by Anna Jeffrey
She drew a deep breath as her whole body began to relax. “They’re size tens. Not especially dainty.”
“My granny would say you’ve got a good understanding. And her old sayings are always right.” He began to knead the sole with his thumbs. “So while I’m warming up these size tens, why don’t you tell me what you’ve run off from. Old boyfriend maybe?”
“I get it. I tell you my secrets, but you keep me guessing about yours. This probably isn’t the clever thing to say, but I don’t have any old boyfriends.”
Now he was rubbing her toes and feeling was seeping back in stinging prickles. She closed her eyes and flexed her ankle from pure delight. He reached under the table, grasped her calf and lifted her other foot to his lap. She almost slid out of her chair. “This is outrageous. You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Old husband, then. These days, everybody’s got a used spouse laying around.”
She jerked her foot again and glanced away. “You know, I really don’t discuss my life with people I hardly know.”
“Humph. Must have guessed right about the husband.”
“If you must know, my husband’s. . . .” Dahlia stopped. Only two people had ever heard her discuss Kenneth: Piggy and, ironically, the woman who died with him in the car crash.
Luke’s hands halted and he glared at her. Both her feet hit the floor. “You’re married?”
“Deceased,” she blurted, adjusting herself in her chair and setting her glass back on the table. “My husband’s deceased.”
“You mean dead.”
She gave him a level look. “That’s what deceased meant the last time I checked. He died in a car accident. Almost three years ago.”
His gaze locked on her face, his toothpick rolled from one corner of his mouth to the other. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she waited for the oh-you-poor-dear expression and the gush of sympathy she had come to expect and hate when people heard she was a widow. Or from him, if not that, a tacky remark.
“That’s too bad,” was all he said. He picked up her left hand and studied her ring. The candlelight sparked in the large center stone. “Wedding ring, huh?” His gaze settled on her eyes. “Nice trophy.”
Not liking what his expression and the remark implied, she took back her hand, slid it under the table out of sight. “I wouldn’t call it a trophy. Consolation prize is more like it.”
“What’s that mean? He screw around?”
She felt a tic in the corner of her mouth. It was one thing to say her marriage had been on the rocks, but quite another to say her husband had preferred sex with women other than herself.
“Look, I’m not into reliving old history either. Besides, it isn’t fair to delve into my life when yours is off limits.”
“I’ll tell you this much. I didn’t cheat. Not once. I’ve never wanted but one woman in my bed.”
Everything inside her stilled. Despite the gossip she had heard, she believed him. “I’ve only been in this town three weeks and I’ve heard a half dozen stories about your girlfriends.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s what they are, too. Stories. Tell you what. I’d rather talk about the future.” He picked up the champagne bottle and set it back down. “I’d rather figure out what happens after this is empty.”
“That’s easy. The snow will stop and you’ll help me get home, like you said you would.”
“A nighttime trip on a snow-covered mountain road could be real trying for a gal from Texas, even with four-wheel-drive. I didn’t see snow tires on that Blazer. This little squall will be over by morning. By then they’ll have the roads—”
“Stop right there.” She raised her palm like a traffic cop. She didn’t have nearly enough experience to be playing these boy-girl games. “Maybe I should make things clear. Just because—”
“What happened out on that deck’s already made things clear. Seems to me the when and where’s been decided, too.”
Damn him! She shouldn’t have let him kiss her. Shouldn’t have kissed him back. Shouldn’t have allowed the intimacy of his hands on her feet and legs. He was just another cowboy. And a devil on top of that. And how could she have been so dumb as to come to a ski lodge in the Frozen North without considering the weather? She fixed him with narrowed eyelids. “You promised you’d help me get home.”
“Yes, ma’am, I did. And I’m not backing up on that. A promise is a promise.” He removed his toothpick and gave her a slow grin. “But look around. Nice hotel in the mountains practically all to ourselves. Snowy night. Flatlanders from down below pay big bucks for this atmosphere.”
