?
He peeled off his gloves and put his knuckles under her chin, lifting her face so that he could meet her gaze.
“I enjoyed the evening yesterday,” she said. “It was nice getting to know each other better.”
Despite his doubts, his body was reacting to her as if nothing was wrong. If she honestly wanted to know him better, all she had to do was take another step closer. His hands tingled with the urge to pull her against him, to run his palms over her nightgown and feel the warm curves the sensible fleece fabric hid.
If this was an act, if she was only humoring him, how far would she be willing to go?
She smiled shyly. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal, John?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why did you get your hair cut?”
“It was getting into my collar.”
She raised up on her toes to run her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks, but I think the barber was in a rush.” He tipped his head into her touch. “Maybe you could even it up for me later.”
“Mmm. Sure.” She tapped the side of his mouth with a fingertip. “Why did you shave off your mustache?”
“It was itchy. Don’t you like the change?”
“You look nice either way.”
He moved his hand, placing his palm over her pulse. Her neck was so delicate, his thumb stretched across her throat. “There was another reason I got rid of it.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t want anything to get in the way when I kissed you.”
He felt her throat work against his thumb as she swallowed. “Oh.”
“Feel like trying it out?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
He leaned closer. How far would she be willing to go?
She ran her fingertips across his upper lip. “Nice,” she said. “But I think you need another shave.”
He sighed against her fingers. “Dana…”
“Over easy?”
“Mmm?”
“Your eggs.” She stepped back. “Since we’re both up, I might as well fix breakfast.”
Dana jabbed at the logs with the poker, rearranging them so that the unburned sides lay across the embers. She watched as flames licked upward, first blackening the wood, then turning it orange. The blaze strengthened until the warmth that bathed her face became uncomfortably hot. Just before the heat on her skin reached the point of pain, she pulled back. She closed the mesh curtain spark-guard and sat down on the braided rug in front of the hearth, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Well, that’s what you got when you played with fire, she thought. You got burned.
She had to be insane to think she could outbluff a liar who was as skillful as Remy Leverette. Where did she think this flirtation dance she had entered into would lead? How long before she was trapped in her lies, outsmarted by her own scheme, or as Mortimer and his pirate friends would put it, hoisted by her own petard?
But there had been no choice, she told herself yet again. When Remy had caught her with the phone in her hand this morning, she’d had to come up with something. Fast. He hadn’t seemed to buy her story about the predawn wrong number. So she had tried to distract him with the same methods he had used so effectively on her.
It hadn’t been difficult. That
was the trouble. Pretending to welcome Remy’s supposed advances came all too naturally to her.
The floor creaked behind her, but she wasn’t startled. She had already sensed Remy’s approach. It had been that way all day. Ever since she had followed up on her offer and had trimmed his jagged haircut for him, she had become intensely attuned to his presence.
He had such beautiful hair, thick and surprisingly soft. It had been impossible not to notice how it had slid so sensuously over her fingers. She could understand why he had worn it long before—it was almost a crime to take scissors to it. Whatever barber had left it in such a mess belonged in jail. No, wait. If Remy had trimmed his hair himself in an effort to disguise his appearance, then he already belonged in jail. Oh, God, this was so confusing.
“I fixed you some hot chocolate,” he said, lowering himself to the rug beside her. He handed her a steaming mug.
She took the mug from his hand and blew on it. The aroma of chocolate curled temptingly over the rim as half-melted marshmallows bobbed on the surface. It was a drink that evoked memories of skating parties at her grandparents’ house and the Christmas Eves of her childhood. It was what she would expect John Becker, solid citizen and family man, to offer. It wasn’t what she would associate with a desperate killer.
She pursed her lips and blew harder, then gulped a mouthful of chocolate. “Thanks.”
He stretched out his legs in front of him. “Are you finished working for the day?”
Working? Right, sure. She’d sat at her desk for an hour and pretended to work, hoping he would get bored or inattentive and wander off somewhere. She should have known better. She’d finally given up the pretense when the layer of eraser crumbs had begun to obscure the paper. “For now, anyway,” she replied.
“How’s the book coming along?”
“Fine,” she lied.
“What’s the story about?”
“Mortimer has to save an island village from raiding pirate mice. He gets captured, but he manages to escape and round them up.”
Remy shifted closer until his hip nudged hers. “How does he escape?”
“He distracts them.” She sipped her cocoa and tried not to be distracted by the heat that was spreading from the place their bodies touched. “With, uh, cheese.”
“That sounds like something Mortimer would do.” He covered her hand with his and guided the mug to his own mouth. Placing his lips over the same spot on the rim she had used, he took a drink.
There wasn’t anything sensual about hot chocolate with marshmallows, Dana told herself. It was ordinary and wholesome. Her pulse shouldn’t be speeding up at the way Remy had shared it. No, indeed.
He released her hand and draped his arm over her back. “I wish I had thought of bringing some wine.”
Wine? If his proximity was making cocoa so potent, she sure didn’t need anything stronger… No, wait, she thought. This opportunity was too good to waste. “I have an idea, John.”
“So do I, Dana. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
She sputtered. “What?”
“I meant ideas.” He smiled, playing his fingers over her ribs. “What’s yours?”
“Everything pretty well shuts down after supper in Hainesborough, but if we leave right now, we might have enough time to drive into town and pick up some wine before the stores close.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
Startled, she turned her head to look at him. She hadn’t expected him to agree to go into town.
