Snowed (12 page)

A light bulb went off in her head. “I can’t. I mean, you wouldn’t want me to. I have bruises. On my, um...chest.”

“Bruises?” He scowled dangerously. “From that pig Carleton?”

“Well, yes...”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded.

She realized her idea had backfired when he suddenly put down the camera and started to raise her sweater.

“James!” She yanked the hem back down and held it in a death grip. “Good grief!”

“I just wanted to see
—
”

“Well, I just
don’t
want you to see.” She could tell her modesty amused him. “Anyway, how would that look in a picture? I’m black and blue. You should see the one on my hip.”

“Okay.” He reached for her zipper.

She scooted away, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare. “Trust me. It’s there.”

“If it bothers you that much, I can avoid the bruises in my shots. You know, you act as if no man has ever seen you naked.” His expression was probing, inquisitive. She looked away. Well, that was just none of his damn business.

He patted her thigh and rose. “Very well. I’ll grant a reprieve. This time.”

He picked up the camera and directed her to stand sideways in front of the window. He was still naked above the waist, and she toyed with the idea of asking him to put the shirt back on, to establish a more professional, less sensually charged atmosphere. As quickly as the thought came, she discarded it. A small smile curved her mouth. It wouldn’t hurt to look at him a little while longer.

He stroked her hair, entwining his fingers in the waist-length tendrils. “You look like Botticelli’s
Birth of Venus
. She has hair just like this.” His gaze caressed her from head to toe. “Of course, she’s not afraid to be seen in her birthday suit. What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking you looked like Michelangelo’s
David
.”

“We’re too cultured for our own good, standing around comparing each other to classical art.” As James worked, he kept up a stream of chatter, obviously trying to keep her relaxed. He altered the poses, at one point pulling the loose vee neck of her sweater over one shoulder for a close-up profile.

She felt proud posing for him, secure in the knowledge that she was in the hands of a true master of his art. Each shot was carefully composed as he considered line and light, texture and depth, all the things that combined to make his work so consistently brilliant. Stieglitz managed to horn in on a few shots, leaping up on the window seat, rubbing languorously against her, curious as ever. James humored him for a while before chasing him out of the room.

Finally he put on his shirt and began to pack up his equipment. “Hey, baby! Anyone ever tell you, you look just like dat dere Venus-on-the-half-shell broad?” She laughed at his vulgar tone of voice and lewd wink. “Now, me...well, hey, I got it on good authority I’m da spittin’ image of one of dem dirty statues of a naked guy.” He put his arm around her shoulders and limped out of the sunroom. “So whaddaya say youse an’ me, we go down to my darkroom an’ see what develops?”

*

Leah found herself back in the sunroom at 2:00
a.m.
, reclining on her side on the window seat, snuggled against a large pillow. She was content simply to gaze outside, where moonlight cast glittering fairy dust over the snow-shrouded grounds of the estate.

She’d been unable to sleep. In her room. All alone. Every time she began to drift off, James invaded her consciousness, all mouth and hands and wild wanting. She couldn’t exorcize her memories of the previous night.

At last she’d gotten up to take a warm bath, her usual cure for insomnia. As she dried off and slipped her host’s red silk kimono over her bare skin, she felt no less jittery and knew the battle was lost. No sense fighting it any longer. She went downstairs to the sunroom, leaving the lights off, feeling more than a little like an interloper in the huge house.

She’d been there about an hour when her comfortable sense of isolation began to succumb to another feeling
—
that she wasn’t alone. She looked over her shoulder, peering into the shadows near the entrance to the room. Her breath caught when she saw a long form leaning indolently against the doorframe. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was watching her, had probably been watching her for a long time. She was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming through the window.

She felt like a rare form of life on display in a glass case, to be scrutinized in detail and at leisure, probed until it yields its secrets. A tingle infused her like a mild electric current. She felt her nipples tighten and brush against the slippery-smooth silk as her chest rose and fell in a quickened rhythm.

