by Joleen James
* * *
A cold blast of air hit Clea in the face when she stepped outside. The smell of frozen seaweed mixed with the fresh scent of snow. She welcomed the sting of the snow against her cheeks, hoping the flakes would help cool her temper. Inside her body glowed red-hot with anger at Nick and she didn't think any amount of frosty air could cool her down.
"Clea, wait," Nick called from behind her.
She walked faster. Under the snow a layer of ice had formed, making the sidewalk slippery. Clea lost her footing, but Nick's hand closed around her elbow, keeping her upright.
She tried to yank her arm free, but he held fast. "Let me go, Nick."
He didn't. "I never should have said those things."
She pressed her lips together. She didn't reply; she couldn't, because deep down she knew there might be a grain of truth in what he'd said. A part of her was afraid of being alone, on her own, with John. She'd always had support both financially and emotionally from her family. Had that swayed her decision to marry Robert? Until Nick had spoken the words tonight, she'd never considered the possibility. She loved Robert. He'd asked her to marry him many times, but she'd never said yes until now. Had she said yes out of fear?
"Just let me go, Nick." Her voice cracked.
"I don't want to."
His voice held a caressing tone that brought a deep need for him to life inside her, a need she'd buried long ago. Clea concentrated on the snow-covered sidewalk, on keeping her footing. Nick saw things in her she didn't want people to see. He challenged her to face the truth, even when she didn't want to. That's where he was so different from Robert. Nick wanted her to see the truth. Robert wanted what looked best, what kept up appearances.
"Clea, look at me." When she didn't, he placed two fingers under her chin, guiding her head up. "If I said things that upset you, I apologize. Let me walk you home."
Giving in seemed the quickest way to be free of him and all he made her feel. "All right."
They didn't get more than a few steps when there was a loud crack followed by a flash of sparks up near the street corner. In unison, all around them, the lights went out. Sparkling snow covered everything, giving the town a luster, a natural light. Behind them, on the other side of the street up on the hill, Clea could hear children laughing, playing, probably sledding.
"A limb must have broken under the weight of the snow, falling on the power lines," Nick said. "Let's get inside."
They walked toward The Coffee House, their boots crunching in the snow. Beside them, the street stretched, an empty ribbon of white. On the other side of the street a couple of people came out of the tavern. Someone threw a snowball.
Nick climbed the stairs to her apartment with her. The enclosed stairway didn't have the benefit of the glow of the snow. An intimate darkness pressed in on Clea as she fumbled in her pocket for the keys. She'd never realized it before, but without the overhead light the landing outside her apartment was dark, giving her more privacy with Nick than she wanted.
She didn't need to see Nick to feel his presence. In the dark all her senses tuned in on him. She could hear the soft sound of his breathing, smell the spicy male scent of him, feel the warmth of his hand on her arm, right through the sleeve of her jacket.
Locating her keys, she said, "Thanks for the pizza and the escort home."
"Let me come in." Nick's voice wrapped around her in the darkness. "I don't feel right leaving you and letting you go into a dark apartment."
"I told you, I'm a big girl, Nick." A current of longing ran through her, making her want more from him than just talk. It's a physical attraction, she reminded herself, the keys jingling in her nervous fingers.
"I insist."
Nick's hand closed over hers in the darkness, and he took the keys from her. Stepping around her, he inserted the key, then opened the door.
When they were inside, he asked, "Where do you keep a flashlight?"
Clea opened a drawer near her kitchen sink and switched the flashlight on. She kept two hurricane lamps for power outages, and she took them from the shelf, lighting them both.
Soft amber light filled the room, making Nick's eyes glow with desire, passion, or regret? Uncomfortable, Clea glanced away.
"It's going to get cold in here," Nick said. "Do you want me to light the fireplace?"
"Sure. It's gas. You need to open the front and ignite the pilot by hand."
Nick started the gas burner. The fire jumped to life, bringing more light with it. "The fan won't blow, but it's some heat anyway."
"I'll be okay. Don't feel like you have to stay." She rubbed her hands together to ward off the chill.
"I'd like to stay for a while," Nick said. "My place is just as dark, but I don't have candles, a fire, or even a flashlight."
"Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" Clea shook her head, a smile on her lips. "I know you too well for that. Nice try."
"Come on, Clea," he said, his tone low and smooth. He held his hands out to her in a gesture of surrender. "Take pity on me."
Her stomach curled. That deep voice of his had always been her undoing. "All right, but I can loan you some candles if you want to go home."
Nick ran the beam of his flashlight around the living room, touching the light on the leather sofa, the brightly patterned rugs, the photos on the walls. He straightened, shining the beam of light on the mantel, on the photos of John. He didn't speak, just moved the beam of light from one photo to the next.
"He was a beautiful baby," she said.
"Did you take these?" He still had his back to her, but he reached out, tracing the line of John's cheek in the photo, the gesture as intimate as if he touched John in the flesh.
"Yes." She had the sudden urge to comfort Nick, to tell him everything would be all right, but she held back, afraid to let go, afraid to feel too much.
Nick turned. "I've missed so many years."
"I know."
He walked to the sofa and sat down, but he couldn't take his eyes off the pictures. "How is it possible to love someone you've never even met?"
His words touched her heart. "He's a part of you. There's bound to be a connection."
She went to her hall closet and removed a couple of extra blankets. She tossed one to Nick. "You'll need this. This apartment is old and drafty, and with no heat it's going to cool down fast."
