Snowbound Heart (15 page)

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know very well. If you were half as concerned about your screenplay as you pretend, you would never have let Janine into your room.” Sparks of anger glittered in her gray eyes as she tugged at her robe.

Logan made to move to free her. “What was I supposed to do? Leave her standing outside banging on my door to wake the dead?”

“I don’t see why not,” Clare snapped. “It would certainly have given her husband a better idea of what is supposed to be going on.”

He gave a sigh of exasperation. “If I had known Marvin was on her heels, I might have let her hammer away. Unfortunately, I didn’t know it, and I had the strange idea that the fewer people who learned of her nocturnal ramblings, the better it would be.”

“The better for whom?” she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Abruptly he caught her shoulders, stiffling her twisting efforts to release herself, turning her to face him. “What is the matter with you? I didn’t invite Janine up here, if that’s what you are thinking.”

“No, I know you didn’t. You weren’t trying to get rid of her, either.”

“How was I to do that? Pick her up bodily and throw her out.”

“You could have used some of that fine contempt and lack of welcome you had ready when I landed on your doorstep a few days ago.”

He stared at her, a considering look in his blue eyes. “Does that still rankle?” he asked quietly.

“Not at all,” she denied. Her tone was impatient, but she refused to look at him, staring fixedly at the hollow of his throat.

“If that isn’t it, then what is on your mind? You wouldn’t be just a little jealous, would you?”

“Jealous!” Her head came up. “You flatter yourself Logan Longcross.”

His eyes narrowed. “Small chance of that, with you freezing every time I come near you. I hope if you ever have a real fiance you don’t avoid his touch the way you have avoided mine lately. You do, and I can promise the engagement won’t last long. If you think my reaction to Janine’s midnight visit harmed the chances of the project, I will have to tell you that your attitude toward me is not doing it any good, either.”

“If you are talking about this evening,” Clare said, her anger making her careless, “Janine was watching.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he demanded.

“Everything,” she said, then stopped, uncertain of the wisdom of her impulse to throw Janine’s duplicity in his face, unsure of how the subject should be approached even if she should decide to go on.

“Out with it,” Logan grated, giving her a small shake.

“All right,” she said on a deep breath. “Janine came to see me after she overheard us the other night She has guessed what we have been up to. She agreed not to make a fuss, since she took the whole thing as a compliment to her. She was willing to put up with the farce so long as I did not try her patience too much by allowing you to … to make love to me in public.”

Logan stared at her a long moment. Finally he said, “I see. And you told her she was right?”

“No, but since she threatened to go to her husband with the tale if we became too … too intimate, I had to do as she said.”

“Without consulting me?”

“Janine said … that is, from the way she spoke, I assumed you already knew what she thought, and what she wanted.”

“You mean you assumed I had led her to believe that all this with you was for her sake. Go on, don’t spare my feelings. You took every word she said for the truth, didn’t you?”

“What does it matter what I believed?” Clare said a shade desperately. “It has nothing to do with me. But you can see I had no choice but to take Janine at her word when she said she would jeopardize everything if I played up to you.”

“It never occurred to you that by doing as she said, you were practically admitting she was right?”

“It did, but what did it matter, so long as she kept quiet until Marvin Hobbs had signed to do the screenplay for you?”

“You worked all that out for yourself without telling me, without giving me fair warning that Janine might come charging up to my room expecting me to reassure her of heaven knows what?”

There had been reasons for that, reasons rooted in her doubts of his character. She did not intend to go into them, not now. Clare said nothing.

Logan went on. “I doubt that it is possible to repair the damage completely, but if the occasion arises, I intend to try. I would like to be able to count on your cooperation. Do you think you could bring yourself to be a little more accommodating in the future?”

“Accommodating? What do you mean by that?”

“Since you have to ask,” he said, a dry note in his voice, “it might be best if we tried a little practice to familiarize ourselves with the scene, and each other.”

His eyes were compelling as he drew her to him. He slipped his arms behind her, holding her close. His lips touched hers with fire, setting the blood racing in her veins. The grip of his left hand loosened, and he touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, trailing down the tender curve of her neck to the opening other robe.

Clare wanted to resist, to hold herself aloof from such an obvious appeal to her senses, but as his kiss deepened and his firm, sure touch brought its response, she felt herself drowning in a languorous weakness. She was pressed closer and closer, until her body seemed near to merging with his, and still she was not close enough. His mouth explored the moist corner of her lips and slid with sensuous heat over the smooth angle of her jawline.

“Logan…” she breathed in a soft protest as his head dropped lower, brushing a warm caress along the tender curve of her neck, and lower still as her robe fell away to expose her silk-clad breasts.

Lifting a hand, she touched the golden crispness of his hair. He went still, holding a deep-drawn breath. The tightly suspended seconds ticked past. Slowly, by careful degrees, he began to breathe again, and Clare sighed. With a gentle sureness Logan released her, though the effort it cost him was as plain as it was controlled. His face rigid, he closed her robe over her nightgown and tightened the belt once more.

Getting to his feet, he reached for her hand and pulled her to a standing position. A long strand of her hair lay curling across the lapel of her robe. He picked it up and smoothed it back over her shoulder. His attention on what he was doing, he said, “That wasn’t such a good idea after all. Whoever it was meant to help, it seems to have backfired.”

The regret in his voice was clear. If he thought she was overly affected by his casual caresses, she would disabuse him of the notion. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice as quiet and composed as she could make it.

He frowned, then turned abruptly to stride to the connecting door. Pulling it open, he stepped back. “In that case,” he said, “all you need to do is remember the lesson.”

“I intend to,” Clare answered, her gray eyes wide and dark as she stepped into her bedroom. As the door swung shut behind her, she turned and deliberately clicked the lock into place.

