There were no tracks leading up to the door this time, but he still held her back, entering first with his fists at the ready.
Sam noticed his tense posture and frowned. “You don’t think that fire was an accident, do you?”
Wordless, he turned and gingerly moved the hair on his scalp, showing her the injured area.
She gasped. Her cold fingers brushed his aside for a better look. “What happened?” she asked, her breath sending prickles down his back.
He shrugged and moved away, irritated with his body’s instant reaction to her touch. “Someone got the drop on me in the garage. Cracked me over the head and then started that fire to shut me up for good, I guess.” He hesitated, then decided she had the right to know. “The phone line was deliberately cut as well. That’s why we can’t call out.”
Fear darkened her eyes, even as she stiffened her spine. “We aren’t stranded, we have the skidoo.”
Mac wanted to enfold her in his arms. She was strong, his therapist. “That’s right, we do. And the storm is on our side. No one’s going to be getting around in this sh… stuff. By the time they come back—if that’s their intention—we’ll be long gone.”
Her brows drew together. “Who are they, Mac? Do you have any idea?” Now that they were in the relative warmth of the house, goose bumps had erupted all over her arms and did interesting things to the front of her shirt. Catching his gaze, she covered her breasts with folded arms. “Let’s go sit by the fire to talk. I’m frozen.”
He was a dog—thinking about sex when they were in dire straits. She was just so… perfect. It was impossible to ignore the chemistry between them—at least for him it was. She didn’t seem to be afflicted by the same attraction.
Disgruntled, he followed her down the hall to the toasty den. The fire had all but burned itself out, but the coals still smoldered in the grate. He added another log, aware that Sam had curled onto a corner of the couch. When he turned, it was to see her staring out the window. “Don’t worry, the snow will put out the flames.”
Her decidedly lopsided smile drew him to the sofa. She tipped her head, and her damp blond hair fell over her shoulder and curled under her breast. “We’re in big trouble, aren’t we? Don’t lie, I can handle it, really I can.” Tears overflowed and the next thing he knew she’d thrown herself into his arms. “I’m so… sorry, it’s just that we didn’t get along, and then someone shot at us, and then we were getting along, and then the garage started on fire and someone tried to kill you, and… I’m so confused,” she wailed.
Mac smiled against her forehead and breathed in the mix of smoke and fresh air that clung to her skin. The thought of what could have happened straightened his lips into more of a grimace. What if she’d walked into the garage while those goons were still there? It didn’t bear thinking about. “Shh, it’s going to be all right, I promise. Tomorrow, we’ll head down the mountain and get you back home where you’ll be safe. Then, I’ll go to the police with our complaints and let them find those creeps.” He planted a gentle kiss on her cheekbone, just under her eye and tasted the salt of her tears. Tenderness was replaced with hunger. He tipped her head for better access and groaned aloud at the moist lushness of her mouth.
“Sam, open your eyes, honey. I want… no, I need to kiss you now. Please tell me that’s okay.” His heart stuttered at the beautiful woman in his arms. Her wet lashes were thick and dark and highlighted the Caribbean blue intensity of her gaze. Her skin, porcelain smooth and perfect, right down to the little mole near the corner of her mouth, invited him to touch. Caress. Her body, melded to his chest, curved into his like it belonged—two sides of a whole. At the first taste, his pulse leaped. He tightened his hold and breathed her name, gratified when she melted into his arms. His lips moved over hers, feeding on the sweet taste unique to Sam. He cupped a smooth cheek, her damp hair cool against the back of his hand, her mouth hot and honeyed. The cream-colored blouse clung to her supple body, nipples hard, demanding his touch. Her fingers drifted over his lower torso and his hips surged, helpless against her allure. Mac groaned, frustrated with the clothes and the distance between them.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, chest heaving.
“That was…,” she murmured.
