'Twas the Night

by Sandra Hill

  “Well, some sweet-talking might work.”

  “You’ve got me confused with Slick. He’s the master of that sort of stuff.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be all that smooth when it comes to Reba.”

  Kevin cocked his head to the side and looked at her intently. “You know, you pay real good attention.”

  “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know sparks when they’re blazing.”

  “Are there sparks blazing here?” he asked, pointing back and forth between them.

  “You tell me.”

  “Well, darlin’, I just about burned up in that dressing room.”

  Callie hesitated. Did she really want to get into a fling with this man? Well, yes, she really did. The point, though, was whether it was a good idea. On the other hand, was denying what they both were feeling any more brilliant? How many nights would she spend kicking herself for not making love with this man?

  Too many. She grabbed Kevin’s wine goblet and pushed him onto his back. Straddling his hips, she grinned down at him evilly. “Burned up, huh?”

  He looked up at her, and there was definitely a bonfire blazing in his eyes. “Have I mentioned you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met?”

  “No, but feel free to mention it.”

  “Have I mentioned you are the sexiest Amish woman I’ve ever met?”

  “You’ve met a lot of them, have you?”

  “No, but you’d make me convert, for sure.”

  Callie began kneading his chest, loving the muscles that tensed and relaxed under her fingertips. She itched to tear his shirt from him and feel him skin on skin.

  His chest expanded as he heaved a breath. “I’m getting lots of sparks here. They can’t all be mine.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Are you going to let me make love to you, or are you just torturing me for fun?”

  “I’m just torturing you for fun.”

  Before Callie knew it, she was on her back. Kevin gazed down on her, his brown eyes hot and focused. “Torture me, Amish designer babe.”

  Callie batted her lashes. “How, sir? I know nothing about the sins of the flesh.”

  “Let me show you.”

  Callie’s heart just about leaped from her chest as his mouth lowered to hers. She hadn’t been able to think about anything but the way he’d touched her and kissed her in that dressing room. She’d never had any man make her see how she looked when she was mindlessly aroused. It had been so erotic and almost scary. His fingers on her flesh, his mouth on her neck.

  “Touch me again like that,” she said out loud.

  “I’m getting there. First I want to play with your hair. Do you know you have hair that’s sexier than anything I’ve ever seen? I mean, I was turned on by your hair even before I met you.”

  “Then play, already.” She was getting impatient for the better parts.

  “This is better than anything Playboy’s ever put out.”

  She was going crazy. He was running his hands through her hair, and she loved it. She didn’t think women were supposed to get turned on by a man going wild through their hair. But what did she know?

  “You . . . read Playboy a lot, do you?”

  “Great ads.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m getting you naked now,” he informed her. She wanted to ask him if he was always into play-by-play, but she was too busy enjoying him making her naked to bother.

  He nibbled at her shoulders. “Your arms are so tiny.”

  He slid his mouth down her body. “And your breasts. Two of them. They are so beautiful.”

  She was having trouble breathing. “JD?”

  “Call me Kevin,” he said, then licked a nipple, almost making her scream. “I don’t mind JD in every day conversation, but when I’m making love to you, it’s Kevin.”

  She had to breathe or pass out. “Kevin, are you making love to me or taking inventory?”

  “Both. One belly button, and it’s gotta be the cutest I’ve ever seen.”

  “This is . . . wonderful,” she said.

  His hands roamed all over her, his mouth followed his hands. Callie felt like a starving man’s double chocolate fudge sundae. “Honey?” he breathed against her neck.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you—God, I love touching you—steal those condoms?”

  “No. Touch me here,” she said, directing his hand.

  “God, baby,” he said as he stroked her and penetrated her with his fingers.

  “Oh, Kevin. Please don’t stop. Never. Never.”

  “Not planning on it,” he said, his voice harsh between breaths.

  “I only have one of those, by the way.”

  “One is all we need. God, baby.”

