Snowbound Heart (12 page)

A blazing fire and something hot to drink were waiting for them all when they returned to the lodge. Only as Clare entered the warm building did she realize how icy the air outside had become. The leaping flames, the dimness of the lounge, the rich smell of coffee and hot chocolate, and the sharp spice scent of mulled wine were exactly what she needed.

Logan, already ensconced at a large round table near the fire with Janine and Marvin Hobbs, held a chair for Clare. When she was seated, he made Beverly and John known to the other couple. No sooner was everyone settled than Janine began to complain about the heat of the fire. John, sitting on her right halfway around the table, at the farthest remove from the great moss-rock hearth, offered to change places with her, but with a pettish shrug she declined. Clare glanced at Logan, her lips pressed tightly together to keep from smiling. An exchange with John would have placed Janine between Beverly and Janine’s husband, not the position the producer’s wife had had in mind at all.

Whether deliberately or as a simple coincidence, Hobbs turned his back on his wife and began to question John about his work, the profits to be made from a ski resort, and the return to its investors.

Under the cover of their conversation, Logan turned to Clare. “How did it go today?” he asked quietly.

“Fine, as far as I’m concerned,” she answered, “though I don’t know what John would say.”

Beverly, her attention caught by the question, leaned to answer. “He would say you were great. You have a natural talent for skiing, and excellent balance. He told me while we were taking off our coats upstairs that he wouldn’t be surprised if you were parallel-skiing in a couple of days, and on the intermediate slopes by the end of the week.”

“If I do, it will be because I had a great teacher.”

“That’s fine, but how do you feel?” Logan queried.

Clare laughed. “Tired, and a little stiff.”

“Just wait until in the morning. Ouch!” Beverly whispered.

“Your cheeks are sun and wind-burned,” Logan said, reaching out to touch the skin of Clare’s face with the back of one knuckle. “Right now it’s just enough to make you look bright-eyed and healthy, but you have to watch it at this altitude, so close to the sun. Tomorrow you will need a moisturizer and sunscreen.”

“Yes, and a lip balm of some sort,” Clare agreed ruefully.

Logan’s gaze rested on the glowing pink curves other mouth for a long moment. “Yes,” he said at last, and picked up his coffeecup.

They progressed from thawing out in the firelit lounge to dinner in the main dining room. Due to her vigorous exercise, Clare’s appetite knew no bounds. Not even Janine’s shudder and stare as she announced the fact could diminish it a whit. Logan took it in stride. With his hand on one side of her menu, he leaned close to offer his suggestions and amused encouragement. Her order, when at last he gave it to the waiter, matched his dish for dish, a bit of togetherness that caused Beverly to send Clare a sparkling look. An instant later, catching Janine’s sharp glance on her, Beverly began to bemoan the fact that Clare could eat anything she wanted and never show a sign, while she herself gained weight from the mere smell of food.

With lips compressed, Janine turned to John and began to question him on the various places he had taught skiing. The discovery that he had spent a winter season in the French Alps was enough to galvanize her interest. She smiled upon him with the air of one cosmopolitan meeting another among a crowd of provincials, and showered him with eager queries. Only as the conversation veered away from the difference between French and American techniques, ski lifts, and slope upkeep to the towns, did her enthusiasm lag. This was caused mainly by John’s firm refusal to recognize any of the more exclusive shops and hotels she mentioned.

While she listened, Clare played idly with her water glass, turning it in her fingers. Logan shifted in his chair, then reached out to take her hand, chilled by the ice-filled glass, in his warm grasp. As Clare turned, startled, he smiled, his grip tightening a fraction. Clare relaxed by degrees, letting her fingers lie still, trying to assume a fond expression as she met his eyes.

It was not a good effort, she was afraid. It was difficult to appear calm and loving when her nerves were on edge and she was much too aware of the man beside her. Tonight he wore a cable-knit sweater in a beige-and-blue pattern with a pair of well-worn jeans. Despite the casual dress, he was so vital he looked anything but casual, Clare felt the force of his attraction, against her will. It seemed quite possible that if she were the impressionable type, if she were less on her guard, the attentions Logan Longcross was paying her might turn her head.