He turned his head to look at her and damn near pulled her onto his lap. Her mussed hair, swollen lips, and transparent shirt undid him. “Not a mistake, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was going to say a surprise,” she answered, sitting up and straightening her clothes. “And it can’t happen again.” He stiffened and her gaze flitted to his lips and away again. “We’re working together, Mac. It’s too…”
“Complicated?” he supplied sarcastically. As though everything that had happened between them wasn’t problematic. If they were equally invested, they could figure it out, but he wasn’t going to beg. Obviously, the job meant more to her than he did.
She lowered her hands to her lap and twisted her fingers together. “There’s something I need to…”
He rose, refusing to hear her end their relationship before she gave him a chance. “I’m tired,” he said abruptly. “Get some sleep. We leave at dawn.” Knee aching almost as much as his heart, he turned and strode upstairs.
12
Sam tossed and turned the night away and woke up sore and out of sorts. She sat up and dangled her feet over the edge of the oversized bed. She wished she could speak with her uncle. She wanted—needed—to tell Mac the truth, even though she’d been warned to keep quiet. He had a right to know. If only it wasn’t a condition of her pending contract with the team. This position could cement her future, did she really want to chance giving that up for a guy who acted like he couldn’t wait to get rid of her half of the time? But then there were those other moments—like last night.
Just thinking about his lips on hers made the reflection staring back at her from the mirror above the black lacquer dresser turn soft and dewy eyed. Not good. Not good at all. After her relationship with Jeff last year, she’d promised herself she was going to focus on her career. Her mom worried. She wanted her daughter to have security, and since Sam disagreed that safety meant a husband and two-point-five children, she was determined to make her business a success.
Cleo nudged the unlatched door open and glided across the room to hop gracefully onto the bed and rub her silky head under Sam’s arm.
“Hello, sweetheart. Where’s your daddy, huh? I hope you have a cat carrier because we have to make a trip today and I’m not leaving you behind.”
“I’m not her father, and there’s no room for a carrier on the skidoo. You do remember that’s our mode of transportation, don’t you?” Mac leaned against the doorjamb in a worn pair of jeans—torn at the knee—and nothing else.
Sam’s mouth dried. Did he have to look that good first thing in the morning? She cleared her throat and went on the defensive. “It’s courteous to knock before entering a lady’s bedroom. What if I slept in the nude?” Oops, too much information.
Mac’s gaze turned distinctly predatory. He slowly straightened and stalked across the room, every bit as sleek and pantherish as his cat. His legs bumped hers as he leaned into her space, the rough material of his jeans sending a shiver of longing up her spine. “If you were naked, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now,” he murmured, then proceeded to box her in with his hands bracketing her hips to make his point.
Cleo meowed her displeasure, twitched her tail, and hopped off the mattress, landing on the hardwood floor with barely a sound.
Sam wished she could do the same. Instead, this… buffoon with his six pack abs and mesmerizing eyes—gray-blue with a dark ring around the iris—had decided to make her his morning distraction. She shoved his chest, briefly closing her fingers over the smooth musculature of his skin. “Get off me, Wanowski. If you’re feeling so much better this morning, I’m going to assume you’ve already turned on the coffee machine because I don’t do anything without coffee.”
The bugger had the temerity to grin at her. “Who would have figured such a prissy female could have claws?” he mused.
Prissy? Organized, yes. Maybe even goal-orientated, but no one had ever accused her of being straitlaced before. Sam pushed past the annoying jerk, her cheeks hot. “If you’re finished making fun of me, please leave my room. I want to get dressed.” She stood by the door, the knob digging into her back, aware of Mac with every fiber of her being.
He raised his hands, palms up. “Whoa, take it easy, Doc. No need to get your panties in a twist.” His gaze sobered. “Look, yesterday was rough. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He brushed a lock of messy hair behind her ear and smiled. “Did you know your eyes flash when you’re upset?”
She frowned, skin tingling where he’d touched her. “I’m not upset. I am uncomfortable with having a strange man in my bedroom. So, if you don’t mind—” She cringed on the inside. She sounded just like the prudish woman he accused her of being.
