by Sara Logan
"I can't imagine any such thing."
"Were you scared, Alex? They do sound awful."
"No, I wasn't, but I thought you might be." He looked thoughtfully at her in the dimness. "I should have known you wouldn't be. I am cold, though. Freezing, to put it mildly. Do you know where Mrs. Brown keeps her extra blankets?"
"I have no idea. In fact, I would be surprised if she has any. I'm cold, too," she admitted, noticing in surprise that his breath, in the chilly room, puffed out in little white frosty wisps. "I'm too cold to go back to sleep, I'm afraid. That and all that coffee."
"Let me look around and see what I can find. We might be able to borrow some blankets from the other rooms, since they're not in use. I gather we're the only people here besides the Browns. I'll be back directly."
He left the door open, letting in the dim light from the corridor, and she heard his quiet footsteps going slowly down the hall, pausing occasionally. Then he was back.
"Drat! They're all locked! I can't get into any of them." A wave of chilly air came past him into the room, swirling down the corridor from the ill-fitting windows at each end, and he hastily shut the door.
Christina, really awake now, was shivering violently. Only by clenching her teeth could she keep them from chattering.
"Look, I've an extra sweater in my bag. Let me get it for you, Chris. You're freezing."
He soon returned with a thick cashmere sweater of soft, warm brown, and she stood up and let him pull it over her head.
"What about you?" she asked, shaking with cold as she slipped back into the uninviting bed.
"I have a jacket on over my sweater and the velour bathrobe on top of that. I'm all right, but I'm worried about you. After last night, you don't need to catch a chill on top of everything else. I swear, it's as cold as the North Pole in here. My room is no better, so it won't help to move you in there. My window has a worse draft than that! Well, I'm not letting you catch pneumonia, and that's final. Just a minute."
He strode from her room and returned quickly with his spread and blanket. Before she could protest he had spread them on her bed and tucked them tightly at the bottom. Then he removed his robe and spread that over the covers.
"I can't take your covers, Alex! You'll really freeze. What'll we do if you get pneumonia?"
He shut the door without answering and advanced on her, fumbling slightly as he nearly fell over the foot of the bed in the dark. A little light came through the thin cotton curtain at the window, and he felt his way to the head of the bed and pulled back the covers.
"Desperate situations require desperate solutions," he murmured, sliding in beside her. Before she could move or open her mouth in what she would later come to realize was a senseless protest, he continued. "Relax, Chris. All I'm after is your body heat, my dear. With two blankets and two spreads, and if we snuggle together, we may survive this arctic adventure without even a cold. Turn over and let me curl up behind you. Try to relax! It's like getting into bed with a washboard. There, that's better," he sighed, curving his long body behind her. She was pulled firmly into his arms, pressed warmly against him, and after a few minutes she did actually find herself relaxing and her uncontrollable shivers ceased. It was, she thought, like sliding into a warm cocoon, snug, cozy, secure.
She sighed deeply and murmured, "You do have the best ideas, Alex," but before he could answer, she closed her eyes and promptly went back to sleep.
After a long time Alex, too, dozed off, too tired by then to do otherwise. It must have been very early in the morning, when he had slipped into a sound sleep, that Christina stirred, half waking. She blinked in the darkness, wondering where she was. She became aware of the warm arms holding her against a solid, masculine body and her eyelids flew open in shock. Then she remembered. Alex! The cold room, the extra blankets! Her right arm, which she had been lying on, felt numb, so she eased herself over onto her back, trying not to wake him.
Alex felt her move and, drowsily, drew her even nearer, murmuring her name, and rolled over to cradle his head on her breast. Christina froze. She was burningly conscious of the weight of his head, of the crisp hair tickling her chin. She lay very still for a long while, not wanting to disturb him, but he was getting quite heavy. He was leaning against her, half lying on her, and she knew she had to move him over a little. Gently, she tried to slide out from under him, lifting his weight carefully as she did so. Then he stirred, lifted his head, and looked into her eyes. She could just make out his face in the dim light, enough now, as it moved toward dawn, to see his sleepy eyes and sweetly curved mouth.
