Tempting Heat (Tempt Me Book 1)

by Sara Whitney

  Fear cut through him, sharper than the wind, but he plowed ahead, pushing through the untouched snow. It crept under his coat sleeves, and the flakes landing on his cheeks and nose melted and trickled down his overheated face to pool inside his collar. The street itself was silent save the howling of the wind and his own labored breaths, and his blue puffer jacket was the only spot of color in this otherwise white, swirling world.

  God, how long was this block? How close was he to the corner? How long would it take to reach the next street if he had to fight through drifts the whole way?

  “Tom! Hey, Tom!”

  At first, he thought he was imagining the faint sound of his name being tossed on the wind, but when it persisted, he forced himself to pause and search for the source. A dark shape leaned out of an upper window, partially obscured by the thick flakes in the air. It was Finn, her long braid a stiff banner in the wind as she shouted like a fairy-tale princess in a tower at the peasants on the street below.

  “Come back up! I can’t let you die in a snowbank.” She pulled her head in, then popped it right back out. “Even if you deserve it!”

  Make that a mean fairy-tale princess.

  For a tenth of a second, Tom thought about waving her off and continuing on to the train, but that was obviously insane. His teeth were already chattering, and he hadn’t even cleared the end of her block yet. He’d changed his mind; dying of exposure was only slightly less preferable than returning to Finn’s apartment.

  “Okay!” he hollered back, pivoting to follow the tracks he’d just made. Incredibly, they were already starting to fill in.

  When he reached the door, she buzzed him in, and he wrestled the heavy beast back open, practically throwing himself to the tiles in gratitude that he was safe from the elements. He took a minute to catch his breath before dragging himself back up the stairs.

  Her apartment door was ajar, and he rapped once before walking in and nudging it shut behind him.

  She perched on one of the kitchen chairs, spine stiff. “There’s no way you were going to make it eight blocks.”

  Tom leaned against the door and tried not to shiver at the sensation of wet denim clinging to his cold flesh. “No. Not likely,” he admitted, unable to stop the tremor that rolled through him as his icy socks squelched in his shoes.

  Her mouth flattened. “Then I guess we’ll have to do our best to ignore each other until things clear up.”

  He nodded, although it was more like uncoordinated jerking as his extremities tried to shut down from the cold. “Good thing we’ve had plenty of practice at that.” Her nostrils flared, but he was too frozen to celebrate landing a jab. “Listen, I know we haven’t spoken since… everything went down. But you’ve got my word that I haven’t turned into a murderer or an arsonist or a vegan or anything weird. I’m just a guy who overslept in a strange apartment on the worst possible day.”

  She sighed and stood up, gesturing to the coatrack behind him. “Hang your coat up. I’m guessing you’d like a hot shower?”

  He almost let out a sob. “Yes. That would be amazing.” He’d deal with his sodden clothes later. Right now he wanted to be enveloped by hot, steamy water.

  She pointed to the bathroom. “If you give me a second, I’ll find you some clean towels.”

  She might have allowed him back into her apartment, but her voice was as cold as the wind that had buffeted him outside. He didn’t care though; he was already moving across the small living room, hoping he’d be able to feel his toes again soon.

  Three

  Finn heard the shower start up as she was raiding the linen closet and felt a spurt of annoyance. Her unwelcome guest hadn’t followed her instructions to wait until she’d handed him a towel and retreated to a safe distance.

  Tom Castle. In her home. In her shower. Their last real conversation all those years ago had been a screaming match—well, she’d screamed; he’d remained pale and silent—and now he was naked in the next room. And he’d had the audacity to get even better-looking in the intervening years.

  While she was mentally reconciling the skinny teenager she’d known with the broad-shouldered specimen of today, an idea struck her. She might not be happy with this situation, but her mother had raised her to be hospitable. She rummaged through a basket in the back of her closet until she hit pay dirt and, arms full, approached the bathroom door, which Tom had left cracked open. Taking a deep breath, she knocked hard once.

