Stuck With You

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I guess the wine’s making him playful,” Charity said.

  “G-guess so,” Wyatt said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “You’re getting cold. Why don’t you—”

  “I have to g-get him before he steps on that glass.” Wyatt lowered his voice as he muttered to the dog. “Have a heart, Mac. You’re making me look like a fool in front of a good-looking woman. If she had her glasses on she’d lose all faith in my manly proportions.”

  He could picture his rodeo buddies laughing themselves silly if they found out he’d spent Thanksgiving running around buck-naked, his genitals shriveling in the cold as he chased after a drunken dog. Remembering the rodeo gave Wyatt a sudden inspiration. He’d treat Mac like a balky calf and fake him out. Feinting left, Wyatt lured the dog to jump to the right. Then Wyatt leapt right, as well, and grabbed. He landed on the rug with enough force to knock the breath from him but at least he now had a grip on the Scottie.

  “Did you catch him?” Charity asked.

  “Yeah,” he gasped. Struggling to his knees, he scooped the dog into his arms, glad for the animal’s warmth against his bare chest. Carrying Mac into the bathroom, he shut the door. He deposited the Scottie on the floor and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. “Be a good dog,” he said as he went back out the door.

  He hurried to the kitchen for the broom. He didn’t remember until he opened the pantry door that Charity had knocked the broom out the window a couple of hours earlier. He found a little whisk broom and a dustpan. That would have to do. As he started back to the living room he heard a steady crunching noise coming from outside the house.

  Despite the cold, he walked closer to the back door and listened. Crunch, pause, crunch, pause. The sound was muffled, as if coming from…Wyatt snorted as he guessed what it was. Alistair was digging a tunnel between the two houses.

  Something was seriously wrong with Nora’s neighbor, Wyatt decided, checking the dead bolt on the back door before leaving the kitchen. If that loony got in the house, no telling what he’d do. Besides, Wyatt had no intention of being interrupted for the next few hours.

  Returning to the living room, he glanced at the tousled beauty sitting on the window seat. She looked as if she’d lost her best friend, and he longed to toss aside the dustpan and concentrate on bringing a smile to those down-turned lips. And then a sigh. And a moan. His groin tightened.

  “There you are,” she said. “What took so long?”

  “Miss me?”

  “I—” She blushed, a very gratifying sight indeed. “Yes.”

  “Good. I missed you, too. But I controlled myself long enough to stop and listen to Updegraff trying to tunnel over here.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I’m no expert on what tunneling through snow sounds like, but I’d bet money that’s what he’s doing. I checked the dead bolt on the back door.” He walked to the front door and examined it, too, although he imagined it would take a very strong person to break through the snow packed around it.

  “You think he wants to get in?” Charity’s eyes widened and she wrapped the afghan tighter around herself. “Why would he want to get in here?”

  “Why was he risking his neck running around on roofs trying to record our conversation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Wyatt walked around the sofa. Approaching the first spray of shattered crystal, he crouched and started sweeping fragments into the dustpan. “I think he’s some sort of sexual deviant who’s picked up on the chemistry between us and wants to watch.”

  “Alistair? He’s too dull to be perverted.”

  Wyatt glanced up. “Maybe not as dull as you think. You don’t know what he gets in the mail in plain brown wrappers.”

  “I just don’t believe he’s sexually weird. Not Alistair.”

  “Then what is going on?” Wyatt moved to another spot and continued to sweep. “I can promise you he has more on his mind than a cup of sugar.”

  “Maybe he just wants to make a full report to Nora about how we’ve trashed her house. Wyatt, I need my glasses.”

  He paused in his sweeping. “You’d probably be better off if you couldn’t see this.”

  She winced. “That bad?”

  Rising to his feet, Wyatt assessed the one-hundredand-twenty-year-old rug. The ivory background was now decorated with ink blots the color of a very fine merlot. “Not good,” he said. “Maybe I should see if Nora has some of that foaming cleanser in the kitchen.”

  “No! The fabric might not hold up to some over-thecounter stuff. The only hope is taking it to a professional.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll just have Nora put the cleaning bill on my tab, along with the antique glasses, the back door, the balcony railing, the—”

  “Turkey roaster!” Wyatt said. “That bird’s burning. I can smell it.”

  “Wyatt, get me my glasses.”

  “In a minute. And don’t try to get them yourself. I haven’t swept up all the splinters.” He put down the dustpan and grabbed the oven mitts.

  “You’re keeping me prisoner on this window seat on purpose!”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s an idea.” He grabbed the roaster from the fire and set it on the hearth. Smoke billowed into the room as he lifted the lid. He coughed and waved at the smoke with the oven mitt. A raucous buzzing filled the house as the batteryoperated smoke alarm went off.

  “How does it look?” Charity shouted above the sound of the alarm.

  “Sort of two-toned.”

  “Meaning?”

  The fire alarm stuttered into silence.

  “It’s sort of tan on the top and real black on the bottom,” Wyatt said.

  “You know what? I don’t even care.”

  He grinned at her. “That’s my girl. Ready to eat?”

  She threw back the afghan and reached for her sweatshirt. “I’d chew on old shoe leather at this point.”

