Snowed

by Pamela Burford

  Reluctantly she tore her mouth from his to pull in a ragged breath. She knew that this man who hated her was being betrayed by his body’s needs, his resolve sabotaged by the chemicals racing through his bloodstream. Yet she couldn’t deny the wild thrill that swept her. She didn’t want it to end.

  He tightened his hold on her. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her taut nipples rubbing against the flannel of her shirt with every quickened breath. He turned her face to his once more and teased her mouth open with a callused thumb. Reflexively she touched her tongue to his thumb and closed her lips around it. She groaned as his tongue took its place, probing her in a savage possession that left her breathless.

  His hips ground against her. She felt the engorged length of his erection under the close-fitting knit boxers he wore. Finally he relinquished her lips and lowered his head to her breast. She cried out as his mouth closed over her through the shirt. He was like an insatiable untamed creature, suckling, nibbling, his strong tongue inflaming her as it sought the hardened tip of her breast through the saturated cloth.

  The sensation was so intense it was nearly painful, as if he were tugging at a taut string connected to the deepest secret part of her. Without warning, he ripped open the top of her shirt, popping buttons. His scalding mouth closed over her nipple and she cried out at the stunning sensation. She clung to him, writhing helplessly as he continued the erotic torment, nudging her ever closer to the brink of release.

  Suddenly he lifted his head and reared over her, like a predator poised for the kill, his silhouette outlined by the glowing embers in the hearth. He drove himself against her, wringing a startled gasp from her. While layers of cloth prevented their joining, she was acutely aware of the hard, blunt tip of his penis, of how piercingly sweet it would have been.

  If this parody of lovemaking frustrated Leah, it drove the half-aware James to distraction. His strained breathing sounded more like a growl. She knew she should stop him, could stop him if she wanted to, but God help her, she didn’t want to.

  Leah felt his hand glide over her hips, his palm settle between her legs, over the silky material of her bikini panties, now damp with her passion. The heat of his hand penetrated her flesh, making her dizzy. She stopped breathing as his fingertips traced the shape of her.

  Abruptly he pulled her panties off her. He swung his legs to the floor, his hands at the waistband of his underwear. The sudden movement caused him to roar in agony, his face contorted, his entire body tensed. He grabbed his ankle, and she detected, in the dim light, sudden wakefulness in his pain-filled eyes.

  Instantly she was up, her breathing ragged, lurching over him to stumble to the night table. She located the pill bottle and a glass of water. It had been about eight hours since his first dose and she didn’t think another pill would hurt him now.

  She placed the capsule in his mouth and held the glass to his lips. He swallowed the pill and then fell back onto the bed, his eyes closed, his face rigid with pain. As carefully as she could, she lifted his feet off the floor and tucked the blanket around him.

  He turned his head and blinked at her, as if surprised to see her in the middle of the night. She swallowed hard, holding her shirt closed. “I told you I’d be here if you needed anything,” she said. Did he even remember what he’d needed just seconds ago?

  Just when she decided he was asleep, he opened his eyes and lifted a tendril of her hair. He played with it, smiling, his voice a sleepy mumble. “Leah...my bourbon lady with angel hair...my birthday present.”

  It took a long time for him to fall asleep, but she sat with him until he began snoring lightly. Only then did she curl up against him, next to his heartbeat, and close her eyes.

  *

  “Stieglitz! A dial tone! I got a dial tone!”

  The black cat glanced disdainfully in Leah’s direction and resumed his lick-bath.

  It was ten o’clock and she’d been up for three hours while James continued to sleep. The roads near the mansion were still impassable, but at least she could communicate with the outside world now. She tapped out Merl and Douglas’s number on the wall phone’s touch pad.

  Merl answered. At the sound of her voice, Leah suddenly realized how much she missed her parents. She began telling Merl about the snowstorm just as James entered the kitchen, hobbling on his makeshift crutch. He looked pale, puffy-eyed, and sleep-tousled. She bit back a smile, knowing he’d never admit to being hung over.