Finally he moved out of the shadows, slowly, favoring his right leg, until she could see his face and the solid contours of his bare chest over the gray track pants. He sat on the window seat near her feet.

He said, “I passed your room and saw the door open. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“All right?”

“I thought maybe you were sick or had another nightmare.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

“Me neither.”

“I didn’t know you were there. You should’ve said something.”

“I wanted to watch you.” He ran his palm over her side, down the curve of her waist and up to her hip. The heat of his hand penetrated the thin silk, making her feel as if there were nothing between his fingers and her body. “Do you have any idea how wickedly erotic your bottom looks in my kimono?” He removed his hand, but she still felt it there. He said, “I couldn’t ski to the road today to check it out, of course, but I called a neighbor after dinner and he said it got cleared today.”

Her heart lurched. The road was clear. She could go home. She should feel ecstatic. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I guess it...slipped my mind. You can call in the morning for flight information. I know you’re anxious to get home. A plow will be here first thing in the morning to clear the drive. I’d take you to the city myself if I could, but...” He nodded toward his bad ankle.

“No problem. I’ll get a taxi to take me to the train station.”

“No,” he said brusquely. “You’re not taking a train. I’ll take care of cab fare to the city.”

“No. I couldn’t let you
—
”

“Drop it, Leah.” He ran a hand through his hair. His face was tight with strain.

“James, are you in pain?”

He shook his head and rose. “Try to get some sleep.”

She watched him until he disappeared out the doorway. Tomorrow she’d be back home, back in her apartment in Little Rock, and would never see him again.

Get some sleep? Not likely.

*

“The taxi’s on its way.” Leah joined James at a leaded-glass window in the front hall. Together they watched the cumbersome snowplow rumble back down the cleared drive to the street. She was wearing her khaki shirtdress again. “I’ve got a seat on a Delta flight at one-thirty. Should have just enough time to get to the hotel, pack up, and get out to La Guardia.”

“Good.” His voice was flat. “You got everything?”

She indicated her shoulder bag and navy wool coat lying on a chair. “That’s everything.”

“Not quite.” He turned and went to a small table where a large manila envelope lay. She was glad to see he wasn’t limping as badly. He handed her the envelope.

She peeked inside. It contained about a dozen eight-by-ten prints, some of the pictures they’d developed the day before. She pulled one out
—
the close-up portrait of James
—
and smiled. She had indeed managed to capture that special look in his eyes, that trick of the light. “Thanks, James.” She knew she’d treasure these photographs...something to remember him by.

She slipped the picture back into the envelope, then pulled out one of herself. It was a side view of her sitting on the window seat with her knees up, her arms around them. He’d told her the fluidity of the line emphasized her special grace. Even with the fill light from the strobe, the lighting was subdued, bringing out the softness and depth of form and the contrast of textures. His ability to manipulate an image of the human body
—
even a fully clothed human body
—
astounded her. It was like poetry. He made her feel beautiful.

She replaced the picture in the envelope. She found it hard to look at him now, knowing these final glimpses would have to hold her for a lifetime.

“Leah.” His voice was raspy. She looked up into his serious eyes. “May I kiss you?”

She was astounded. James Bradburn
asking
for a kiss? She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

He took the envelope from her and placed it with her bag and coat. When he turned back and lowered his head, she felt as if it were happening in slow motion. Anticipation made her dizzy. Their lips touched and a current seemed to flow between them. He brushed his mouth lightly across hers, and then again, the artless sensuality of the gesture making her breath catch.

He pulled back and she wanted to cry out,
No! Don’t stop.
As if he heard her silent plea, he brought his lips to hers again. Vaguely she realized he was holding her now, bringing her closer. Her arms circled his neck. His hands traveled over her back, pressing her against him. She closed her eyes in breathless wonder as the kiss deepened and a primal hunger blossomed.

Abruptly he stopped, holding her at arm’s length. She opened her eyes and saw the same hunger burning in his gaze even as his features tensed in rigid self-control. Suddenly she knew she had to take more of him with her than photographs and memories of unfulfilled longing. And she had to leave something of herself in return. She reached up to bring his face down to hers once more.