  “I’ve got towels.” She tried to sound calm and assertive, as if she brought terry cloth to naked men every day. Dammit, Josie wouldn’t blink an eye at this; her roommate was so much better at rolling with the unexpected than Finn was.

  His disembodied voice floated from the shower. “Come on in. Drop them wherever.”

  She could push the whole bundle through the cracked door without ever entering. In fact, that’s obviously what she should do. And yet that was her hand reaching out and nudging the door open, and those were her feet carrying her into the steamy room, the bundle of fabric clutched to her chest. After all, she’d be in and out fast, and Tom would stay safely behind the shower curtain.

  The mostly clear shower curtain with only a small spray of daisies on it.

  Oh God.

  That dark curly hair, the long torso, those glorious cheekbones. All of it wet and only a few feet away. She swallowed hard and deposited the folded stack onto the closed laundry hamper next to the sink, intending to leave immediately until her eyes snagged on the tall shape standing under the spray. His palms were flat against the shower wall, and his head was tipped forward. She’d bet he was reveling in the warmth after his time outside, closing his amber-colored eyes against the spray as it slid down the muscles of his back to travel downward—

  Aaaaand she’d turned into a creeper.

  “I left stuff next to the sink,” she yelled, then slipped out of the bathroom, hoping like hell he hadn’t noticed her loitering.

  The rest of the apartment felt even chillier after the humid bathroom. She pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped herself in it before sinking onto the cushions. She should’ve let his worthless ass fall into a snowdrift and be carried away by a snowplow. He deserved it.

  Except she’d felt an actual bolt of fear race through her as she’d watched his slow progress in front of her building and thought about him fighting like that for blocks and blocks. For once in her orderly life, she’d acted impulsively, and now she had to figure out what to do with him. Well, not do with him, obviously, but would it be possible for them to ignore each other for the next twenty-four hours—or, God forbid, longer?

  “I need you to stop throwing this hissy fit, Mama Nature,” she muttered to the slice of gray sky visible through the windows. After a moment’s deliberation, she texted a quick rundown of her situation to big brother Jake. Knowing his busy schedule, he’d only think to check it if she’d been missing for a week, but it was still preferable to keep him in the loop rather than her panic-first-ask-questions-later mom. That done, she let the phone fall to her lap as her oh-so-helpful brain conjured images of what might be happening behind that closed bathroom door.

  When the shower shut off, she lunged for one of the magazines sitting on the coffee table so it wouldn’t look like she’d been staring into space, thinking about him. Which, of course, was exactly what she’d been doing. She flipped randomly to an article about personal finance for single women but couldn’t stop herself from looking up when the door opened and her houseguest emerged, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the shower.

  “I don’t know what kind of witchcraft it took for you to find things that fit me, but I’m grateful,” he said. “I would’ve worn sparkly pink tights if it meant not putting those wet jeans back on.”

  Her eyes ran down his body. He was talking about the clothes adorning his person, after all; she was only participating in the conversation. The long-sleeved DePaul T-shirt stretched across his well-muscled chest, and the black track pants were
a touch too short, which made the fuzzy socks he was wearing stand out even more.

  She looked down to hide a smile. “My friend’s gym is nearby, and he sometimes comes here to change before or to clean up afterward. We keep a little supply of things for him that he’s left over the years.”

  Tom kicked up one foot to contemplate the lime-green and cotton-candy-pink stripes on his socks.

  “Okay, not those,” she amended. “Those are mine. They’re the warmest socks I own. I thought you’d appreciate them after your brush with death.”

  He offered her a crooked grin, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen that smile in so long. She’d missed that smile, despite it all. He still had those dimples on either side of his wide mouth, so deep a woman could fall in if she wasn’t careful.

  Good thing she knew to be careful.