Half asleep, aware only of her nearness, his head came down and his lips found hers. For a long time Christina had no conscious thoughts at all. She was drifting high in the stars, on a magical cloud, as she responded to him with every fiber of her being. Dimly, she was aware that he had shifted her until she was lying close in his arms, with her own arms wound tightly around his neck. She could feel a strong, warm hand caressing her back, and then it moved down and touched the bare skin at her waist. Without hesitation, the hand slipped beneath her layers of sweaters and slid warmly up her back, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
His mouth grew more urgent as she pressed nearer to him, no thought of resistance in her mind. She only knew that, after a long, troubled voyage, she had come home. Home to love and security and glorious existence. His lips left her mouth and explored her cheek, her ear, and then moved down the soft column of her neck. He was murmuring her name, and she shivered against him, too caught up in the sheer ecstasy of the moment to care what he did. Suddenly, he crushed her to him, kissing her with a hungry passion that fanned her inner glow into a raging fire that she had never known before. One hand was entangled in her hair, and the other was curved over one soft breast, teasing and caressing her and sending shivers of longing running through her. Her body was on fire, waves of flame spreading through her limbs, leaving her trembling with the intensity of her emotions. He was murmuring words of love, and his hand moved and began to push aside the layers of clothing blocking the descent of his lips down her throat. She could feel the heat of his body against her, could smell the tangy aftershave that lingered on his skin, and she shivered with desire.
"Darling…" he murmured, his hand moving back to rest lightly on her breast once again, and it was like an echo of another place, another time. A vision of Lorna, with her beautiful face and sleek dark hair, of that red mouth pouting invitingly at Alex, of that husky voice saying, "Darling, I want you, too…" Agony seared through Christina and she thrust Alex away, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. No! It was too much to endure. He could not come from Lorna's eager, experienced arms to hers!
She rolled away from him and shrank back against the headboard.
"Chris? What… ?"
"Don't touch me," she stammered, pushing his questing hand away.
A taut silence descended as he sat up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness so he could see her against the headboard. "What the devil is this all about?" he demanded, his voice tight with strain.
"I—I don't want you to… I mean, that's enough Alex!"
He studied her averted face as best he could in the dim light and frowned. "You're calling a halt? Just like that?"
"J-just like that," she agreed, still breathing hard and desperately trying to swallow the scalding tears rising in her throat. "I can't… I won't let you make love to me! I'm not like—" She stopped abruptly, nearly saying she wasn't like Lorna.
"You're not like what?" Alex demanded, his mouth grim and intent.
"I'm not that kind," she substituted quickly. "I'm sorry, but there it is."
"I see." But it was apparent to Christina that he didn't see at all.
The silence that followed his grim statement tore at her ragged nerves and it was all she could do not to burst into tears. "I know," she said, her voice quivering pitifully, "that it just, well, got out of hand, Alex. We didn't intend to…" Against his tight, quiet anger, she gave
up, her voice dwindling into silence. He studied her miserable face carefully.
"You're correct about that. I didn't come into bed with you with the intention of seducing you, Chris." Christina shivered again at the hard, bitter tone. "I thought you knew me better than that. However, you're also right that it got out of hand. You've reminded me that I'm a gentleman and am expected to behave like one. Do you want me to go back to my own bed for the rest of the night, or do you think you can bring yourself to trust me?"
At the hard edge to his voice, she nearly threw her knowledge of his dealings with Lorna in his face but forced herself to keep the words from spilling out. She was also aware now of the frigid temperature of the room and the icy draft swirling around her shoulders. So she slid back under the covers and muttered, "Stay. It's still too cold for one blanket."
"If you're sure?"
"I'm sure." She moved slightly, showing her intention of turning over, and he made no move to prevent her. Without another word, Alex lay down beside her, drawing her, as before, firmly against him and pulling the covers tightly over them both.
