The Thawing of Mara (13 page)

As she blindly fled his bedroom, she heard his murmured, "That's a beginning."

Chapter Seven

THE CONFRONTATION had left an unexpected state of neutrality in its wake. Mara couldn't explain it. She only knew she couldn't summon her previous aloofness when she was around her father. One of the barriers she had erected had fallen down, but she hadn't discovered which one it was.

Opening the oven door, she pulled out the shelf holding the roasting pan on it and basted the turkey it contained. Its succulent flesh was a rich golden brown. An aromatic blend of sage and giblet stuffing filled the kitchen, emanating from the cavity of the bird.

Beside the roasting pan was a pan of candied sweet potatoes. Cooling on the kitchen counter was a pumpkin pie. On top of a burner on the stove, peas were simmering in a pan. The refrigerator contained a relish tray and cranberry salad. The menu for the noontime meal was that of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

"Mmm, something smells good," her father declared as he rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen. "How long before dinner is ready?"

"I'm just waiting on the turkey and the sweet potatoes." Mara slid the shelf into the oven and closed the door. "Another half hour or so, and they'll be done."

"When are you going to set the table?" Adam questioned.

"I have." She absently motioned to the one in the kitchen while she searched for the right size lid to fit the pan holding the peas.

"Since it's Thanksgiving, don't you think we should eat in the dining room?" he suggested. "It's a special day and a special dinner, turkey and all the trimmings."

"I suppose we could." Finding the lid, she covered the pan and turned off the heat to let the peas steam cook. "I want to put the dinner rolls in the oven first, then I'll set the table in the other room."

"You don't need to. I'll do it," Adam volunteered, and wheeled his chair to the kitchen table. "We'll need another place setting, though."

"What?" Mara frowned in confusion. Her first thought was that she had inadvertently put a dirtied plate on the table, believing it to be clean.

"There are only two settings here." Adam stacked the two plates on his lap and laid the silverware on top of them. "We need another."

"For who?" She stiffened, already guessing the answer.

"For whom?" he corrected her grammar.

"You didn't invite Sin Buchanan for dinner?" she accused. She hadn't, seen Sin since Monday and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Yes, I did," said Adam as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world to do.

"Well, you can just uninvite him!" She slammed the cupboard door after taking out the sheet pan for the dinner rolls.

"Mara!" He clicked his tongue at her in teasing remonstration. "Where is my charitable daughter with the halo circling her head? It's a holiday, a time to sit down with your fellow man and give thanks for the bountiful goodness we've been granted."

"I am not sitting at any table with him." Her angry denial lacked its usual conviction. She frowned and wondered where her vehemence had gone.

"It's Thanksgiving. Here Sin is in Pennsylvania, without any family or close friends. Would you really make him eat his holiday dinner alone?" It wasn't really a question. "There's so much turkey and food, the two of us couldn't possibly eat it all. We'll be having leftovers for a week. It isn't as if we can't spare the food."

"I never said it was," she protested.

"The Pilgrims sat down to dinner with the Indians. Surely you can sit at a table with Sin?" His whole manner was teasing as opposed to deriding.

Mara found it difficult to take offense at his attitude. "And if I can't?" She tried to challenge him with her usual coldness but her tone fell short of its mark.

"It seems to me you have two choices," her father answered. "Either you can eat in the kitchen while Sin and I have dinner in the dining room. Or else you can tell him he isn't welcome here for dinner. You'd better make up your mind, because here he is now."

His last statement was followed immediately by a knock on the door. Adam had seen Sin's approach through the door's window. Mara pivoted sharply toward the sound.

"Why did you wait until the last minute to tell me you'd invited him?" she hissed at her father, irritated because he had done it deliberately so she wouldn't have time to think of an adequate escape. "You knew l wouldn't like it."

He merely smiled. "You'd better answer the door."

Mara flashed him an angry look as she walked to answer the second knock. In a fleeting moment of vanity, she was glad she had changed into the cranberry wool dress she was wearing. It was a fitting choice for the holiday dinner, plus it was highly complimentary to her dark coloring. The minute she realized what she was thinking, Mara pushed the thought aside. Why should she suddenly care that she looked particularly attractive?

Her heart was beating a crazy tattoo against her ribs when she opened the back door. This traitorous betrayal by her body upset her. It was reflected in the troubled darkness of her eyes.

The reaction was mild compared to the sudden acceleration of her pulse when she faced Sin and met his steel-blue eyes. He, too, had dressed for the occasion in a corduroy suit of charcoal gray, a shade that enhanced the burnished silver mane of his hair.

"I was invited to dinner today." Sin gave faint emphasis to the verb to let her know he remembered her order not to come to the house unless he had been invited.

"Yes, I know," she admitted. "Adam neglected to let me know until a few minutes ago that he'd asked you to join us for Thanksgiving dinner." Indecision warred within her as she continued to stand in the doorway, the cold November air chilling her skin.

"I see." Sin took a step backward as if in anticipation of his invitation being canceled.

His apparent willingness to accept her decision forced Mara to second her father's invitation or feel excessively churlish. "It doesn't matter. There's more than enough food for three of us. Please come in, Mr. Buchanan." She used the formal term of address to let him know the invitation did not change their relationship.

His hooded gaze gave her a considering look as he inclined his head in polite acceptance. "Thank you." After Mara had stepped out of the way, he entered the kitchen to greet her father. "Hello, Adam. How are you feeling? "

"I'm glad you could come, Sin," her father replied with a veiled twinkle in his eyes. "I'm fully recovered from my cold. My only problem now is hunger."

"A problem not helped by the appetizing aroma in the air," Sin sympathized.