  “Kevin? Please!”

  “Do we need condoms?” he asked roughly. “I need to know right now, baby.”

  He thrust two fingers deep into her, and Callie cried out and came apart right there on the floor of a dilapidated cabin. The raging storm outside had nothing on what was happening inside of her. “Oh, God, Kevin,” she whispered.

  He made her come until she almost melted into the shag. Then he looked at her, his eyes so piercing, she almost smiled. The man needed relief. And soon. She loved that her body had made him that needy.

  “Baby, do we need a condom?” he asked, his voice pure grit.

  Callie smile up at him. “Not for what I have in mind.”

  She traced the contours of his jaw before shoving him off of her and onto his back.

  Right there, to a man she barely knew, but felt like she’d know all her life, Callie Brandt, the dutiful, obedient, good daughter, rendered a man helpless and at her utter mercy.

  And she loved each and every powerful moment of it.

  “Get up, and for goodness sakes, put clothes on her,” Maudeen squawked into the phone.

  “Who says she’s naked?” Kevin asked.

  “Give me a break, buddy boy. Now listen, the cops are on their way. The Parkers, bless them, tried to stop the badges, but they couldn’t hold off for long. Get your acts together pronto.”

  Kevin shook his head to try to bring some semblance of brain back to life. He was utterly exhausted in the best possible way, and was having trouble assimilating the situation.

  “What are they doing here?” he asked.

  “They got a tip from somebody. Who knows? The point is, they know she’s here, or somewhere near, and they’re on their way. Wake up, boy!”

  He sat up and assessed the situation. Callie was naked. Under any other circumstances, that would be the best situation he could possibly imagine. But no one, no one, was taking Callie away from him at this point. And most definitely not naked. That body was his. And he wanted it, and her, for at least a hundred more years.

  Maudeen practically screeched. “Are you awake, boy?”

  “Yes, I’m getting there.”

  “Let me tell you, if you let that gal get booked, I’m going to come after you and you won’t like what’s coming.”

  As much as Kevin wanted to enjoy gazing at Callie in all her naked glory, fear crawled in. Maudeen’s warning sent a chill through him that drove all the lust straight from his body. He dropped the phone without even thanking Maudeen for the warning.

  “Callie, honey, you need to put on some clothes.”

  The woman slept deader than dead. If he didn’t see her fabulous breasts moving for himself, he’d be sure she’d bought the farm. Kevin ran around, grabbing everything he could.

  “Callie, baby? I need some help here. We need to get you dressed.”

  She “mmm’d” then flopped over on her back.

  “Darlin’” he said, trying to shove a T-shirt over her head, “Some cooperation would be greatly appreciated, if you don’t want to flash your sweet tush to strangers.”

  She mumbled some more.

  “What?”

  “Green is my favorite color.”

  “That’s good to know, baby. I’ll keep that in
mind. Now pick up your hips.”

  She continued to mumble nonsense, but she helped a little by rolling around while he stuck clothes on her, wherever they could fit. Kevin had the feeling she wasn’t actually awake, but in some zone. At least she wasn’t having nightmares, like she’d had the first couple of nights.

  By the time someone knocked on the door, Callie had a beaver hat on her head, men’s sweats covering her bottom, and a T-shirt that unfortunately and appropriately stated, I’m not dead, I just look that way on it.

  But she was covered.

  “Merry Christmas!” he greeted the two uniformed officers. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, we believe that a woman named Cassandra Brandt, who’s wanted in New York City on an outstanding warrant, is in residence here.”

  “Yep, she’s here,” Kevin said. “And a real pain in the butt she is, if you ask me.”

  Callie clawed her way out of a fog to discover she was in gloriously sated pain. Every inch of her body hurt. She stretched and smiled and decided Kevin Wilder was a wonderfully adult JD.

  Then it occurred to her. She was wearing clothes. Weird ones at that. And she had a hat on her head. What in the world—?