  The roaster lid dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the hearth as he gazed upon paradise.

  Her head jerked up. “Did you burn yourself?”

  “No.” He’d never seen anything more lovely than her rosy body framed by pristine snowdrifts just outside the window. Her burgundy nipples puckered in the chill and her full breasts quivered as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

  “Do you have to put that on?” he asked softly.

  She paused. “It’s cold, Wyatt.”

  Not from where he stood, it wasn’t. “I’ll build up the fire. We’ll get more blankets to throw around us. In fact, let’s drag the guest room mattress in here.”

  “You’re suggesting we eat our Thanksgiving dinner naked?”

  The towel around his waist twitched as the idea had a predictable effect on him. “Yep.”

  She pulled her arms out of the sweatshirt sleeves, tossed it aside and wrapped the afghan around her shoulders again. Then she winked at him. “Then you’d better build up that fire, cowboy.”

  The gleam in her eyes sent such heat rushing through him that he wondered if the fire would be overkill.

  THANKSGIVING DINNER would never be quite the same, Charity decided as she sat on the edge of the mattress wrapped in a comforter. Now she’d always associate the holiday with a picture of Wyatt wrapped in a blanket as he carved the turkey. Even more enticing, the blanket kept sliding off his shoulders to reveal the play of muscles as he worked.

  MacDougal lay in his basket, sleeping off his brief drinking bout. Charity had examined the little dog and decided he wasn’t permanently damaged. Wyatt had poured out the rest of the wine and they’d decided not to open any more, just to be on the safe side.

  “I want to be completely sober, anyway,” Wyatt had said, his glance meaningful.

  And so did she. At Wyatt’s request she’d left her glasses off, which helped close her in an intimate circle with him. The sensation of cozy exclusion heightened as the light outs
ide the window faded. With a sense of almost childish delight, Charity eliminated thoughts of anything or anyone beyond reach of the fire’s glow.

  11

  “HOLD THESE and I’ll get the rest of the stuff.” Wyatt handed Charity two plates heaped with juicy chunks of meat.

  She held the plates up to her nose and drew in a breath. “Smells heavenly.”

  He paused to enjoy the smile of anticipation on her face. Only consideration for her hunger kept him from forgetting dinner and pushing her back onto the inviting expanse of flowered sheets and comforters piled there for the night. Later. Charity’s loving would provide the perfect dessert.

  He reached for the bowl of homemade cranberry sauce they’d found chilling in the refrigerator. It was the famous Logan family recipe he remembered from when he was a kid, with bits of fruit remaining in the mix. He and Charity had agreed to let the cranberry sauce stand for tradition and had decided to finish out the meal with the cheese, crackers, apples and nuts Charity had brought in earlier.

  “Did we remember to bring forks from the kitchen?” Charity asked, dishing herself some cranberry.

  “No.” Wyatt assessed the cutlery requirements of the meal. “Let’s forget forks. We have plenty of napkins and I’m starving.” He helped himself to cheese, crackers and a handful of nuts.

  “Agreed.” She filled her plate and paused. “But this is Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe we should take a minute to be thankful.”

  As he turned his attention to her, he had no trouble feeling thankful for the pleasure he’d received today. “You’re right. That’s what this holiday is supposed to be all about, isn’t it?”

  “So I hear. And I have a lot to be grateful for.”

  “So do I.” He wondered if she counted his lovemaking on her list. That would be very nice. “And as for this snowstorm,” he added, “we’ve had some problems, but all in all we’ve been very lucky.”

  “Yes, we have been.”

  “You’re…good to have around in an emergency, Charity.”

  “Thanks. So are you.”

  He looked into her eyes and for the first time wondered how he’d manage his life when he could no longer look into those eyes. A particular woman’s gaze had never been essential to him before. Perhaps circumstances were causing him to exaggerate the importance of this one. And perhaps not. He glanced away. “I think we’ve been properly thankful for the time being.”

  “Me, too.” She sounded relieved that he’d ended the moment. “Let’s eat.”

  ALISTAIR CHOSE his route carefully, coming up on the living room from the guest bedroom side of the house. He packed the walls of the tunnel with the snow he shoveled, creating an igloo effect that, along with his physical exertion, kept him reasonably warm. He’d brought a thermos of hot Earl Grey tea, and he sat down to enjoy the last of the brew.

  His goal was the bay window. Not that he expected to see much through the icy windows, but he’d found a treasure in the bottom of a trunk that would come in very handy. Thank heavens, darling Cordelia had saved a few things from her career as a nurse.

  As he rounded the front steps, he slowed his progress so his shovel wouldn’t make as much noise. He didn’t want to alert that sinister pair to his presence. His shoulders ached from the effort, but he couldn’t stop now.

  A long hour later he could tell from the shape of the foundation that he’d reached the bay window. Time to dig upward. Soon he could stand. Cautiously he brushed the snow away from the window until he reached solid ice. Then he unzipped a side pocket of his coat and pulled out dear, departed Cordelia’s stethoscope.

  WYATT DIPPED a chunk of turkey in the cranberry sauce and took a generous bite. “Mmm.”