“Well, not me. I’m not swept off my feet by atmosphere.”
“You sure?”
“Piggy will worry if she comes back and I’m not home.”
“All that will power. You’re a tough lady, darlin’. But that kiss out on the deck told me you want it. I’m sure of that much.”
Inside, she flinched. “I’m not tough. I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Neither am I, sugar. Neither am I.”
“Then what are we talking about?”
She waited for his answer, but he only sighed and refilled their glasses. “I haven’t paid close attention to the weather report today, but winter’s last gasp in the high country could be a thirty-minute fuss or an all-night hell-raising. Guess all we can do is play it by ear.”
His tone had gone from soft and seductive to matter-of-fact. Was he giving up? And why did she feel disappointed? “Fine.” She swallowed such a large gulp of champagne, it bubbled into her nose. “We’ll just . . .what you said, play it by ear.”
They discussed the differences between ranching in Texas and Idaho, a safe, sterile topic. He told her he enjoyed a visit with a woman who understood the business end of ranching. He was a gentleman, charming, showing no trace of the bitterness that had erupted earlier when he spoke of his son. She told him her plans to start a mail order business in gourmet foods, omitted saying how her own ambivalent attitude crippled her progress. Tension drummed between them.
That kiss out on the deck told me you want it. I’m sure of that much. What was wrong with wanting it? Wasn’t a normal twenty-nine year old woman who hadn’t felt a lover’s arms in years entitled?
Then, the bottle and their glasses were empty and Cal wanted to know if they were about ready to go. She felt warm and fuzzy, and yeah, a little drunk. Her traitorous mind kept wandering to the rooms upstairs.
The late news came on TV and Cal turned up the volume. The weather report forecasted another twelve hours of storms. Time stopped. She was in a forties movie, a lone adventuress, stranded by the elements in a place she might never be again. “This does seem like a nice hotel. I suppose you, uh, stay here often.”
“Nope. Never have. No reason to.”
“I suppose, if, uh, it’s still snowing, the wisest thing to do would be, uh…to, well, to wait until morning.”
Dear God. An alien had taken hold of her tongue.
Luke nearly swallowed his toothpick. It was the damnedest thing, how something sometimes happened when you least expected. Hell, all he had come here for tonight was supper. He’d had half a hard-on ever since the kiss out on the deck, but hearing she was a widow and had had an unhappy marriage set him back a pace. God knew he could relate to a bad marriage. He couldn’t keep from wondering what had gone wrong with hers.
He thought of how he seemed to want to tell her things he normally didn’t discuss. He thought of how gentle she had been with his son, caring even, how Jimmy had taken to her at once. And he thought of her fierce pride when she told him her mother was Filipino.
In a flash of intuition, he saw that with her, sex might not come for free like it did with most of the women he knew. She had aroused some weird urge to protect her, which he didn’t need. He had enough to protect already. Besides that, fooling around with a woman so close to home could only lead to trouble. So why didn’t he do the sensible thing? Why didn’t he put on his coa
t and see that she got home? This little snow storm didn’t amount to diddly and letting her think it did suddenly seemed like a chickenshit thing to do.
He challenged her with a steady look, giving her a chance to renege, in a way, hoping she would. At the same time, he thought about the softness of her lips and the silken heat of her mouth.
Aw, hell. Why keep arguing with himself? Two weeks ago on her front porch or two hours ago out on the deck, he’d had no second thoughts. Against his better judgment, violating his own rules, he had pursued her. He knew what he wanted and it looked like she wanted the same thing. It was nothing more than sex and learning she had been married put the situation in a new light. “We could do that. If that’s what you want.”
She nodded, reached down, picked up her shoes and stood up. Just like that. No need for more conversation.
He rose, picked up his hat and scooped their coats off the chair. Then he clutched her elbow and guided her from the restaurant.