It was an indirect compliment to Mara's cooking, but she pretended not to hear it. She feigned a studied concentration in arranging the dinner rolls on the sheet pan, her back turned to Sin.

"I'll need that third place setting for the table, Mara," her father reminded her. "Would you hand it to me?"

Mara felt about as comfortable as a pin cushion. Wiping her hands on a towel, she took a plate from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer and handed them to her father.

"Never mind the glasses," Adam instructed. "We'll use the crystal goblets from the china closet in the dining room." Turning his chair, he was careful not to let the plates slip from his lap. "We have time for a glass of sherry before dinner, Sin. Or something stronger, if you like."

"Sherry is fine." Sin glanced inquiringly to Mara. "Will you join us?"

"No." Her refusal was quick, self-consciously so. "Thank you, but I'd better stay here in the kitchen where I can watch the turkey."

Neither man argued the necessity of it with her and Mara was left alone in the kitchen. Listening to their voices in the dining room, she put the dinner rolls in the oven to brown and checked the turkey once more. She pottered around, finding excuses not to join them in the other room until it was time to start carrying the dishes of food in to set on the table. Even then Mara tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, not wanting to call Sin's attention to her. When she carried the turkey in on its platter, the men were seated at the table. She started to set the turkey in front of her father to carve.

"Let Sin do it," he told her. "He's more mobile than I am."

A protest hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she knew his suggestion was practical. Reluctantly she walked over to Sin's chair. Her shoulder brushed against his as she reached in front of him to set the platter down. The contact burned along her nerve ends, searing them raw. But Sin appeared impervious to it.

For Mara, it heightened an awareness that was already too high. She found herself unable to take part in the table conversation. Any attempt by either her father or Sin to include her in it was usually met by a stilted response.

The food, for all its appetizing taste, invariably seemed to become lodged in her throat, and she was glad she had kept her portions small. Her discomfort was increased by the way her gaze kept straying to Sin's strong hands. She kept remembering how they had caressed her flesh, skillfully arousing her desire. Just thinking about it sparked a similar response.

It was a relief when her plate was sufficiently clean that she could claim her hunger was satisfied. In truth, it had ceased to exist when Sin had entered the house.

"Excuse me." She rose from her chair. "While you finish, I'll dish up the desert."

"Pumpkin pie?" Adam darted her a questioning look.

"Of course," she nodded.

"With some whipped cream to go with it, I hope," he tacked on.

"Yes, I still have to whip it, but it won't take long," Mara promised, and retreated to the relative security of the kitchen.

With an electric mixer, she whipped the cream into stiff peaks. She added sugar and vanilla and whipped it again. The swinging of the kitchen door drew her gaze. Sin walked in, carrying the dinner plates.

"Clearing away some of the dishes seemed the least I could do to show my appreciation for an excellent meal," he said to explain his action.

His appearance reduced her composure to chaos. She riveted her attention on the bowl of whipping cream and the beaters whirring in its foam.

"Thank you," Her response was brittlly unnatural. "I'll bring the dessert in shortly."

"I'll help you carry it in," Sin volunteered, walking to the counter where she was working.

The pie was already sliced, individual pieces on the dessert plates. All that was left to do was add a generous spoonful of whipped cream to each piece. As Sin paused beside Mara to watch her finish beating it, her sensitive radar sounded the alarm at his closeness.

"It really isn't necessary." She tried to refuse his assistance and deny his continued presence.

"I don't mind." He dismissed her protest as nothing more than a polite gesture not to be taken seriously. "Besides, I wanted to thank you privately for asking me to have dinner with you in spite of Adam's oversight."

"It wasn't my idea to invite you." She wanted that clear. Normally she would have whipped the cream another couple of minutes, but Sin's nearness prompted her to turn off the mixer. Under the circumstances, it was sufficiently blended.

"I am aware who issued the invitation," he replied dryly. "At the time, I wondered if you were. But you could have vetoed it and you didn't. So, thank you."

"You're welcome." It was a polite phrase to end the discussion.

Trying desperately to ignore him, Mara removed the beaters from the mixer. Foamy peaks of whipped cream clung to the mixer blades. She wiped the excess from them with her forefinger, the bulk of it dropping into the bowl. Some remained on her finger.

When she started to wipe it on a towel, a hand closed around her wrist, strong fingers overlapping her slender bones. The fingertip with the whipped cream was lifted to Sin's mouth. Her heart catapulted to beat somewhere in the region of her throat as he slowly and erotically licked the whipped cream from her finger.

All the while, his gaze held hers. Mara felt herself drowning in the unfathomable depths of his blue eyes. She was being pulled down, down, with no hope of being rescued and no will to care.

"Stop it, Sin," she whispered the choked plea.

Satisfaction glinted briefly in his expression, but he didn't let go of her wrist. "Stop it, who?" He demanded that she repeat his given name.

"Sin," Mara breathed in surrender.

She was already swaying toward him when his mouth began its descent to her lips. An iron band encircled her waist to flatten her breasts against his chest. The hungry dominance of his kiss whetted her own appetite, and her arms curved around his broad shoulders to the hard muscles of his back.

Sin tasted the completeness of her response and demanded more, stimulating her to a passion that left her weak at the knees. When she was utterly his to command, Sin untangled his mouth from her clinging, eager lips. Bewildered by his withdrawal, she looked up at him in confusion. Her silent appeal drew a light, totally unsatisfying kiss.

"Adam will be wondering what's happened to the dessert," Sin offered in explanation. "We'd better take it in to him."

Dessert? Adam? Could he possibly care about either of them? They were the farthest things from her mind at the moment. Only the realization of how openly she had revealed her emotions to Sinclair Buchanan made her withdraw from his arms.