  “Yep, she’s here,” she heard Kevin say. “And a real pain in the butt she is, if you ask me.”

  She’d spent a night with him letting him have access to her body, she’d confided the most intimate parts of her life, and he’d turned her in. Somehow, someway, she’d pay him back. The moment her heart worked again.

  She kept her eyes closed as someone entered and leaned over her. She recognized the snake’s wonderful scent instantly, and she wanted to rake his face so much. But she kept still.

  “Play along,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What?”

  “If we’re getting out of this, play along, baby.” He shook her a little. “I plied her with a bit of liquor to keep her close, if you get my drift,” he told the strangers.

  “That doesn’t look like her. The picture’s . . . different.”

  “Oh, it’s her all right,” Kevin said. “You know how those glamour shots lie.”

  She was going to kill him.

  “If you can wake her up, we’ll take her off your hands. New York County wants her bad.”

  “Don’t I know it. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to track her down. Then this snow storm happened, and . . . well, you know.”

  “If you could just wake her up.”

  “That’ll be the day. This woman could sleep through a hurricane, and God knows she snores louder than one.”

  Dead. He was dead. And it would be a slow, lingering, painful demise.

  It took everything in Callie’s soul to keep from sitting up and screaming at the man who was about to double-cross her.

  And kill every bit of hope she’d built during the night that what they’d done and been together wasn’t just born of lust. That the sharing and intimacy stemmed from something deeper. How stupid could she be?

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” she heard Kevin say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s my catch, and I’m turning her in myself. I worked hard for the money, and I’m not giving it up.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to insist. The warrant—”

  “Is a bunch of bunk, actually,” Kevin said. “But I’ll do anything for a buck. She’s not guilty of a damn thing, and the second they have her they’re going to have to let her go. And probably deal with a civil lawsuit to boot. But at this moment she’s worth a good chunk of change if I hand her over myself. So she’s mine, boys.”

  “Civil lawsuit?” one of the men croaked.

  “Millions,” Kevin averred.

  “Well, I don’t know . . . ” the other man said.

  At that moment the door banged open. “Timothy Dugan, get your hands off of Callie.”

  Callie recognized Betty Morgan’s demanding voice. “Betty, honey, I haven’t touched her. But this warrant—”

  “Means less than squat,” Maudeen chimed in. “She’s a goodhearted, law abiding citizen, and she’s not going anywhere.” There was a pause. “Why is she wearing Morey’s hat? Morey, isn’t that your hat?”

  “It is, but she’s welcome to it.”

  “Still,” Maudeen huffed. “Kevin Wilder, what have you been doing to this poor little girl?”

  “Her head was cold,” Kevin explained.

  “So why are her clothes scattered all over the floor?”

  “The floor was cold.”

  No one contradicted him.

  It took monumental effort for Callie to keep from busting out laughing. Or crying. Or both. In such a short time she’d grown to love and respect these hard-working, huge-hearted people. She was going to miss them so much. Especially if she went to jail.

  “The point here is,” Kevin said, “you folks have no reason to worry. I’m taking care of this. So you can just wade on back out of here, now.”

  “But—” one of the officers began.

  “Timothy!” Betty barked. “Out. Now.”

  “Everyone out,” Kevin said. “Callie needs her beauty sleep.” He was definitely dying a slow death for that one.

  She heard a bunch of hemming and hawing and shuffling, and then a lot of scuttling of boots across the pine wood floor.

  After a short silence, Maudeen said, “So, everything okay here?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Kevin answered her. “But when you get back to the lodge, you might want to remind Morey to zip up his pants before he goes out again. No false advertising there. Those things really do glow in the dark.”

  Kevin slammed the door shut and came over to her. Callie felt the chill of the outside air hanging on his clothes and body. He bent down and kissed her, and his lips were cool, too. But in a really hot way. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, caressing her cheek. “All clear.”

  She cracked open one eye. “All clear?”

