Hmm. He reached his home, parked and went inside, still mulling over the mixed signals he’d been receiving from his bewitching neighbor. He’d agreed with her that it had been a mistake, for reasons of his own. He had his own private agenda that didn’t included getting involved again in a serious relationship.
But, he wondered, what were her reasons? His brow furrowed in thought as he got ready for bed, trying to recall exactly what Marielle had said on the subject of romance and/or relationships. Oh, yeah. She wasn’t interested.
Had some man treated her badly? He wondered. Broken her heart? Somehow the thought of Mari being lovesick over another man made him feel uncomfortable. He stretched out in bed and lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t like thinking about her and other men. Not at all.
He scowled. Could he be jealous? No, he scoffed silently. Of course not. He couldn’t be, had no right to be. He just liked Mari, that was all. He liked her and therefore didn’t enjoy imagining her being unhappy over some man.
Drifting into slumber, it occurred to Trey that while he didn’t like the idea of Mari being unhappy over another man, he liked the thought of her being happy with someone else even less.
Someone else, of course, being anyone else but him.
Snow! Marielle watched the snowflakes swirling down outside her bedroom window with delight. The forecast had called for “Precipitation with accumulation”. Translated into plain English, that meant snow and that the snow would stick.
She leaped from the snuggly warmth of her feather bed and padded barefoot to the window. The yard and trees were sugar-coated white. She clapped her hands in childish glee. She loved snow, always had. One of her favorite times as a child was after a snowfall. She loved building snowmen, sledding and tobogganing, snowball fights, lying in the fresh powdery snow and making snow angels—all of it.
Hurriedly throwing on her thick, fleecy robe and house shoes, she set the coffee brewing in the kitchen and then went outside to the front porch for a better view of the landscape. It looked like a postcard, she thought. Snow capped the fence posts down the drive, frosted the roof of the old barn white, and covered the tops of the towering evergreens dotting her property.
As she stood on the porch, Trey’s red pickup approached and rolled to a stop in front of her house. Naturally, she told herself wryly, glancing down at her woolly robe and the plush cartoon character house shoes that Samantha had given her for Christmas last year. The man had an uncanny knack for catching her when she wasn’t exactly ready for company.
She watched Trey get out of his truck and start toward her and gave a mental shrug. Oh, what the hey, she decided fatalistically—some things were just meant to be. Trey Masterson seeing her when she least wanted to be seen was her destiny. Why fight it?
Good morning,” she said. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“Is it fresh?” he asked grinning.
“You betcha,” Marielle assured him, smiling back. “What brings you over so early?” she inquired as they went into the house. Trey accepted the steaming mug she handed him, and stirred in a spoonful of sugar.
“Cream?” she offered.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. He leaned against her kitchen counter and subjected her to a thorough scrutiny. His dark eyes traveled slowly from her sleep-tumbled mane of auburn hair down to the incongruous furry house shoes, then back up to her face, which to her private disgust was flushed with heat from his inspection. He flashed her an innocently sensual smile.
“That’s how I like it, Marielle,” he drawled, his voice deep and loaded with double meaning. “Hot … .sweet … .” –he reached out and trailed his hand down the side of her face—” and creamy.”
Marielle stood wide-eyed, frozen in shock at the effect his words, his seductive voice, and his bedroom eyes were having upon her defenseless body. Trey’s eyes seemed to follow her movements with an almost feral gleam. She felt a shiver of purely feminine sexual awareness … of his unleashed male strength, and the raw sensuality smoldering in his gaze.
She stepped away from him, nearly stumbling in her haste to retreat. “Uh, you didn’t answer my question,” she said, anxious to get the conversation onto safer ground.
“What question was that?”
“What brings you over here so early?” she repeated.
“Oh, that. I’ve got some business down in Jackson Hole this morning. Just stopped by to see if you needed anything.”
“No, I can’t think of a thing,” she said brightly, averting her eyes lest he see the truth in them: the only thing she wanted and needed right now was him. If she didn’t hurry up and hustle him out of here, she’d throw herself in his arms and beg him to take her.