  As Merl asked why Leah hadn’t called in three days, she watched him gingerly lower himself into a chair. She mouthed, How’s your ankle? He responded with a “so-so” gesture.

  She returned her attention to the phone. “I’m sorry, Mama. It was the blizzard. You remember how New York winters can be.” She took a deep breath and turned her back on James, unable to look at him as she lied. “It messed with the hotel’s phone system, Mama—I never got your voice mails. And, um, my cell phone went dead. I forgot to bring the charger.”

  She felt blue eyes searing a hole in her back. Too late, she wished she’d made this call somewhere more private. His words echoed in her head even as she prattled to Merl about seeing the Statue of Liberty and visiting the South Street Seaport and the museums. You’re not a good liar.

  God knew she’d never lied to Merl in her life. But Mama and Daddy had managed to put the painful past behind them, and Leah knew they’d worry themselves sick if they knew the real reason she’d come to New York. This mission was her solitary crusade and she’d shared it with no one.

  She said good-bye to Merl and hung up. “Phone works.”

  “So I gather,” James said.

  “I just have to call my office, if that’s okay.” She poured a mug of coffee and set it before him.

  “Be my guest.”

  She wasn’t concerned when it took fifteen rings for her assistant to answer. A disabled veteran, he was fast in his wheelchair, but she knew the phone could ring off the hook if he was in the warehouse.

  “Harmony Grits,” the accented voice said.

  “It’s me, Miguel.” From the other end of the line came a string of bilingual curses. She didn’t think he’d be that steamed just because she’d been out of touch for a few days. Finally she cut him off. “Miguel, it’s not my fault. There’s been a blizzard up here. The phones—”

  “We had us a fire in the warehouse, Leah.”

  “Oh my God.” She slumped onto the chair across from James, feeling the color drain from her face. “What happened?”

  “Some kids broke in and started it for kicks. Middle of the night on Saturday.”

  “What’s the loss?” She felt James’s concerned gaze on her.

  “Total as far as inventory. Insurance adjusters been here and gone already. Looks like you’re covered, but we got our work cut out for us.” She could only hold her head and groan, picturing a warehouse full of smoldering chili and chowchow.

  “Man, you wouldn’t believe what this place smells like,” Miguel continued.

  She could imagine. “Did you salvage anything?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah, I did, as a matter of fact.” She knew this jaunty tone—she was in for it. “Didn’t lose one jar of your precious watermelon-rind pickles,” he said. “Alabado sea Dios!” She groaned again. “Yeah,” he continued, “if I could get down on my knees, I’d thank the saints that all those pickles of yours didn’t go up in—”

  “You made your point, Miguel.” She’d never live down those pickles. Miguel had warned her they wouldn’t sell, and he could be so obnoxious when he was right. “What about the building? The office?”

  “Only the merch got fried. Someone saw the kids running away and called in the fire. Lots of water and smoke damage, though. I got people in to clean it up, and I’m having reinforced windows put in, better locks installed. That old sprinkler and alarm system, though, it’s worse than useless. That’s gotta be job one when you get back, Leah, replacing it.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Miguel.” Le
ah swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”

  “It’s like you dropped off the edge of the world,” he griped. “You couldn’t check in with us down here, couldn’t find one working phone in all of New York City?”

  Shame rose up from a place deep inside her, dark and ugly and persistent. What on earth was she doing in New York? Her place was back home, taking care of Mama and Daddy, taking care of Harmony Grits. Her business. The business she’d broken her back to create and build, had sacrificed for. The business she was so proud of, her security for the future.

  The fire might not have happened if she’d been where she was supposed to be. What if someone had gotten hurt? She pictured Miguel, wheelchair-bound, trapped in the burning warehouse and she shuddered. Back home, she grimly reminded herself, was reality. This expedition to New York was silly and self-indulgent, obsessive even. It wasn’t like her to do something like this. It had been a mistake to come here. After all, nothing could bring Annie back.