Until dawn streaked over the hill and slowly set the room aglow, they both pretended to be asleep. Christina, worn out with emotion, was just really beginning to doze off again when a fearful racket erupted below them. Music, shatteringly loud music, came up through the floor, vibrating the bed. She closed her eyes in silent agony. Alex freed his arm and looked at his watch. Then he looked at the tousle-haired girl lying stiffly in his arms.
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, that's a call to breakfast," he said lightly. "It's seven thirty and I bet she knows that will bounce anyone out of bed."
Christina strove to meet his light tone. "She always does that. The jukebox is directly below us, remember, and every time we've stayed here, we've been awakened by that unusual alarm clock."
Alex slipped out of bed and looked down at her. "Chris," he began, "about last night…"
Christina shook her head and determinedly got up. She faced him across the bed. "There's nothing to discuss about last night. You misjudged me, that's all, and now you know it. I really thought that I had misunderstood the situation, but now I guess I didn't," she added painfully.
Alex frowned. "Misunderstood what situation? I told you, I didn't come in here with the intention of seducing you, Chris!"
"I don't mean that."
"Then what do you mean?" he demanded in a tone that would not accept anything less than the full truth.
"Lorna," she said simply, turning away and gazing blindly at the dim light coming in around the edges of the curtain.
"Lorna?" he questioned. "Do you mean… ?"
She spun around, her face tight with control. "I mean that I know you were engaged to her, that she broke it off to marry your cousin because he was rich and titled, and that now she wants you back."
He stared at her without moving, his face giving nothing away. "You seem to have found out a great deal in two days."
Christina raised her chin defiantly. "I have, haven't I? But I'll admit that, until yesterday, I thought it was all Lorna's idea. That she was chasing you and you weren't interested! But you are, aren't you? It doesn't matter to you that you'll eventually break up Rory's marriage when he finds out, which he will, sooner or later. They always do! But you seem to be willing to take her even on those terms! I wouldn't have thought it of you, Alex. I really believed you were… different. But I was wrong, wasn't I? And it doesn't say much for your character that you were willing to come from her arms to mine! I don't play that kind of game Alex."
His face had whitened and now he stared contemptuously at her. "You've got it all figured out, haven't you?" he said in a tone she had never heard from him before. "You've tried, judged, and sentenced me without hearing a word of explanation from me. Very well, if that's how you want it…"
She bit her lip, wondering desperately if she was wrong and if he could give a reasonable explanation. When he said nothing else, she firmed her mouth and shook her head. "That's how I want it."
Without another word, he walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. She went slowly to the little mirror and decided that the night's events had left their mark on her. Why not? she demanded of her miserable reflection. She had nearly frozen to death, had been awakened by a pack of jingarings, had had her room invaded, had been carried to the stars on a magic cloud and then dropped, heavily and disastrously, back to earth. One thing was painfully clear, she thought, a hard lump in her throat. She was deeply in love with Alexander Stewart, in love with a man who was willing to play his cousin false and to destroy her own innocence. Brushing out her hair with savage, painful strokes, Christina wondered how she could bear it.
Mrs. Brown, her usual cheerful self, cooked and served the two a very good breakfast, but while she was bustling around she couldn't help but eye them curiously. She did wonder what had happened to upset the young lady, and it was obvious to her that the young lady was upset! The gentleman—and my goodness, he was handsome!—appeared much as he had the night before, except for some new lines of fatigue around those black eyes.
"Looks like we have a beautiful day for our drive home, Chris. There's not a vestige of fog left out there."
"Good," said Christina, not looking at him.
"In fact, I've never seen a clearer day," he pursued.
Christina made no answer to that, and after a moment Alex transferred his attention to Mrs. Brown.
"Well, now, porridge for breakfast! It's the first I've had since I left Scotland," Alex exclaimed, in a voice a shade too hearty, as he shook out his napkin.