Chapter 11
Hugging her purse, Dahlia lingered barefooted in front of the lobby’s bulletin board where Luke had parked her. Her expensive, but useless shoes hung from her fingers by their heel straps. She watched as he paid cash for a room. No credit cards for Luke McRae. A pouch of gold dust seemed more fitting.
He pocketed his money clip and came toward her, a key card in his hand. His gaze drilled into her. “You take birth control?”
Unh. There was that aspect of sex, wasn’t there? She ducked her chin and shook her head, not wanting to look him in the eye.
“Wait here.” He strode toward the men’s room down the hall.
She made a mental sigh. What had she expected, roses and chocolates? He had made it clear romance wasn’t part of this equation. Good grief, he had compared her to a brood animal.
And still she was drawn to him.
She stared unseeing at the notes and posters pinned to the bulletin board. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Never had Goody-Two-Shoes Dahlia done anything this brazen and if she had to explain it now, she couldn’t.
He returned and without so much as a glance, grasped her arm and ushered her toward the elevators. Inside the cubicle, he reached for her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. With the opposite hand, she held a white-knuckled grip on her shoes and purse. They lurched upward on a soft whirr.
“You should’ve worn some better shoes,” he said.
“Uh, yeah.” What else could she say? He was right.
The ping signaling their arrival at the second floor sounded like a cathedral bell. A start darted through her. He must have sensed it because he gave her hand a squeeze.
As they stepped into the amber-lit corridor, his hand slid underneath her hair and settled at the base of her neck. A possessive gesture. Psychology 101. She gripped her shoes and purse tighter, put one foot in front of the other and let him herd her to the end of the silent hallway. As he plugged the key card into Room 222’s lock, she dared a glance at him. He was tight-lipped and firm-jawed. She pictured the two of them, poised for a bungee-jump off a high bridge.
Don’t be dumb. It’s just sex.
He went in ahead of her, laid their coats and his hat on the dresser and switched on the lamp. A king-size bed, its size emphasized by a spread of dark blue and green stripes, took up most of the room. She stood in the doorway, immobilized by the sight of it.
He straightened. “You gonna come in?”
With a gulp, she entered the chilly, floral-scented room. A heating unit hung on the wall under the wide window. He went to it, squatted and fooled with the controls. She heard a click and a rustle, felt warm air. He stood and opened the draperies, revealing a blurry view of the frozen lake.
He turned, his hand held out to her. She crossed the room in a robotic daze and stood beside him, still clinging to her purse and shoes as if they were lifelines that could save her from this insanity.
“These must be getting heavy,” he said. He took them from her and laid them on a round table that was squeezed between the bed and the window.
Tears pooled in her throat. Oh, please don’t let me cry.
She swallowed and glued her eyes to the almost indistinguishable lake view. “I’ve never seen it snow like this. It’s beautiful.”
“But not as pretty as you.”
“You don’t have to flatter me. I—I don’t expect it. I mean, I’ve already agreed to—”
He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “If I didn’t think it, I wouldn’t say it.”
Instinctively, she knew that wasn’t a frivolous boast.
His head bent toward her, his lips brushed her eyes, her cheek and settled on her mouth. His hands came up and cradled her face as his tongue slid into her mouth in a lush, deep kiss. Sensation flooded her, so warm and sweet she would have recognized it if she had felt it before. She couldn’t keep from arching her back and pressing into him. And when she did, his hands slid down, his arms went around her and he pulled her tightly against his body. He felt so solid and strong, so male. She couldn’t keep from comparing him to Kenneth who’d had fewer muscles than she did.
He ended the kiss on a ragged breath, his mouth an inch from hers. “Dahlia,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you.”
Shock bolted through her. And excitement. No man had ever said such a thing to her. Except for a sometimes a slip of the tongue from one of Piggy’s brothers, or from Piggy herself, she rarely heard the F-word, period. “R—really?”
His mouth took hers again in a kiss so hungry it sent a shiver up her spine. His hand glided down her front, wedged between her legs and as if it had a mind of its own, her pelvis lifted to it. A deep hum left his throat and he rubbed her in slow circles through her dress. “This is all I’ve thought about for weeks. Hot and tight around my cock.”