  Miguel’s gusty sigh intruded on her thoughts. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bother Merl and Doug with this. No sense getting them worked up when there’s nothing they can do about it anyway.”

  “I appreciate that, Miguel.”

  “Look at it this way. It could’ve happened in November.”

  “You’re such a Pollyanna, you know that?” He was right, of course. If this had happened to her fledgling business during the holiday season, it could have wiped her out, insurance or no insurance. It was a sobering thought.

  “When are you coming home, Leah?” Miguel sounded worn-out.

  “As soon as I can. In a day or two. Just hang in there, okay?”

  “I’ll try. Adiós.”

  “What is it?” James asked when she hung up. He looked worried. She explained about the fire.

  He said, “And you feel responsible because you weren’t there.”

  “Am I that transparent? Oh yeah, I forgot,” she said bitterly. “I’m a lousy liar.”

  He didn’t take the bait. “I can tell how much you’re hurting, Leah. This happened in the middle of the night. What makes you think you could’ve prevented it?”

  She propped her elbows on the table and massaged her forehead, frustration and self-reproach making her reckless. “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

  After a strained minute of silence, she felt his hand on her arm. “Why did you come here?” His voice was soft, with no trace of rancor.

  She looked up into his eyes. Sincerity and concern shone from their aquamarine depths, and she had to look away again. The truth was like a poison threatening to destroy her, and she ached to purge it. But she couldn’t do it. Not now. Not while she was still reeling from Miguel’s bombshell. The last thing she needed was the renewed hatred she knew James would feel if she were to reveal all. She settled for a partial truth.

  “I came to the party because...because I thought a certain person would be here...someone I needed to talk to.”

  “A man?” His voice sounded strained.

  “Yes.” She knew he assumed she meant a lover. Not a father. “It was stupid and...and pointless. As I say, I never should have come here.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  She stared at him, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her.

  He said, “Who would’ve protected me from the bunny rabbits? If you hadn’t gone out there for me, the little beasts would’ve had me staked out like Gulliver in Lilliput by morning.”

  Her grin was lopsided. “You’re really twisted, you know that?”

  His eyes twinkled. “You make that sound like something bad.” He squeezed her hand. “I know I haven’t exactly been the host with the most, Leah. I can be hard to get along with sometimes. All I can tell you is that I have good reasons for being that way.” He lifted her chin and made her meet his eyes. “I’ll never tolerate being made a fool of. For anyone.” His expression reflected fierce conviction.

  “I never wanted to do that,” she whispered.

  “I think I know that now. And as you’ve pointed out, certain things are simply none of my business. Old boyfriends included. I guess I can respect your privacy.”

  A change came over his face then. He dropped his hand and slid his gaze away. “Leah...I know I did something last night. I kind of remember, but...well...” He reached into his jeans pocket and deposited something on the table.

  Three shirt buttons with threads hanging off them. The buttons from the flannel shirt she’d worn the night before. She felt a blush scorch her cheeks. If her panties came out of his pocket next, she’d die of mortification right there in his kitchen.

  His words were stiff and formal-sounding. “I apologize. For whatever I did. You made it clear you don’t welcome this sort of thing from me, and...all I can say is, I was kind of out of my mind, what with the pills and...” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes swiftly assessed her. “Leah, did I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  He hesitated. “Did we...I didn’t...?”

  “No!”

  He smiled at the vehemence of her response. “I didn’t think so. Somehow I know I would’ve remembered making love to you, altered state or no.” The look of raw desire she saw made her heart race. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She abruptly rose and busied herself with plates and flatware. “It’s already forgotten.”

  She prayed her skill at lying had suddenly improved.

  *

  Just when she’d decided to give up her search, Leah finally located James in the sunroom. He didn’t notice her enter at first, so absorbed was he in setting up photographic equipment—a strobe light on a stand, a large reflector card on another stand—facing the long window seat.

