Snowed (7 page)

In her half-aware state of languid contentment, she allowed him to turn her face, to brush his lips over hers. No alarms went off at that sweet contact. She only knew, from somewhere deep in her soul, that this was where she was meant to be, right here, right now. It wasn’t possible that something that felt this right could be tainted.

He shifted, fitting her more closely into his embrace. His mouth became firmer, more demanding, and she felt the tip of his tongue on her closed lips. “Leah...open for me...” he murmured.

She obeyed, parting her lips slightly under the pressure of his, drawing in an unsteady breath as the tip of his tongue slid between her lips. A trembling thrill coursed through her as he tasted her, opened her mouth to his. His tongue entered and retreated, each time plunging deeper, until she was left weak and pliant.

Leah had dated men who’d tried to kiss her this way, but their efforts could not compare. Never had she felt anything like this delirious pleasure. Her response was spontaneous, eager. Hungrily she returned his kiss, tasted him in turn, letting him teach her, guide her. He pulled her nearer still. One strong arm circled her back in a possessive grip; the fingers of his other hand splayed in her hair.

A warning voice intruded from somewhere deep inside.

Don’t.

With an effort she wrenched her mouth from his. “James...” It was a breathless whisper.

He pressed kisses to her temple, her cheekbone, her throat. Abruptly he yanked at the neckline of her oversize sweater, pulling it down to expose her shoulder. She heard herself moan as his lips traced the line of her collarbone.

Don’t. This is wrong.

No,
she thought, clutching him, arching into him.
No, this can’t be wrong.

His thumb stroked the side of her breast through the downy cashmere sweater. The caress sent an electric current of desire shooting deep and low within her, to the darkest secret recesses of her body. She whimpered with need as his fingers closed around her breast, molding its softness, testing its contours, circling the aching peak.

Wrong, Leah...this is wrong...

“Leah...” He tilted her head back. His teeth lightly grazed her jaw, followed the curve down her throat. All sensation became his lips and teeth and fiery tongue, as if he would consume her.

“Leah, stay with me tonight.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. His fingertips plucked at the tight bud of her nipple through the sweater, causing her breath to catch.

She trembled.
Wrong...

“James...”

“Stay with me, Leah. Let me love you tonight.”

This can never be. Never.

Suddenly his hand was under her loose sweater, gliding upward over her rib cage to capture her breast. She gasped at the intensity of sensation, bowing into his heated touch.

He started to lift her sweater, and it took more strength than she knew she possessed to make herself pull away from him. “Oh, James...I can’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t say you can’t, Leah.” He seized her hands. “There’s no one here but us. It’s just us.”

She wanted to say,
You’re wrong, James. It’s not just us. It’s you and me and James Senior and a young girl named Annie. And there can never be an us. It’s unthinkable by anyone’s standards.

But all she could utter was, “No.”

“There’s someone back home.” He released her hands.

“No
—
it’s not that.”

“Is it what happened last night? With Carleton? Leah, you must know I’d never hurt you.” He tried to turn her face, to make her look at him.

“I just can’t, James. That’s all.”

After a moment he said, “I see.” He stood and grabbed his snifter, downing the contents in one swallow. The low-burning flames highlighted his bold features, making him look almost sinister. The snug jeans he wore did little to conceal his state of arousal.

“Tell me something, Leah. Why did you come to New York?”

“I
—
I told you
—
”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I don’t believe that tourist crap for an instant. You’re not a very good liar.”

She swallowed hard. “My reasons for doing what I do and going where I go are my own. It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when someone gets herself stuck in my home and proceeds to feed me lies.”

“You’re riled because I won’t sleep with you, that’s all,” she blustered, coming unsteadily to her feet.

“How did you end up at my house?”

“I met Mike Carleton and he...he was coming here and he invited me. It was a date. You know that already.”