“I’d like to buy some groceries, too, if we get there in time,” he continued. “I know you weren’t counting on having a visitor.” His thumb rubbed her sweater a hair-breadth from the side of her breast. “Not a visitor with my appetite, anyway.”
Wasn’t he afraid of being recognized? Wasn’t he worried that she might go straight to the first cop they saw and turn him in?
On the other hand, he did look different from the photo that had been on the news, she thought. Without the long hair and the mustache, he looked less like an outlaw, but if he thought he would pass unnoticed, then he was seriously underestimating the eyesight of the female population.
Silence lengthened as she studied him. There was another explanation for his willingness to go into town. What if he was telling the truth? What if he really was a innocent traveler named John who was infatuated with her and—
No. No, no, no. She wasn’t going to go there. It just wasn’t possible.
But it had been a week since she had seen that newscast. And she had only seen the photo for less than a minute, and the policeman who had come here hadn’t believed John could be Leverette, and there had been reasonable explanations for everything…
Just stop it, she told herself. Was she so desperate to believe the romantic fantasy he was weaving that she was willing to disregard her logic? That was downright pathetic. She put the mug of hot chocolate on the floor. “All right. I’ll get my coat.”
“Just a minute,” he said. “Don’t you want to hear my idea?”
“What? Oh, sure. What was it?”
For such a large man, he moved remarkably quickly. Without knowing exactly how he did it, Dana found herself lying on her back on the rug, staring up at Remy’s face.
He placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, straddling her legs as he balanced himself on his knees and his outstretched arms. His dark eyes sparkled with what appeared to be mischief. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Uh…”
“It’s not bearskin, but it should do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If we’re going to get some wine, we need to have a bearskin rug, right? Can’t very well make love in front of a blazing fire without one.”
“John, that’s not… I mean, when I agreed to get wine, I hadn’t meant…”
He grinned and ducked his head to kiss the side of her neck. “You wanted to know my idea,” he murmured against her skin. “That was it.”
Oh, why did he have to kiss her? she thought. If he was trying to distract her, he had chosen an effective tactic. The kiss hadn’t even been on her mouth, yet it sent awareness tingling through her body. Except for the whisper of his breath on her neck, he wasn’t touching her. Nevertheless she could feel him everywhere.
She could probably move away if she wanted to. The way he straddled her left him completely vulnerable to a well-placed knee if she chose to fight him. Yes, a sharp blow to his groin and a follow-up smash to the nose with the heel of her hand could slow him down enough to allow her to get away. The poker was still within her reach, too. She could knock him out with a quick blow to the head and make a run for it—
Bile rose in Dana’s throat. Just the thought of hurting this man made her feel ill. He hadn’t threatened her, he hadn’t harmed her, he had saved her life. As if to make up for her vicious thoughts, she placed her hands hesitantly on his shoulders.
“Maybe we can skip the wine,” he said. He touched his tongue to her earlobe. “What do you think?”
His shirt crumpled beneath her fingers. “I think you’re trying to seduce me.”
“You might be right.” He pressed his nose to her temple. “You smell like lilies, did you know that?”
“What?”
“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. I hadn’t been able to open my eyes, but I caught your scent.”
“It must be my shampoo.”
He gradually lowered himself until his chest was just touching her breasts. “I was in about this spot, I think. I remember the warmth of the fire.”
“I had to leave you on the floor because I hadn’t been able to get you onto the couch.” Beneath her sweater, her skin tingled from the whisper of contact. She should push him off, or wriggle out from under him. Anything instead of lying here waiting…
Waiting? Was that what she was doing?
Yes, she thought, moving her hands to his back. He pressed more firmly against her and she closed her eyes at the mindless surge of p
leasure. Despite who he was and what she knew about him, her body was reacting as if this wasn’t a lie.
He shifted his weight, leaning on his elbow to free the opposite hand. He trailed his fingers down her side, following the curve of her hip, then slipped his hand beneath the lower edge of her sweater.
Her breath caught. “John?”
He made a deep noise in his throat as his fingertips touched her bare skin. Inch by tantalizing inch, he moved his hand upward.
She should stop him now, Dana thought. Right now. This instant. It had gone far enough. There was no way to justify what they were doing—
In one bold move, he closed his hand over her breast.
Oh, damn. Damn. Even as more pleasure shot through her body, Dana’s eyes filled. Why did this have to be a lie? Why did it have to feel so good? She arched her back, filling his palm for a greedy, guilty moment before she grasped his wrist.
He moved his lips over her cheek, kissing his way to the corner of her mouth.
A heartbeat before he would have reached her lips, she turned her head aside. “John, no. We can’t do this.”
He went still. Underneath her fingertips she could feel his pulse throb. “Why not?”
“It’s too fast,” she said, blinking hard.
“Dana…”
“You said you wouldn’t pressure me, remember?”
He exhaled hard, his breath hot on her cheek. He gave her breast one last, lingering caress then slowly withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry, Dana,” he said, his voice hoarse. He rolled to his side. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
She stayed where she was and focused on the ceiling. “That makes two of us.”
“When I touch you I seem to forget…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I forget my good intentions.”
“I tend to forget things, too.”
He placed his index finger under her chin and gently turned her face toward him. “You’re a very attractive woman, Dana. A man would have to be made of stone not to notice.” He smiled crookedly. “I know. When I was half-frozen I noticed.”
Fugitive Hearts Page 9