Dinner was followed by dancing on a floor of translucent Plexiglas to one side of the dining room. Much of the music was fast, with a disco beat accompanied by the pulsing of colored lights under the floor. The noise quickly put an end to conversation. Soon a blue haze of cigarette smoke hung over the tables. The room became overheated and airless.

“Would you like to dance?” Logan leaned close to ask the question, since it was the only way he could be heard. The music was a slow instrumental for a change, but the amplification no less loud.

Clare got to her feet by way of an answer, and made her way through the tables to the floor. Turning, she smiled as she went into Logan’s arms. They moved together with precision in a perfect adjustment of height and frame. At first Clare felt awkward, and then, as she realized what Logan knew what he was doing, that he had the easy rhythm that made dancing a natural physical exercise, not a mental discipline, she relaxed. Together they moved to the music, caught in its gentle, reflective mood. Once Clare drew back to look up at Logan. His eyes held hers for long moments. The lights shining upward from beneath them cast strange wavering shadows over his features, giving them an intimate, almost tender cast of expression that should not have been there. Clare was certain it was a trick of the light, for as they shifted positions, that look disappeared.

The music came to an end. John and Beverly, exchanging one of those glances of unspoken communication between married couples, got to their feet as Clare and Logan returned to the table.

“We hate to break up the party, but I expect we had better be heading home. John has to get up early for work in the morning.”

Knowing it was true, Clare did not protest, only contenting herself with expressing her appreciation for the skiing lessons and her enjoyment of the evening. She and Beverly made plans for her to drive out to see the cabin the following morning, and the couple took their leave.

“Nice people,” Hobbs commented when they were out of hearing.

Janine, carefully flicking the ash from her cigarette into the tray in the center of the table, said nothing.

“Yes, they are,” Logan answered.

There was extra warmth in Clare’s gray eyes as she glanced at the man beside her. Noticing he was holding her chair, she shook her head. “I think I will go up to my room. After all that exercise this evening, I am sleepy beyond belief, and it’s so stuffy in here I seem to be getting a headache.”

“I’ll come with you,” Logan said.

“There’s no need — “

Logan’s firm grip on her elbow brought her words to a stumbling halt. “But I want to,” he said, his tone caressing.

Marvin Hobbs smiled. “I’ll just say good night, then, and hope to see you in the morning. Right now, I think I’ll stay where I am and have another drink. What do you say, Janine?”

Clare and Logan did not wait for her answer, but made their brief good nights, and turned toward the exit.

The pool area was dim, lit only by the underwater lights and the clear moonlight coming through the dome overhead. Clare paused in the darkness under the balcony outside the dining room and breathed deep of the cooler air in this high, open space.

“Do you really have a headache?” Logan asked, his voice quiet.

Clare nodded. It was still there, despite the fading sound of the music, reduced to a low, throbbing base from the room a short distance behind them. “Yes, and why not? You must admit this masquerade is something of a strain, or doesn’t it affect you that way?”

“No, I don’t think it does.”

She slanted him a quick glance, unreasonably annoyed by his positive tone. “But then, you are used to playing roles, aren’t you, and I’m not.”

Logan turned to give her his attention. His gaze traveled beyond her to the darkness behind them; then, with a swift step he pulled her into his arms, smothering her last words against her lips. His mouth burned on hers. His hold was steely. His kiss deepened as he drew her closer against his chest Clare’s senses reeled, and her lips felt on fire. Her hands, pressed to the broad hardness of his chest, lost their strength. She seemed to feel the millrace of the blood in her veins, and at the same time the driving beat of his heart.

“Excuse me!”

The words, cold, distant, feminine, came from behind Clare. The voice belonged to Janine Hobbs.

His movements unhurried, Logan lifted his head. Smoothing the palms of his hands along Clare’s arms without so much as a glance in the other woman’s direction, he asked, “Are we blocking your way, Janine?”

“No,” she said shortly. “I only followed you to ask if you mean to go out onto the slopes in the morning or if you are visiting Clare’s friends with her.”

“I expect I will strap on a pair of skis,” he answered, without taking his gaze from Clare, his voice so abstracted and uncaring as to be almost insulting.