He straightened and took a step back. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but most hockey players are good guys. They have wives, kids, some even do charity work. I’m not about to force myself on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Now she felt foolish. Of course he wouldn’t try anything with her. He could have any beautiful ice bunny he wanted, while she was just… normal. Oh, her parts were all in the right place, and she’d been told she had nice eyes, but it wasn’t enough to hold the attention of someone like Wanowski. He was out of her league. Literally, if she couldn’t nail down this contract. Which meant keeping her reasons for being there quiet for just a little while longer.
“Maybe we should stay here. Wait out the storm and then get help. It seems foolhardy to go racing down a mountain on a motorized sled in the middle of a blizzard.” She folded her arms and tried not to think about her bare legs under the thigh-length nightie she’d worn to bed.
Mac shook his head and flicked a finger under her chin. “We’re leaving in an hour. The snow has let up and I want to get a head start before the next cell moves in. Whoever dinged me last night and started the shed on fire is dangerous. I’m not willing to risk you getting hurt—end of story.” He limped a few feet down the hall before glancing over his shoulder. “Wear something warmer than what you have on. It’s winter, princess.”
Before she could think up a suitable retort, he was gone. Ooh, that man. She stomped her foot, then gave the door a satisfying slam. Too bad the darn thing closed with a soft whoomph. He was the most aggravating, irritating, exasperating person she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Her shoulders slumped. She had no choice, he was determined to leave. They were going to ride that deathtrap he called a skidoo, unless…
The thought of pretending an illness she didn’t have in front of Mac’s all-seeing eyes, made her tummy flip. Maybe she wouldn’t be faking after all.
* * *
By the time Sam wound up her courage enough to dress appropriately, as she’d been ordered, and made her way downstairs, Mac had already packed a couple of army green canvas duffle bags and stacked them by the door.
She followed the scent of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen where he stood gazing out the window over the sink at the frozen vista beyond. She took a moment to admire the perfect symmetry of the broad back tapering to a lean waist and long, powerful legs before he turned and caught her stare. God, you’re a beautiful man. The ambient light filtering through the glass turned his hair into a warm gold halo surrounding a face Michelangelo would have loved to capture. Her fingers itched to trace the sharp planes of his cheek bones, the jut of his jaw, the shape of his brow. The feel of his lips. She’d never been so instantly attracted to a man. He wasn’t even her type. She leaned more toward scholarly types—men who used their brains instead of brawn. Not that she had any doubt Mac was smart. It was just that he was so much more. The whole package.
“Coffee?”
“Huh?” she asked, dazed. “Ah, sure. I mean, yes. Please.” Could she be any more obvious?
He gave her a quizzical look, then poured a mug from the carafe beside the sink. “Enjoy. It’ll be the last one we get for a while.” He passed it over and she accepted, careful their fingers didn’t touch.
“I still think this is a bad idea,” Sam muttered into her cup. “And, besides… I’m not feeling so great. I think my friend is coming to visit, if you know what I mean.”
“Your friend?” Mac questioned.
She rubbed at her fluttering tummy and tried to quell the blush suffusing her cheeks. It was almost comical when he finally caught on. His eyes grew wide and he backed himself into the counter as though her supposed affliction was contagious, or something. She would have laughed if it wasn’t so embarrassing—and a lie, which made it even worse.
“Well, um, if we head out soon, before the next storm hits, we should be off the mountain before… you know.” He waved toward her midsection, his gaze bouncing from her face to the door as though he couldn’t wait to escape.
Well, join the party. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “It’s too late. I can’t leave.”
He stared at her, his gaze incredulous. “Are you telling me just because you have your period—yes, I know what that is, even if you can’t say the damn word—you’re going to force us to stay in this cabin? You do realize that fire is just the beginning, right? Whatever those goons want, they aren’t going to stop until they get it.” He brushed a frustrated hand through wavy hair and cursed. “Christ, Sam, you drive me crazy.” He stomped out of the room, his bad leg dragging only a little behind his temper.