Mrs. Brown smiled her approval at him. "I knew I recognized the burr, Mr. Stewart," she said. "I had a Scottish grandmother."
While the two chatted about Scottish grandmothers and found that theirs were much alike, Christina lifted apathetic eyes to her steaming bowl of oatmeal and tried to eat it. Once—a lifetime ago it seemed, although it was only yesterday—she would have playfully requested that Mrs. Brown bring Alex a big bowl of grits and then laughed while he faced it down. But not today.
She noticed that his hair was slightly damp. That also would have been an excellent topic for laughter… his foolhardiness at facing one of those arctic showers. But now she felt constrained about mentioning them or, in fact, any subject that had been of interest to them before last night. Because of this, she could not think of anything to say, anything that would bring a light, sophisticated touch to the meal. She thought to herself that the reason was that she wasn't sophisticated and never would be.
Mrs. Brown removed Alex's empty bowl and Chris's full one without comment and set down fried country ham and eggs and hot biscuits. She motioned to the jam on the table. "Red raspberry," she said proudly. "I made it myself." But nobody answered her. After a few tentative bites, Christina pushed her plate away and sipped the steaming coffee gratefully.
She knew that yesterday Alex would have teased her about her appetite. In all their yesterdays, she would have wolfed down her breakfast with as much gusto as he. He would have wondered how such a little girl could put away so much food. But today, whether he noticed if she were eating or not, he kept his eyes on his plate and said nothing at all.
Mrs. Brown stood at the kitchen door, watching them to see how their meal was progressing, and then approached the table. "More coffee, sir?" Alex nodded, but Christina said, "No, thank you," quite primly and got up.
When they were checking out, the fog having indeed cleared, Christina insisted firmly that she be allowed to pay for her room and meals. She didn't want to owe Alex anything.
In the parking lot, Alex turned to Christina. "How's the ankle? I notice you're still favoring it a bit."
"It's all right," she returned, without looking at him.
"Why don't you let me drive again so you can give it one more day of rest? Then it should be as good as new."
She handed the car keys over without a word, stowed her luggage in the trunk without waiting
for him to help, and was in the passenger seat of the car and buckled up before he could assist in any way.
Chapter Ten
They drove in silence. When it was necessary, she would give him the briefest of directions about where to turn or what highway to look out for. After a while she roused herself occasionally to point out something of interest that she thought he should see. After all, she thought, she was his guide. And that was all! But she found his silence so daunting that she grew more and more silent herself as the miles flew by. She tried to analyze it. It was a different kind of silence, not at all like the companionable ones they had shared in the past. Wrapped in the uneasy atmosphere, Christina at last made a strenuous effort not to think at all. Only by banning the remembrance of last night could she endure to sit there, mile after mile, without saying a word. She realized that she knew just how an injured dog felt. She, too, wanted to crawl into a dark corner and lick her wounds. At last they turned in to the quiet street where she lived and pulled up in front of the house. Bess came out just as Christina opened the car door.
"Bess, hi. Where's Gramps?"
The older woman's face fell. "Well, Miss Chris…" She paused. "I'm not quite sure how to tell you, honey."
"He's… he's…" choked Christina.
"No, honey," Bess said as she took Christina in her arms. "It's nothing like that. He's in the hospital."
"I'll go over right away."
"But, Miss Chris, let me tell you…"
"Later, Bess, please," interrupted Christina.
"But…"
"I'll go with you," said a firm, masculine voice, and Christina turned to see Alex standing there. For the moment she had forgotten all about him. She roused herself a little. "That won't be necessary. I can go alone."
"I insist," he said in reply and, taking her arm, put her back into the car.
They drove to the hospital in a tense silence that grew more ragged the closer they got to their destination. Christina fought back tears as she thought about Gramps. How strong he had been when her parents were killed, how concerned for her welfare, how sympathetic. The doctor had warned her he could have another heart attack, but she had convinced herself that it wouldn't happen. Now it had, and she wasn't prepared at all!