  “That was thoughtful. Thanks.” He seated himself in the overstuffed chair next to the couch and stretched out his legs, hooking one ankle over the other on the ottoman. His smile faded as he pushed his dark wet hair back from his forehead. “So. Do I need to sleep with one eye open, or should we talk about th—”

  “No.” The word burst from her throat, and she rolled the magazine until her knuckles were white and she was able to speak calmly. “No. What’s the point? Let’s just try to ignore each other until you can leave.”

  She offered him her best tough-girl face, and he simply nodded and looked down at those ridiculous socks. A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the windows in their panes, and Finn shivered. What a catastrophe. With or without Josie, she’d been counting on a chill weekend. But no way was she going to let her guard down for a second with Tom there, both familiar and strange and stirring up all kinds of long-buried emotions.

  So she lied. “I actually have a big work project that I brought home with me. I’ll set up in my room.” It was the only activity she could think of that would give her an excuse to shut her door and pretend that Tom had remained a painful memory from her past. “What about you?”

  He jiggled his knee, and she wondered if he was uneasy too or just burning off excess energy.

  “I’ve always got a mountain of work I can do.” He pointed to his bag near the door. “Have laptop, will travel.”

  “Kitchen table okay for you?”

  “Sure.” He surged to his feet, and wow, she’d forgotten how tall he was and how tiny he made her feel.

  She shrugged off the afghan and stood too, the forgotten magazine slithering to the floor. “Sure,” she repeated. “There’s soda and beer in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever.”

  Tom crossed the room to grab his bag and dropped it on the table. “Thanks. Can I keep any spare change I find when I rummage through your drawers?”

  “Ha,” she said flatly.

  He offered her another lopsided grin. “Now that I think about it, it’s probably not worth the trouble. I’ve got a teaching assistant’s stipend that keeps me in the lifestyle to which I’ve lowered my standards. Spare change isn’t going to make a dent in the student loans.” He pulled a power cord out of his bag and swiveled his head around the room.

  She pointed at the outlet along the kitchen wall, then asked in spite of herself. “Teaching assistant?”

  He plugged in and returned to the table. “I’m a PhD candidate in economics at Northwestern.”

  His hair was drying into those familiar curls, and he was reminding her of just how smart he was? Unfair.

  “Makes sense. You were the only one in econ class who actually enjoyed learning about The Wealth of Nations.”

  He grinned at her over the top of his MacBook. “Would you believe that’s what my dissertation’s on? I’m examining its compatibility with the rise in ethical investment portfolios.”

  A memory surfaced of his enthusiasm for the topic, so at odds with the other bored-out-of-their-minds students in class. “I bet your grad school study groups aren’t nearly as much fun as we were.”

  His smile faded. “They aren’t.”

  Well, hell. Why had she brought that up? Their high school study group had been her, Tom, and Dylan—her boyfriend and Tom’s best friend—and they’d been a happy little trio. Until they weren’t. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant memory for him either. Time to shut this down.

  “I’ll be in there.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward her room. “Holler if you need anything.”

  Before she’d gone three steps, his voice stopped her. “Hey, Huck?”

  She turned slowly, apprehension and anticipation at war in her stomach.

  “Wi-Fi password?”

  Ah. Of course. He wanted to get online. She rattled it off and fled to her bedroom, where everything was neat and tidy and not covered in a sticky layer of emotions.

  Four

  Tom had prepared a speech once upon a time. A furious defense to show Finn Carey exactly how wrong she was about him. He’d imagined himself delivering it in a variety of settings: in the hallway between classes, at a cafeteria table, from the stage at graduation. It never happened, of course, but each time the crux of his message would’ve been the same: How could you ever think I would do that?

  He’d never imagined delivering it almost a decade later in the apartment of Finn Carey, adult. Yet the arguments he’d gone over and over in his head came rushing back, ready to unleash, as she’d sat on the couch, trying to hide behind a magazine. He’d even given her an opening.