She sagged onto the nearest chair. Well, she’d won this round, but when he found out the truth he was going to feel so betrayed. Good thing she wasn’t invested in their relationship, he didn’t strike her as an understanding type of guy.
Sighing, she rose to place her cup in the sink and caught a glimpse of the charred remains of the garage through the trees. She shivered from a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
13
Mac attacked the pile of wood outside, turning thick chunks of hemlock and cedar into little more than kindling. That woman couldn’t see common sense if it was written on her forehead. Surely, she had to understand it was a mistake to remain here. They were defenseless. He was The Hammer—his inability to protect Sam grated like hell.
Growling under his breath, he buried the axe into the chopping block and bent to collect an armful of the aromatic sticks. The snow started to fall again, swiftly coating his hair and creeping down the back of his neck. The temperature had dropped as well, and his breath made a foggy cloud in front of his face. The snow crunched under his work boots, the sound an eerie accompaniment to the wind whistling in the woods.
This is ridiculous. Why was he letting a city slicker therapist decide their fate? What happened to the hard-nosed hockey player that never allowed anyone to walk over him? His teammates would laugh their asses off if they could see him now.
Or envy him.
It had taken everything he had to remain at the kitchen window this morning instead of finishing what he’d started upstairs. She’d made him burn from the inside out with little more than a kiss. When he thought of what they could have got up to on that neat and tidy bed of hers… he had to rearrange his junk.
She was stubborn, he’d give her that, but she’d never make a poker player. There was no hiding her embarrassment over her womanly functions, but she’d brazened it out, determined to keep them there, at the cabin.
The question was why.
He’d find it funny if it wasn’t so serious. The gunshots, the lump on his head and the burned out remains of his truck were all the proof he needed. The danger was real.
Another why.
He added the wood to the stack by the back door and heaved out a disgruntled breath. He didn’t want to connect Sam to whatever was going on in his life, but the evidence was lining up and he was
n’t an idiot. He watched the snow swirl for a few minutes. At least they wouldn’t end up possibly lost on the mountain if they stayed. Silver linings. He’d acted as though he could get them down with no problem, but truthfully, without the road or GPS as guidance, he wasn’t so sure. And then there was his knee. He flexed the joint, relieved when there was barely more than a spasm. Still, a two or three hour skidoo ride over bumpy terrain wouldn’t do it any favors. He glanced over to where he’d hidden the machine under a tarp found in the duffle bags he’d unearthed from Samson’s closet. The snow was helping his cause, the whole thing little more than a dark lump now. Sam could have her two days while the storm raged and then they were leaving, one way or the other.
He opened the door and entered the back porch off the kitchen. In the summer, he could envision the small chamber as a breakfast nook overlooking the lake below. He envied his buddy this sanctuary. A place to leave the chaos of their sport behind—to regroup. Mac had been running in overdrive since Jess’s death; at first to outrun the pain, and then later, the memories. The tranquil atmosphere of the mountains seeped into his bones, giving him the first taste of peace he’d enjoyed in a long time.
A soft murmur turned his gaze from the outdoors to the interior. At first, he thought Sam was chatting to the cat, but Cleo chose that moment to make an appearance in the doorway, head tipped curiously.
“Has she taken up talking to herself now?” he asked the cat. Cleo meowed and led the way through the kitchen, tail pointing at the second floor. Mac kicked off his snow-covered boots and followed on stocking feet, surprised to find Sam on her cell phone in the den. She sat on the window seat, a book in hand and blond hair creating a curtain over her face. He opened his mouth to ask about the cell service but hesitated at the mention of his name.
“Mac deserves to know, Uncle. Please, I can’t do this for much longer.” She threw the book onto the cushions and stood, her gaze widening on Mac. “Umm, I have to go. Think about what I said, okay? See you soon.” Her smile looked forced as she lifted her phone in the air. “I decided to give it another try, and voilà—service.”
Skating on Thin Ice: The Men of WarHawks- Book 1 Page 6