  Diffuse midafternoon sunlight, reflecting off the snow outside, streamed in through the large bay window with its western exposure. Electrical cables snaked along the floor, connecting a wall outlet, the strobe light, and the camera he held. An aluminum case on the floor contained other equipment.

  She said, “I thought you might like some tea.”

  “Thanks.” He slid a film magazine onto the back of the camera.

  She noticed he was balancing his weight gingerly. Earlier she’d rewrapped his ankle. The swelling was beginning to recede, but the skin was still badly discolored. “And I brought aspirin. When was the last time you took aspirin?”

  “You’re mighty strict,” he teased.

  “That’s some fire you have going.” A log blazed in the fireplace, making the room pleasantly toasty. “You cold?” She pressed a hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “I’m fine. Just wanted it warm in here. Come here. Sit on the window seat. I have to get a light reading.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She put the tea and aspirin on the mantel and sat down. He took a light meter out of the metal case and held the small black contraption near her face. He pushed a button and looked at the reading. Then he replaced the meter in the case and faced her, peering down into the hood of the camera. The strobe flashed as he pressed the shutter release.

  She tensed. “What—what are you doing?”

  He didn’t look up from the camera. “You’re a bright girl. Can’t you figure it out?” Click. The strobe flashed again and he moved in, favoring his sprained ankle.

  “I—I didn’t know you were going to—”

  “Who did you think I was going to shoot—Stieglitz?” Click.

  She stood. “You could’ve asked.” She started to move past him.

  He reached out to intercept her and she smoothly evaded his grasp, pleased with herself until she realized the maneuver had caused him to stumble onto his right foot. She caught his arm just as his leg began to buckle, his face taut. In the same instant her other hand flashed out to steady the camera he held. He quickly recovered, standing erect once more, but she could tell the effort took more out of him than he wanted to show.

  “You’ve got good instinc
ts,” he said tightly, indicating the camera. “This Hasselblad is my baby. Wouldn’t take kindly to being dropped.”

  “You shouldn’t be on your feet, James.”

  “I haven’t worked in three days and I’m beginning to climb the walls. Won’t you take pity on a poor, work-starved, crippled artist?”

  She didn’t want to admit how uncomfortable she was with the idea of being photographed by James. It was almost as if he could see right into her soul when he looked at her through his precious Hasselblad. “I don’t know.” Her hand went to her bruised cheek. “My face...”

  “Your face is lovely. And the bruise is fading.” Tenderly he kissed the spot. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Leah.” His voice was even lower than usual as he ran his fingers through her long hair. “Old Torquemada himself couldn’t have devised a torture worse than imprisoning a photographer with such a beautiful woman and forbidding him to capture that beauty for posterity.”

  She smirked at the syrupy flattery. “You’re a self-serving cur, Mr. Bradburn.”

  “I suppose I am. But you know what I’ve noticed?” He limped closer, and closer still, slowly inching her back to the window seat. She tried to ignore the scent of his fresh-washed skin and the warmth of his body, which reminded her all too vividly of last night.

  He said, “The most exquisite women are the ones who have no inkling of how beautiful they are.”

  Leah wanted to say, I’m not beautiful, but she knew that would have seemed like fishing for a compliment. She held his azure gaze and kept her mouth firmly shut.

  “Yours is the kind of beauty that begins with the eyes,” he said, still inching her back. She was afraid to stop his progress for fear he’d fall again. The exasperating man was probably counting on that, she thought as she suddenly felt the edge of the window seat at the back of her knees. He put a large hand on her shoulder and exerted gentle pressure. She sat.

  He backed up a bit and began shooting again. She noticed that when she moved, first looking down, then away, he said nothing, made no attempt to pose her. He simply followed her movements with his camera as if stalking her. The strobe flashed with each click of the shutter.