That done, she moved to the window and drew back the draperies. The night was dark and still. The only light came from a mercury-vapor streetlamp some distance away. Around its pale, red-tinged globe could be seen the swirl of snow flurries as the new powder Janine had mentioned came down to cover the ground.

A shudder ran over the surface of Clare’s skin. It was the snow, she told herself. Just looking at it made her cold. The chill desolation she felt had nothing to do with Logan Longcross or what had passed between them. She was not so without sense as to be affected by anything he might do or say. Falling in love with him was the last thing she would think of doing.

The only thing was, love did not need thought. It only required feeling.

What was she to do? The answer was simple. She would do her best to conceal what she felt, knowing full well the hopelessness of it Logan, so self-contained and solitary, would not appreciate this added complication.

What kind of woman would it take to touch his heart, to penetrate the icy layers of protection with which he had surrounded it? Would it be, despite his denials, someone like Janine?

Clare tamed away from the window, moving toward the bed. What did it matter? she asked herself. Soon she would be gone. It was nothing to her, nothing at all. And yet, even as she tried to convince herself, she knew she lied.

The snow was still falling the next morning, dropping gently from a heavy gray-white sky with tireless persistence. Due to the dimness inside her room and her restless night, Clare slept late. Logan was already in the coffee shop, a newspaper spread before him and a cup of coffee in his hand, when Clare descended for breakfast.

He looked up at her approach. Folding his paper, he tossed it to one side. “Good morning,” he said, his manner no different from any other morning.

Clare returned his greeting and took the chair he held for her. As he seated himself across from her once more and picked up a menu, she said, “You haven’t eaten?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he answered, his tone so firm she was left with nothing to say.

It was not a comfortable meal. The events of the night before hovered between them like another presence at the table. They spoke of the weather and of the skiers that poured from the lodge onto the slopes, undaunted by the flakes as dry and light as down drifting from the sky. When the waiter brought their order, Clare made a pretense of eating, pushing at her ham omelet and taking small sips of juice. Logan glanced once or twice at her pale face, then put down his fork.

“What with one thing and another, I don’t think I thanked you for what you did last night,” he said. “I am grateful for the concern that made you come to my aid.”

“It … it seemed a shame for the chances of the script to be spoiled after all your efforts,” she replied, her attention centered on the corner of toast she was spreading with jam.

“I understand well enough that your thoughts were for the project, not for me,” he answered.

At the dry tone of his voice, she looked up. “I did have some concern for you,” she said. “Irate husbands have been known to shoot, and otherwise dispose of, the men who get too close to their wives.”

“You would be distressed if I were … disposed of in some way?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Clare gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Of course. I mean, look at the fix I would be in, pretending to be your fiancee, cozily settled in the room next to yours. How would it look to the outsiders who would be called in? Anyway, I have this terrible feeling that if you were to meet your doom, I would wind up being blamed for it — the woman scorned, or some such nonsense.”

“Little devil,” he said softly.

There was a light in his dark blue eyes Clare had never seen before. She looked down at her plate. “I don’t mean to be unfeeling, but you would be in no shape to be of any help to me.”

His voice solemn, he answered, “Yes, I can see that. Am I to understand you weighted all these frightening possibilities before you came charging into my room last night?”

“Well, no,” she said, tilting her head. “At the time, I relied solely on my instinct for self-preservation.”

“Don’t you think it may have been just a little overworked lately?”

“You mean because it has had to get me through several sticky, not to say embarrassing, situations with you?”

“No, darling Clare, because it doesn’t seem to be warning you of the risk you are running this minute!”

The spontaneous endearment and the smile that went with it affected Clare so strangely that she sat unmoving for an instant; then, with an effort she forced a laugh at the threat.

“Very wise,” Logan said when she made no comment. Picking up his coffeecup, he drained it, then set it down. “What would you like to do this morning? Stay in? Go for a drive?”

Staying at the lodge before the fire sounded pleasant, but it was almost certain to mean time passed in the company of Janine and Marvin. Seeing them again would have to come eventually, though she preferred to put it off as long as possible. A drive would serve the purpose nicely, if it were not for the fact that it would mean long hours with Logan, hours that would be far from comfortable, given her newfound knowledge. Another time, she might have made her excuses and driven out to spend the morning with Bev, but this was her friend’s day for volunteer work at the hospital

“We could try the slopes as Janine suggested last night,” Clare said at last.

“Feeling intrepid, are you?”

“The snow is what people come here for, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Logan answered, and signaled for the waitress approaching just then with a steaming coffeepot to bring the check instead.

They left the lodge a short while later. The distance to the ski lift was not great. They set out on foot, their boots clumping with a hard, icy sound on the paved walkway, and their breaths fogging in the chill air. Glancing back, Clare could see smoke rising from the chimney of the lodge, joining the blue-gray pall from the other chimneys all over the resort. The smell of it hung in the air, mingling with the tang of the evergreens. The windows of the lodge coffee shop looked out on this side. Clare thought she saw Janine at one of the tables near the glass, staring fixedly in their direction. She could not be certain. It might have been any woman transfixed by the familiar face of the blond actor beside her. Most of the people staying at the lodge had grown used to seeing him, but there were a few arrivals every day who had to overcome the shock.

The waiting line at the lift was fairly long, but it was a cheerful and friendly crowd. As they stood waiting, men in rust-colored parkas marked with gold crosses on their backs walked along the queue. Their smiles were cordial and polite, though once they took a skier aside. After a brief consultation, the man headed back in the direction of the lodge.

Clare had seen the men in the rust parkas at a distance several times before, but she had never seen them at the lifts. “What is it?” she asked Logan in an undertone. “Who are those men, and what are they doing?”