“So.” He started pacing. “A lovely young woman comes to New York on vacation. Alone. She wanders into the Carleton Gallery. Mike Carleton
—
a man with the personality of a wet toilet seat
—
miraculously turns himself into Prince Charming long enough to talk her into accompanying him to a surprise birthday party for the gallery’s featured photographer.”

She looked past his shoulder
—
anywhere but at those blue eyes that seemed to burn through her. “I don’t know why you find that so improbable.”

“On its face it’s not, but as I said, you’re a lousy liar. And a bit too nosy about things that are none of your concern.”

“Curiosity’s not a crime.”

“A word of advice. Before you waste any more time or effort on your little scheme, whatever it is, let me warn you. You picked the wrong sucker. I have too much experience with lying females who are after something and think there’s one tried-and-true way to get it.”

Her mouth dropped open at the ugly implication. “I told you I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His smile was malicious. “Not tonight maybe. You probably figure you have the next two or three days to string me along, get me all worked up, ripe for the plucking.”

“What on earth do you imagine I want from you?”

“Money or some variation thereof usually tops the list. Followed closely by fame.” He eyed her appraisingly. “Though if you have your heart set on being the next supermodel, you should’ve started a few years ago.”

Was that what James’s late wife had done? Used him to further her career?

“You know, I thought you were different,” he said, his tone regretful. “But you were just inept. That’s what threw me off. You’ll have to polish your act
—
learn how to look a man in the eye when you lie to him.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, but there was no warmth in the caress. “Keep that air of guileless southern charm, though. It’s very effective.”

“It’s not like that, James,” she whispered.

“Then tell me you haven’t deceived me.”

She tried to hold his gaze and failed. Her silence told him all he needed to know. He yanked his hand away as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.

“You’re right. I did seek you out,” she said, knowing she should have told him the truth that morning and gotten it all out in the open then. She’d wanted to spare him the hurtful knowledge of what kind of man his father had been, but her good intentions had backfired. “I kind of tricked Mike into bringing me here. I was after something
—
something I can no longer hope to attain.”

“You’ve got that right,” James said, and held up his palm when she started to elaborate. “Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. All I want is for you to stay away from me till we get dug out. Understand?”

“James, please
—
”

“I mean it, Leah. I don’t even want to know you’re in the same house.”

In the next instant she was alone.

No, not alone. Not in this house, she reminded herself. There was a girl named Annie. Just a memory perhaps, but she may as well have been there in flesh and blood.

Leah hugged herself against the chill that seemed to pervade the room.
If he thinks I want something from him now, what’s he going to think when I tell him about our father?

 
Annie!

I run as hard as I can, but my legs barely move. Annie’s so close. Her face is white. Her eyes are wide and frightened. She’s so young. Heartbreakingly young.

“Leah?”

Why can’t I reach her? If I could reach her, I could help her. I could save her.

“Leah, wake up.”

I can almost touch her—she’s so close now. Don’t die, Annie. Please don’t die.

“Leah, open your eyes. Wake up.”

Annie!

“Open your eyes. It’s a dream.”

Leah bucked and twisted, trying to reach Annie, but arms like iron bands imprisoned her, pressing her tight against a warm bare chest.

“It’s a dream, just a dream. It can’t hurt you.”

Leah knew that deep voice.
A dream. It can’t hurt you.
Her eyes opened. She blinked. Nothing looked familiar. She stopped fighting and let herself be held. Her chest heaved. She shook violently, her body bathed in sweat.

“Leah, look at me,” James commanded. He tilted her chin. His troubled eyes glowed a luminous blue in the semidark. “You had a nightmare. It’s just a dream. Do you understand?”

She managed to nod. He held her close again, stroking damp tendrils of hair off her face, until the tremors gradually subsided.

“Leah, who is Annie?”

She didn’t answer.

He said, “You cried out her name.”

“My...sister,” she whispered, her mouth dry.

My mother.

He was silent a moment. “The sister you never knew.”