She froze, colliding head-on with reality. This wasn’t Kenneth who had watched TV during lovemaking, if one could call it that. The man whose hands were now stroking her most intimate place was a virile animal to whom sex was a blood sport. Making love with him would be nothing like what she had known. Kenneth had had boundaries. This earthy cowboy would have none.
His fingers moved up to the tiny pearl buttons that arched over her breasts. “These work?”
Her hands flew to un-do them. She wouldn’t put it past him to yank them open. “Let—let me.”
He stepped back, his gaze dipping to her fumbling fingers. When she finished, he reached for the front of her dress and eased it open. Her breath faltered as his knuckles skimmed the slope of her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured, staring down at her.
Her nipples felt tight and she glanced down, too. They were protruding in dark peaks through her blue bra’s thin fabric and for an insane moment she wished they were the rose color of a hundred-percent Anglo woman’s. She fought to keep from crossing herself with her arms.
He slid her dress off her shoulders and goosebumps popped out on her exposed flesh. “You’re perfect,” he said. He cupped one breast with a large hand, bent down and kissed the swell of flesh above the lacy edge of her bra.
The obvious gap between his experience and her own finally tore its way to the surface and sent her mind reeling. Gretchen’s remarks about his women came roaring up. He had done this hundreds of times. Thousands. He knew how attractive he was. He would have a herd of women. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Anger flashed, at him and at herself. I’ve never wanted but one woman in my bed. How had she let herself believe such a lie?
Drawing back, he frowned. “You’re shaking.”
Shaking! Her stomach was churning so fast, she thought she might be sick. Pushing away from him, she jerked her dress back upon her shoulders. “I—I can’t do this. Downstairs, I thought I could, but . . .”
Luke stared at her in disbelief, his pulse pounding in his groin. She looked up at him, wet-eyed, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was gripping the front of her dress in a fist. Had he scared her? Women were never afraid of him.
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“This has no meaning,” she said. “We aren’t”—her shoulders lifted on a deep breath—“aren’t in love.”
Shit! He should have listened to the little voice that warned him she was as unpredictable as the weather. She was about to bolt. While his horse sense said good riddance, a more basic part of him wanted pretty damn bad for her to stay.
He hitched a hip onto the tabletop beside him, the throbbing need ebbing a bit. “Love. That’s a mighty tall horse to climb on, sugar.” He reached for her hand. “You don’t think a man and woman can enjoy each other just because they want to? Without so many strings?”
She shook her head. “I know people do. But I—I’m not one of them. Actually, I’m pretty dull. Now that I think of it, I don’t know why you’d want to sleep with me. I’m not very experienced. What I mean is, I don’t know a lot of ways to . . .My husband and I didn’t . . .Piggy says I’m sexually repressed.”
Sexually repressed. More college words. She’d done it again—gone off jabbering, like that night she poured hot coffee on him. Her being so nervous threw him a curve. In his experience with good-looking women, most weren’t nervous when they had some poor bastard hot to trot. Most took full advantage of all that power. He mustered a smile, trying not to make things worse. “That was a lot of words just to say you want to back out.”
“This is a really nice room. I know it’s expensive and you’ve already paid for it and . . .I know I agreed to stay over, but . . .I’ll reimburse—”
He sliced the air with his hand, stopping her. “Forget it. I won’t go broke from the cost of a hotel room.”
This had gone downhill faster than a hog on skates. A mistake from the git-go. Being fully-dressed and hard as blue steel with a sexy woman who had rejected him didn’t leave him much dignity, but if any man knew how to deal with life’s disappointments, he did. Grabbing onto his pride, he pushed off the tabletop and walked over to the dresser where he had laid the key card, his hat and their coats. “I’ll see that you get home. This storm’s not so bad. We’ll forget this part of the evening.”