Like a starving man, he greedily claimed her mouth. The tip of his tongue teased her lips, urging them apart. She heard her own intake of breath as he entered her mouth, his tongue probing in rhythmic emulation of the act their bodies craved. Her uninhibited response seemed to spur him on. He seized her buttocks, pulling her against him with brutal urgency, his rigid arousal a living thing between them. Instinctively she arched into him, offering herself, knowing only that she needed to be filled by this man. His groan was deep and hungry, vibrating her to her toes.

“Leah...” he whispered, his mouth near her ear. His long fingers grasped her bottom harder, holding her against his erection as if he could penetrate her through their clothes. “I want you too much. It’s all I can think of.” He released her to frame her face in his hands and look into her eyes. “Leah...if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.” It was a warning.

“James, I don’t want to
—
”

The blare of a taxi horn outside jolted them.
J
ames, I don’t want to stop.
She bit her lip.

He shot a murderous scowl at the window as she stumbled away from him, disoriented, automatically glancing around for her coat and bag.

“They’re on the chair.” His voice was tight, his hands clenched at his sides.

The horn blared again, suddenly bringing to mind her folks and Harmony Grits and Miguel and an inventory up in smoke. Never in her life had she walked away from her obligations—she wasn’t about to start now. Her dedication and perseverance were the only things that had brought her this far, the only things she could rely on.

Woodenly Leah slipped into her coat as James held it for her, then picked up her bag and the envelope. He took a handful of money out of his wallet to pay the driver, his face a mask of grim control. She tried not to think, not to feel, as she accepted his money with thanks. He held the door open for her and she went out into the frigid morning air. He opened the taxi door and she slid into the backseat.

“Good-bye, Leah.”

“Good-bye, James. Take care of your ankle.”

He didn’t smile as he closed the door and the taxi pulled away. As the car neared the road, she resisted the impulse to look back and see if he was still outside watching. She was afraid the burn of unshed tears would turn into a torrent.

*

“...And the football team’s named after a pig, right?”

Lord, would this driver ever shut up? Leah decided that within the first ten miles, he’d found out everything about her but her bra size. “The Razorbacks,” she said.

“That’s it! The University of Arkansas Razorbacks.”

She stared out the window at the other cars on the expressway and tried to pretend she’d suddenly gone deaf.

Leah...my bourbon lady with angel hair...my birthday present...

Don’t do this to yourself,
she commanded.

“Hey, I got one for ya,” he said. “Stop me if you’ve heard it. What’s the only U.S. state mentioned in the Bible?”

“I’ve heard it. I’m stopping you.”

“Arkansas! ‘Noah looked out of the ark and saw...’ I get a lot of mileage outta that one. Mileage, get it?” He thumped the dashboard for emphasis.

Somehow I know I would’ve remembered making love to you, altered state or no.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cold window glass.

“So is there a Big Rock?” he asked.

“What?”
Shut up. Shut up.

“You’re from Little Rock, right? So there’s gotta be a Big Rock somewhere.”

“If I tell you, will you stop talking?” The driver laughed so hard, she thought the taxi was going to swerve into a U-Haul truck in the next lane. “Little Rock was the name of a stone outcropping on the bank of the Arkansas River. It was a landmark for early travelers.”

Leah, I want you too much.

“Guess what was located upstream a ways,” she said.

“Big Rock?”

“You amaze me. Now, turn this taxi around and take me back.”

He looked hurt. “Jeez, I’ll shut up.”

She threw James’s cab money onto the front seat. “Turn it around.”

It was time for James to open his birthday present.

Leah stood in the bathroom doorway and watched an oblivious James lounging in the huge claw-footed bathtub, arms draped over the sides, eyes closed. Steam rose off the water. Her eager gaze lingered on his naked body.
David in Repose.
Taking a deep breath, she padded shoeless toward the tub.