Leah nodded.
I never knew her, but you did, James. Tell me about her. If only I could ask you to tell me about her.

She didn’t realize she was biting her lip, her chin trembling, until he said softly, “It’s okay to cry.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s not okay.” No more tears for Annie. Tears can do nothing for Annie.

James let out a long sigh. He seemed at a loss, as if prey to conflicting emotions. She was shivering now, chilled by her cold sweat. He rose and crossed to the fireplace, where log and kindling were already laid, with crumpled newspaper beneath. He opened the flue and lit a match, using a burning scrap of paper to create an updraft. The fire blazed to life and he stood silhouetted, his broad back to her. The room was bathed in a golden glow that helped to chase away the terrors of the night.

He wore lightweight gray track pants that rode low on his trim hips. The firelight shone through the thin material, leaving little of his powerful form to her imagination. He opened an armoire and took out a blanket. “Lie down.”

She obeyed, still shivering. He pulled up the comforter and tucked it around her. Then he shook out the extra blanket and laid it on top.

“Better?” he asked, sitting on the bed.

It wasn’t, but she nodded shakily.

“If you want to talk about it...”

She knew he was just going through the motions, saying the right thing. He’d made it more than clear how he felt about her. She shook her head and looked away, pulling the comforter to her chin. She didn’t think she’d ever get warm. He sat next to her for a few minutes, watching her, listening to her teeth chatter.

Finally he slipped his hands under her back and pulled her up against his chest, cradling her like a child. At length the shivering stopped as his warmth suffused her body. His chest hairs brushed her eyelashes. She savored the scent of him, like a drug, lulling her to sleep.

“James?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want anything from you. I swear to God I don’t.”

She didn’t expect him to respond. It was enough that he was there, that she wasn’t alone. The specters of the night fled before the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, the exhalations that stirred her hair.

At last he whispered, “Go to sleep, Leah.”

Even after her breathing had settled into the slow, regular cadence of sleep, James continued to sit and hold her. He’d been lying awake in his bed, trying to ignore the lingering scent of her perfume on his pillow, when he heard her cry out in terror.

He’d raced into her room without a second thought. Watching her writhe in the cold clutches of her nightmare had brought out protective instincts he hadn’t known he possessed. His only thought had been to make it better.

He rubbed his cheek against the silk of her hair, inhaled the scent of her deep into his lungs. Never had he been so baffled by a woman. His first glimpse of her at the party had jolted him with a flash of recognition. She’d reminded him of something
—
or someone. A sensation too elusive to grasp, pulling distantly at memories long buried.

Somehow, even though he’d known all along that she was hiding something, she’d managed to override his internal alarm system, disable the self-protective mechanism warning him to keep his distance from her. He meant what he’d told her tonight. He didn’t want to hear the reason she’d sought him out
—
or whatever variation of the truth she planned to feed him.

Finally James lowered Leah to the bed, carefully so as not to wake her. He slid his hands from under her and she stirred, curling closer to him, as if seeking his warmth even in sleep.

Reluctantly he rose and watched her for a few moments more. She lay on her side, her angel hair in disarray. Her restless movements had caused the neckline of her shirt to pull aside, revealing the creamy fullness of a breast. Or most of it. His fingers itched to give the neckline a gentle tug. Dismayed with the direction of his thoughts, James cursed himself.

As he turned to leave, he scanned the room, bathed in moonglow and firelight. Leah’s dress and borrowed clothes occupied a chairback and the dresser top. Her shoulder bag slouched on a small round table near the hearth, its clasp open, its contents strewn.

Firelight winked on an object spilling from the bag, piquing his curiosity. He cast a quick glance at Leah, sound asleep, and crossed to the table. It was a small pocket mirror. “Hair to Stay” was printed on its pink plastic frame, along with an address. Great. Now he knew where to go for a cut and curl in Little Rock. He saw a hairbrush and a cosmetic bag.