“Sure?” he asked. “Nothing? You know they’re not predicting a deep snow, but it could happen. If it did, you wouldn’t want to be caught up here without the basic necessities.” He smiled and drained his coffee cup, setting it on the counter. “Like coffee, for instance.”
“Thanks, but I believe I’ve got the basics,” Marielle told him, herding him to the front door.
He turned and gave her another long, searching look from head to toe. He lifted his hand and smoothed back a lock of her tousled hair, tucking it behind her ear. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her lightly on the lips.
“I think you’ve got the basics, too Mari,” he said softly. “In fact, I think you’ve got the luxury package, with all the bells and whistles.”
With that, he strode outside, and waving to her from the truck window, took his leave.
Marielle stood rooted to the spot in the doorway long after the red pickup had disappeared from sight. She raised a trembling hand to her lips. Even after such a chaste kiss from Trey, they throbbed.
She’d given herself a stern talking-to after the dance a few weeks ago. Reminded herself of all the reasons it seemed inadvisable to get involved with anybody right now. Much less Peter J. Masterson III. Trey appeared to be very much the take-charge type. Boss of his outfit, used to being in control, making the major decisions. All fine and good, she supposed—for some women.
But not for her. She reminded herself again what could happen when a woman relinquished all control of her life to a man. Marielle had loved her father dearly. It wasn’t his fault Mom had collapsed once he hadn’t been around to lean on anymore. But he had been old fashioned, set in his ways. He’d thought it was only right and natural that his voice would be the final say in their household; that his wife depend on him utterly and completely.
It seemed to her that Trey was that kind of man, although he was kind, considerate and surprisingly sensitive. She’d seen that much. But he was also almost aggressively male. She felt sure that he’d expect his wife to be the “little woman” who kept the home fires burning, who deferred to his every wish, who followed where he led and never took the lead herself.
No matter what, Trey was not the man for her—or she the woman for him. Never mind the mutual physical attraction between them. Never mind, either that she melted with lust every time he touched her or looked at her with those melting brown eyes. They simply weren’t suited for each other. The end, she told herself firmly. That’s all, folks.
Later that morning, after dressing warmly and doing her outside chores, Marielle indulged herself to some play time.
With the snowflakes swirling around her, drawn by the pristine whiteness of the snow covered barnyard, she lay down in the soft blanket of snow and made an angel.
She lay on her back, warm in Uncle Dan’s thick coat and coveralls, and watched it snow. It was beautiful, she thought contentedly, blinking occasionally as the frozen flakes accumulated on her eyelashes. Pure, clean and falling silently, it enveloped the world around her in a hushed quiet. Moments like this were what she’d come up here for, she thought. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the total peace and serenity that filled this special place and time.
“Oh, hell!” A shout exploded into the stillness of
the air, shattering Marielle’s moment of tranquility. Her eyes flew open.
Trey reined his horse to a halt close to her supine form, slid from the saddle and hit the ground running. Marielle barely had time to register her appearance before he’d knelt to the ground beside her, his expression anxious.
“Marielle! What happened? Are you hurt?”
Taken aback, she stared up at him, puzzled.
“Hurt?” she echoed blankly. She hadn’t know he was anywhere around. She supposed the snow had muffled the sounds of the horse’s shoes. His thick brows drew together in consternation as he stared back at her.
“Yes, hurt. Are you hurt?” he repeated patiently.
“No,” she stated, sitting up. “Why on earth would you think that?” Trey sat back on his heels and regarded her incredulously.
“Well, now, I don’t know why I’d think that Marielle. Unless it’s because I rode up here and found you lying flat on your back, still as a corpse in the snow.”
Marielle burst out laughing as she realized how she must have looked to him. “I’m sorry, Trey,” she said still chuckling. “Forgive me; I’m a little slow on the uptake at times.” She stood up, indicating the impression she’d left in the snow. “I was making a snow angel,” she told him.