  “They’re all gone, baby.”

  She kicked him in the shin.

  “Ow!”

  “You’re still taking me in.”

  “That’s true.”

  Her heart and hopes and mind splintered. “You want the money.”

  “That’s true, too. I’m getting the money from the scumbags. They deserve to pay.”

  Callie sat up. “You’re doing a really lousy job of keeping me from hating you right now.”

  “You love me.”

  “At this moment? I don’t think so.”

  “You will.”

  “You know, you don’t look a thing like Harrison Ford.”

  “That’s a real low blow. Good thing for you, I know you’re just acting out in anger.”

  She kicked him again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  STAN

  Late Wednesday night, a bit more than one day ’til Christmas Eve.

  Dum, dum, dum lovin’ feelin’…um dum dum lovin’ feelin’…

  Stan cursed and tossed another log on the fire.

  He was going to kill Slick. The damned song had been playing in his head ever since he’d spotted Dana with those twins, over and over and over again until he wanted to hit something. Or scream. He’d never been a screamer, but this . . . this torment was definitely provocation to scream. And hitting something.

  Or making love to someone. Hot, sweaty, heart pounding, can’t-get-your-breath-because-you’re-dying kind of love.

  From the other room came the harsh creak screech creak sound of someone shifting position in the old wooden bed.

  Stan clamped his hands over his ears.

  Screech, groan, creak, creak, creeeeak.

  At least he wouldn’t be making the same sorts of noises. Since the mattress on his bed had been as bad as Dana’s, he’d had one of the Parkers’ teenage helpers drag it onto the floor in front of the fireplace. It still wasn’t comfortable, but lumps were better than sags, and at least the floor didn’t squeak every time he shifted position.

  The
trouble was, lying here like this, with the light from the fireplace the only illumination in the room, the only thing there was to do was listen to the soft crackling of the fire and the protesting creak-groan-creak of Dana’s bed as she tossed and turned.

  He was more than willing to offer a solution to her problem. Unfortunately, she’d moved a really heavy dresser in front of the door that joined the two rooms. It would take a three hundred pound lineman to force the door open now. He’d tried, and he couldn’t budge it by as much as an inch. When he’d tried to talk to Dana about it, convince her the dresser wasn’t a good idea, he’d been met by a chilly silence.

  Squeak squeak squeak.

  Cursing, he stared at the ceiling and considered flinging himself head first into the nearest snow bank.

  He sure as hell wouldn’t freeze to death. He was so hot right now, it would take an iceberg to cool him down.

  Or Dana, which came to pretty much the same thing.

  Screeek!

  Stan dug his fingers into the blanket and tried to think of England. Or something. Anything except Dana.

  It didn’t work. Thoughts of Dana consumed him.

  Dana, laughing. Dana with a bright-eyed child on her lap. Dana tossing back her hair or chatting with Penny or sewing doll clothes or—Hell, Dana doing anything at all.

  Dana, naked.

  That lovin’ feelin’—

  Creak, creak, screech!

  Stan groaned and dragged the pillow over his head.

  The bastard. The bum. The . . . thejerk!

  Dana punched her pillow twice, hard, then wadded it into a ball, slammed it back on the bed, and turned onto her side.

  Screeeek!

  Damn it all, anyway!

  Here she was, going crazy, tossing and turning and driving herself nuts with thinking about him, and the big lummox was already fast asleep. She hadn’t caught so much as a whisper out of that room for the last hour, let alone a creak from his bed.

  The bum had to be sound asleep. She’d seen that bed. She’d be hearing it if he were tossing and turning even half as much as she was.

  Maybe the darned thing had simply collapsed under his weight and he was buried in the wreckage.

  For a moment Dana lay there, face burrowed into the pillow, trying to focus on the mental image of Stan—cheery, grinning, let’s-have-sex-for-the-fun-of-it Stan—folded into a pretzel by the collapsing bed.