  She didn’t want to talk about it? Fine. He’d ignore their history and count the minutes until he could get the fuck back out of her life. Good thing he had two hundred pages of dissertation edits to plow through.

  He pulled one of the binders from his bag and smoothed his fingers over the printed sheets of his rough draft, imagining he could feel the power of Adam Smith’s economic theories vibrating on the page. With his earbuds plugged in and the pages spread on the table in front of him, he soon forgot all about the uncomfortable kitchen chair, the chilliness in the apartment, the storm howling outside, even the woman in the next room.

  Three hours later, he rested his elbows on the table and sank his fingers into his overlong hair as he stared at the note on page 108. Professorial handwriting was erratic on a good day, and with the addition of a stain of some kind, probably coffee, it was downright illegible. He gave a growl of frustration.

  “Something wrong?”

  Tom jumped and yanked out his earbuds, surprised to find Finn hovering at the opposite end of the table, arms stiff at her sides. While he’d been staring at his screen, the rest of the apartment had grown dark beyond the pool of light from the overhead fixture. She stood at the edge of the illumination, her unbraided hair a curtain of midnight around her tense shoulders.

  His laidback chill had always acted as a counterweight to her tightly-wound in high school. Assuming things hadn’t changed that much, he slipped into role of extremely relaxed guy and prayed it would get her to stop moving around the apartment like she was strapped to a board. “Yes, actually. Can you make heads or tails of this?” He pointed out the illegible note, and she moved around the table, her forehead wrinkling as she examined the red ink.

  Even in comfy clothes, she looked carefully put together, exactly the way he remembered her. Her family had skirted the poverty line when she was growing up, but she’d always carried herself as if her meticulously cleaned and pressed thrift-store clothing was haute couture. And here she was now in an immaculate white sweater and soft, expensive-looking pants, with suede slippers on her feet. Good for her.

  “Be sludge turtle Jay?” She squinted at the page. “I don’t know anything about graduate-level economics. Does that make any sense to you?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “It’s the newest member on my dissertation committee. She replaced a professor who stepped away for family reasons last week, and I haven’t figured out her handwriting yet.”

  She glanced at it again. “Oof. Brutal. Is that pretty common?”r />
  “Bad handwriting? Yes. New committee members in the defense stage? Definitely not.” Anxiety over the in-flux state of his dissertation committee reared its head, but Tom shoved it aside and reached for nonchalance. “That’s actually my second replacement this semester, out of five. Number one had green card issues, and now number two’s in California taking care of her father after he fell and broke his hip, so it’s been a lot of catching new people up. My luck strikes again.”

  “Oh man, the Tom Castle bad luck!” He saw the memories fire in her synapses. “What did you always used to say? ‘Expect the worst. Prepare for the worst. It’s always the worst’?”

  He nodded and tried not to be flattered that she remembered. “I’m still pretty much an optimism-free zone.”

  “Let’s see…” She tipped her head toward the ceiling in thought. “You got a flat tire on prom night and almost missed the dance. Yours was the only flooded locker when the high school roof leaked. Oh, and then there was the ostrich that charged at you and only you during our trip to the Brookfield Zoo.”

  “That ostrich thought I was a sexy beast.” He smirked to cover for the fact that those were minor speed bumps compared to the true disappointments of his life. When you spend years watching your best friend kiss the girl you’re crazy about, you start to doubt that things will ever break your way.

  Enough of that though. He leaned back in his chair and felt his spine protest. “I’ve been sitting for too long.” He groaned and stretched, and when Finn moved to the countertop and took the lid off the slow cooker sitting there, he choked back a different kind of groan. Now that he’d pulled his mind off research, his hunger came roaring up to meet the spicy smell filling the kitchen.

  Seconds later he was standing at her side, using his six-inch height advantage to peer over her head at the concoction she was stirring. “What is it?”

  She laughed at the awe in his voice. “It’s chili. You did say you weren’t a vegan, right?”