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  He watched her lick cranberry from her fingers. “The best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever tasted.”

  “People always say that.”

  “But this time it’s true. Admit it.”

  “It’s been delicious.” She reached for another cracker and the comforter slipped down her shoulder to give him a glimpse of her breast. She bit into the cracker and readjusted the comforter.

  He leaned over and slipped the cover down again. “You’re interfering with my Thanksgiving feast.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Nope. The absolute truth. One of the reasons the meal tasted so good was that I knew you were sitting beside me with nothing on under that blanket. I never realized how much better food could taste when all your senses are aroused.”

  She glanced at him and there was a glow of sensuality in her eyes. “You’re a naughty man.”

  “You’ve known that from the beginning. And you’ve taken shameless advantage of the fact.”

  “I’ve done no such thing!” She pulled the comforter tight around her again.

  He smiled, knowing he’d pry it loose eventually. “Then why weren’t you wearing any underwear earlier today?” He was getting a hankering for dessert. He put his plate on the hearth.

  Pink tinged her cheeks. “I was in a rush.”

  “Oh, sure.” He took her plate from her lap and set it down next to his.

  Her chin lifted. “Come to think of it, why did you have condoms in your pocket after you’d told me we definitely wouldn’t make love?”

  “I forgot to take them out.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  This morning he might have been intimidated by her combative tone, but he’d made love to her now, and he knew the passionate woman who lay beneath the belligerent surface. And he would not be deterred. He pried her fingers away from the comforter.

  “Stop,” she murmured, trying to hang on.

  He held the back of her head and began a nibbling assault on her mouth while he fought persistently for control of her blanket. “Keep that up and you’ll rip it. I’m sure it’s an antique.”

  “I don’t like the idea that you think I was trying to seduce you this morning. I wasn’t.”

  “Does it matter now?” He managed to slide a hand beneath the comforter and capture her breast. Her heart was thudding in excitement, and he knew she would be his in another few moments. He took her lower lip between his teeth and raked softly. Then he looked into her smoldering eyes. “What’s the matter? Afraid to make things too easy for me this time?”

  “It’s all been too easy for you. I’ve been too available, being stranded here. I couldn’t get away.”

  “We couldn’t get away,” he corrected. He played with her nipple until it tightened beneath his fingers and her gaze grew smoky. “But there have been…compensations.”

  “Is that so?” A teasing, sensuous note had entered her voice. “You feel compensated for all your trouble, then?”

  He cupped her breast more firmly and kneaded the soft flesh. “I not only feel compensated, I feel positively rich. Let go of the blanket, Charity.”

  Her eyes drifted closed and she arched into his caress. “What would Nora think if she walked in the door right now?”

  “You know as well as I do that won’t happen.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Did you hear a scratching sound? From the window?”

  “It’s just the fire crackling.” He’d heard the noise at the window, too, but in his present state he didn’t much care if that idiot Updegraff was picking away at the ice on the window so he could get a peep show. The sofa hid them from view as long as they stayed down on the floor, anyway.

  And he’d become impatient. He got a firm hold on the comforter and pulled. She let go all it once and he almost lost his balance. She laughed softly and stretched back on the sheets, her shoulders propped against a folded blanket. His breath caught at the sight of her lying there on the violet-sprinkled sheet. Firelight licked her soft skin, painting it with shades of copper and bronze.

  “Vixen,” he murmured.

  “Devil,” she countered, a saucy smile on her full lips.

  He gazed down at her and fought to keep from immediately claiming what she offered. He needed a diversion so
he could make this last a very long time. Glancing around, he was inspired by the bowl of cranberry sauce. He picked it up.

  She looked uneasy. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Keep you guessing.” He dipped his forefinger into the sauce.

  “Wyatt—”

  “Hold still or this will get on the sheets.”

  “You’re going to make a mess. Don’t.” She grabbed his hand.

  “Then I guess you’d better lick it off my finger before it drips on you.”

  “I don’t want to lick it off your finger.”

  “Why not? It tastes good. Quick. A little piece of fruit is about to fall off.” He set the bowl of sauce beside her and moved his finger closer to her mouth.

  “How do you know I won’t bite you?”

  “That’s the chance I’ll have to take.”

  Holding his gaze, she brought his finger closer and her tongue flicked out to swipe at the piece of cranberry on the tip.

  Even without watching her eyes darken, he would have known from the movement of her tongue when the sensuous nature of what he’d asked took hold of her imagination. She turned the task into a slow, lazy process, and after the cranberry sauce was gone from his finger, she pulled it into her mouth in a blatant gesture that made him throb with longing.

  Then she released him. “How was that?” she asked in a voice throaty with passion.

  “Very nice.” He dipped his finger in again and painted a circle around each nipple. This time she made no protest about the mess. She was with him.

  By the time he’d licked away all the sauce and bits of fruit, she was breathing hard. He painted her mouth with more sauce and plunged his tongue between her parted lips. She kissed him feverishly, and he grabbed the bowl beside her to keep it from tipping. They lapped at each other’s mouths like puppies until she took hold of his face and pushed him slightly away.