H gaped at her, eyes narrowed. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Oh, I see. You nearly scared me to death, seeing you out here like that, thinking you were hurt … or worse. But it’s okay. It’s even funny. Just a great big joke—because you were making a snow angel.”
His words were delivered in a dangerously calm voice that made Marielle uneasy. As he talked, he advanced toward her and she found herself retreating, backing away from him slowly. Oh dear, she thought. He’s angry. He really had looked worried. Maybe she shouldn’t have laughed, she decided with a twinge of apprehension. A strategic withdrawal to the house seemed in order. She brightened. Once there, she’d offer him more coffee and the cookies she’d baked yesterday.
The menacing look on Trey’s face told her that he wasn’t likely to be pacified with cookies. She turned toward the house and quickened her steps. “Marielle,” he said behind her, “I’m really glad you had your fun making that angel. Because now I’m going to have some fun—and there’s going to be the devil to pay.”
A snowball whizzed past Marielle’s ear. She paused in her flight to the house, looked around and caught another one smack in the middle of her forehead. Laughing, Trey scooped up more snow and patted it into a ball. Seeing him take aim, she dodged and zigzagged out of the path of the approaching missile, and scooped a double handful of her own. She hurled it at him and ran.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Mari!” he called laughing. “You missed me!”
Laughing now herself, Marielle entered into the spirit of the thing and hastily made another snowball. This time she had the satisfaction of pelting him right in the kisser with it.
“Okay, you’re asking for it,” he yelled teasingly. “No more Mr. Nice Guy! This is the Battle of the Double D Ranch and I’m warning you, smarty-pants—I take no prisoners!”
Fifteen minutes later, behind the backyard woodpile, Mari crouched breathless and giggling. True to his word, Trey had given no quarter. They had waged a fierce battle, lobbing snowballs back and forth, and shrieking with laughter like a pair of children all the while. Now, breathing hard from exertion, sides aching from laughing so much, and her hair and clothes wet from snow, Marielle rested and considered her position. Brought to bay, she though, chuckling. She decided to throw in the towel. She’d fought the good fight, now she was ready to admit defeat. Go inside, get into some dry clothes, and warm herself in front of the fire with a cup of coffee.
“Marielle,” Trey’s voice rang out, “do you surrender?”
Trey eyed the woodpile from a safe distance, wary of another barrage of snowballs. While he watched, a stick with a dangling white flag of sorts appeared over the top of the stacked logs and waved back and forth. He burst out laughing.
“I take it that means yes,” he shouted. “Where did you get the white flag?” Trey asked Marielle curiously as she emerged, smiling, from behind the woodpile.
“You don’t want to know,” she replied, with a mysterious little grin. “Come on, I’ll make us some coffee. I’ve got cookies, too. A reward for winning the Battle of the Double D Ranch. Are you hungry?”
Following her to the back door, Trey saw a small piece of the white flag sticking out of her coat pocket. It looked lacy. Intrigued, he took a closer look while she opened the door into the kitchen. His eyes widened. He swallowed hard. Ohmigod, he breathed inwardly, his pulse accelerating dangerously. Was that her bra?
Was he hungry? Oh yea, he was hungry—hungry for this red-haired, unpredictable, wildly exciting woman!
I’m going to take these wet clothes off”—she giggled softly—” and slip into something more comfortable.”
Trey could feel the blood pounding in his ears at the image her words brought to his overheated imagination. Marielle naked, her alabaster skin cool from the snow … .then warmed by his body heat …
Marielle paused in her trek across the kitchen. “Your clothes are damp, too, Trey. Maybe I could find something of Uncle Dan’s for you to wear while yours dry out a bit.” She paused and looked back over her shoulder. “I don’t want you to catch cold,” she told him.
“I’m fine, thanks.” He strove to speak naturally, trying desperately to ignore the hard bulge in his jeans. Forcing a smile, he said, “My clothes aren’t as wet as yours, Mari. Your aim wasn’t as good as mine.”
She laughed. “That’s true. Okay, be right back. The cookies are on the counter,” she told him over her shoulder. “I guess I should feed the conquering army, huh?