“You surprise me. I wasn’t sure the two of you could bear to be separated that long.”

“It will be hard, but we will have the thought of our reunion to sustain us,” Logan said dryly, “won’t we, darling?”

For an answer, Clare allowed an impish smile to tilt the corners of her mouth. With considerable daring she slid her hands upward until they met behind his neck. Immediately he drew her close once more, locking his fingers behind her waist.

Janine made a sound that might have indicated anger or disgust as she pushed past them and continued around the pool to the faintly lighted elevator alcove.

Clare watched her with troubled eyes. “Do you think she heard us?” she asked finally.

“Who can tell?” Logan said, his tone even. “I expect if she did, we will find out, just as soon as she decides what to do about it.”

As if suddenly noticing that he still held her, he released his grip and stepped back. He stared down at Clare’s pale face in the dim light, his own features masklike and unreadable.

Across the width of the pool the elevator doors slid open and Janine stepped inside the lighted car. The doors hissed shut, and there came a familiar hum as it rode upward.

“Shall we go?” Logan said, and with a touch led her out of the dimness toward the empty alcove.

Beverly’s cabin, for all its small size, had the comfortable feeling of a home. Macrame wall hangings and crewelwork pictures softened the severity of paneled walls. There were Indian rugs on the polished wood floors, mixed with braided and hooked rugs in neutral colors. Dried flowers and lengths of weathered wood in interesting shapes ornamented the mantel of the smoke-blackened stone fireplace, and in one window was a collection of woven baskets and trays showing the black and sand colors of Indian designs.

The mint-and-lemon smell of herb tea, one of Beverly’s more recent enthusiasms, filled the room. Beverly, sitting across from Clare at an antique pedestal dining table, set down her stoneware mug and stared at her friend.

“I would not be in your shoes, Clare,” she said slowly, “for anything in the world. To have to put up with that Hobbs woman, with her saccharine sweetness and her sharp little digs when you are not looking, would drive me wild. Last night I wasn’t even involved, and was ready to pull her hair out. And then this nerve-racking business of playing up to Logan while he makes love to you, forcing yourself at the time to remain unmoved; maddening! I’m not sure it wouldn’t be best, all things considered, if Janine Hobbs didn’t tumble to Logan’s little game.”

“You may be right,” Clare admitted. “It’s just that this screenplay means so much to him.”

“Are you sure it’s not that you would hate to see the game come to an end?”

“Oh, Bev, of course not!”

“Not that I would blame you. He can be devastating when he sets his mind to it. That’s just it. He has set his mind to it.”

Clare looked down into the pale green liquid in her cup. “You make him sound so self-centered.”

“Isn’t he?”

“I don’t think so. At least, I know he would prefer not to be. He was forced into it this time, as much by the strength of his beliefs as Janine’s interference. Besides, I’m not certain everything he does is for his own purposes. He respects Marvin Hobbs for his talent as a producer and his contributions to the film industry, and I believe he genuinely likes you and John.”

“I will admit he was easier to talk to than I expected,” Beverly said. “In fact, other than his preoccupation with his privacy, he hardly seems like a superstar at all. I mean, where is his entourage? I thought people like him traveled with bodyguards, secretaries, and masseurs, to say nothing of beautiful unattached women. Where are his women?”

Clare laughed. “For the moment, you are looking at her. No, Bev, you are a victim of the propaganda put out by the fan magazines and supermarket papers. If all actors who made it big lived on that scale, they wouldn’t have anything left to invest against the time when a fickle public finds a new hero. But enough about Logan and me and my concerns. I liked your John. If he was ever a hippie, he seems to have mellowed. I would say he is satisfied with his life as a married man and the job he is doing.”

“Yes, I think so,” Beverly agreed.

“I really like what you have done with this cabin. You are lucky to have it, and your John. All you need now is a family.”

“That will come eventually,” Beverly said; then her smile turned to a look of concern. “You miss that, don’t you, Clare, having a home and family? It’s important, I know, but you still have your talent as a writer, and a career of some kind, whether it is in real estate or with a newspaper.”