As she disappeared down the hall Trey sank down in a kitchen chair and expelled a low grown of frustration. He bit his lip, concentrating fiercely on getting his raging libido under control before she came back.
Her bra! He thought wonderingly. The little minx had taken her bra off and used it for the white flag of surrender. If only she would surrender. Surrender herself to him completely. Give him full access to her red, ripe mouth and that luscious body—
He jumped up and paced around the room, determined to interrupt that train of thought before he derailed. He’d start the coffee, he decided. That would give him something more constructive to do than lusting after Marielle while she changed clothes.
While she slips into something more comfortable, whispered an insistent little voice in his mind. She’d offered to let him do that same, he reminded himself now as he measured out coffee into the percolator basket. Uh-huh. He licked his lips and grinned wolfishly. He’d like to slip into something, all right—her!
Trey’s eyes lit on Marielle’s coat hanging on a peg by the back door. She’d taken it off when they came in. Maybe he’d let his imagination run away with him. Maybe it hadn’t been her bra he’d seen in her coat pocket. Maybe he’d read too much into her enigmatic ‘You don’t want to know” when he’d asked her what she’d used for a flag.
There was only one way to find out, he decided.
Marielle removed her damp clothing, replacing it with a pair of jeans and an over sized sweatshirt. Toweling her hair vigorously, she subjected herself to a mental interrogation. Why, oh why, she wondered, was she behaving this way? She knew that she had been deliberately provocative by waving her bra … her intentionally seductive words when she’d mentioned changing clothes.
Honestly, she scolded herself silent, it seemed as though she were making a willful effort to provoke Trey into making a move, after she’d promised herself not to get involved with him romantically. Marielle wondered at her own contrariness.
She paused in the act of putting on a pair of thick woolen socks and sat on the edge of the bed, staring ahead blankly while her mind raced to a startling conclusion.
Marielle had never been good at self-deception. Her heart sank as her mind acknowledged the truth: she
wanted him to make love to her. Wanted it so badly that when she tried to stand her knees buckled and she sank back down on the bed again … shaken to the core by the force of her emotions.
Marielle braced herself to go back in there and face Trey. As a friend. A pleasant, congenial friend and neighbor—and nothing more. No more inappropriate seductive behavior, she lectured herself as she marched resolutely down the hall to the kitchen. No more waving her undergarments around. No more—
Marielle stopped in the doorway to the tiny kitchen, her mouth open in surprise. Trey leaned casually against the table, not far way. He smiled at her and quirked an eyebrow, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief … and something else. Something that made her cringe. He had one arm behind his back, and as he slowly brought it into view, she gasped.
Dangling from his fingers was the brief lace bra she’d stuffed in her coat pocket after using it—in what she now thought of as a moment of madness—to signal her surrender. Trey twirled it in the air lazily, smiling roguishly, never taking his eyes from hers.
“Lose something?” he chuckled throatily. “You shouldn’t have left your coat hanging in here, Mari. You were wrong … .I did want to know.”
He closed the distance between them in one step and pulled her into his arms. His lips claimed hers; his tongue entered her parted mouth. He stole her breath, then gave her his own, kissing her deeply, hungrily. Marielle felt a tremor shake her body and her hands moved of their own volition, splaying across his broad back, glorying in the feel of his hard muscles.
Then she moved a hand upward, giving in to the temptation of something she’d longed to do for quite some time. She ran her hand through his thick, luxurious hair, playing with the tendrils that brushed the nape of his neck. He had beautiful hair, she thought, as it slid between her fingers, thick and springy with healthy vitality. Beautiful hair, beautiful eyes … a beautiful man.
Without breaking the kiss, Trey breathed a sigh and one of his hands found her own hair. He wound a thick tress around his fingers and used it to pull her even closer to him. Marielle went eagerly, her body straining for yet more closeness with his, wanting to somehow absorb him through her very skin, needing the feel of him on her, around her, inside her to the innermost core of herself—body and soul.
Cowboys are Forever Page 10