He caught the blanket. "Thanks." Nick leaned back, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. His head lay against the back of the sofa, and he turned to look at her. "Tell me what I missed while I was gone. What ever happened to Tyler Montgomery? When did the old library burn down? Anything. Just talk to me."
"All right." These subjects were safe. Clea spent the next hour talking about old classmates, births, deaths, and whatever else she thought he'd be interested in. He listened to every word, an intent look on his face. Clea couldn't imagine what prison must have been like for him, couldn't imagine how hungry he must be for news, or what it must be like for him to learn that life had gone on without him.
"Tell me what you did the last ten years," he said when she finished.
"I've been raising my son. I was a stubborn teenager, and I didn't do things the easy way." She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but failed.
"What do you mean?" Nick asked, his eyes narrowing. "What happened after I left?"
"After John was born I left, too. I couldn't stay here." She picked at the edge of the blanket on her lap. John's first years were hard for her. She didn't like talking about them.
"Billy told me you went to Seattle."
"My parents wanted me to go The Seattle Art Institute, to resume a normal life, only my life wasn't normal. I had a baby and no husband. My father was all right. Oh, he wasn't happy about the pregnancy, but he lived with it, and he made sure I had good medical care. But you know my mother. She couldn't let it go. In her eyes I was a tramp, letting a boy from town touch me, shame me, disgrace my family. She was humiliated, and I'm sure she prayed
every day I would just disappear."
"How did you make it?"
Clea thought of the money he'd sent, money that she'd been too proud to accept. "I had some money from the trust fund my grandmother left to me." She pulled the blanket up to her neck, using it as a shield, hiding herself from his view. "I lost the scholarship to The Seattle Art Institute when I didn't enter the program right after high school, but lucky me, my parents picked up the tab. I used my trust fund to pay for a small apartment, and my parents helped me hire a nanny. Her name was Mrs. Applebee. She was an absolute doll, a second grandmother to John. Every spare minute I had went into my photography." Photography had been her salvation then. Every emotion she had, be it fear or love, had gone into those early photos. It still pained her to view them. For that reason she kept them hidden in a closet.
"I had a booth at a street fair in the summers where I displayed my work," she continued, pushing her unhappy memories aside. "I even sold a few. Then my father got sick. That's when I came back to Port Bliss. He died three years ago."
"I'm sorry." Nick reached over and took her hand in his.
"After I'd been home for a while, Mitzi and I came up with the idea for The Coffee House. I sunk the rest of my inheritance into The Coffee House. It's been a great place for me to show my work."
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Clea closed her eyes. She knew she should pull her hand away, but she couldn't because if she did she might lose the fragile connection she felt to Nick, and she didn't want to do that. For so many years she'd hated him and loved him at the same time. The conflicting emotions tore at her until she just wanted peace, and right now, she had peace, if only for a few minutes.
"In some ways John and I grew up together," she said. "I know I had it easy. I had a trust fund. I had parents who supported me, even if it was from a distance. But at that time I would have traded the money and my education for a life with you and John," she said, very conscious of Nick's fingers brushing hers, so conscious she could barely breathe.
Nick kissed her fingers, her hand.
Butterflies took flight in Clea's stomach. Nick turned her hand over and kissed the pulse point at her wrist. She wondered if he could feel how fast her heart beat. A swirling desire built inside her and she knew she had to stop him, or she wouldn't want to stop him at all. "I can't do this, Nick."
His lips grazed her wrist.
"Don't make me remember." Finding strength she didn't know she had, she tugged her hand free. "I don't want to remember what it was like between us. I can't go back."
"I can't forget." He reached for her, his fingers trailing over her cheek. "I can't forget a single thing, not how you smell, how you feel, how you taste. Thinking about you got me through the last ten years."
"No. You're lying." Clea stood. Her knees threatened to buckle. "You didn't want me. You didn't want John. I can't forget that. You told me things. You preyed on my physical attraction to you. Our time is past. I need to get on with my life. You need to get on with yours."
Nick came to his feet. "That's where you're wrong, Princess. Our time is not past. I wanted you both so much my insides cried for you."
"No." She backed away from him, from what he made her feel. "Sometimes I think that going to prison gave you an easy way out. You didn't have to feel too much, or take on too much responsibility. You told me if I slept with you, we'd be together forever. You lied, Nick."
He reached for her, his hands closing gently around her arms, his touch tender.
"I remember that day, when I came to see you," she said, all the old hurt coming to the surface. "You told me to go, that you didn't want us, that we were a mistake."
"I wanted you to get on with your life." His eyes burned into hers. "I was no good. Everything I touched turned black. I didn't want to bring you down with me."
"No." She pushed against his chest. "You nearly destroyed me. Do you understand that? You can't play with people's emotions. How do you expect me to believe anything you say?"
"I always wanted John."
His eyes held a sadness that made her question everything she'd come to believe over the past ten years. "I don't want to hear any more." Clea tried to twist away, but he pulled her closer, gathered her to him until her breasts pressed against his chest. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her, jumpstarting the whirlwind of intense emotions only he could make her feel.
"But as much as I wanted John," he said, his breath warm on her face, "I wanted you even more. Let me convince you. Tell me it's not too late."
"I can't." She wanted to believe him, but past experience wouldn't let her. Deep down, she didn't trust him, yet that didn't stop her from wanting him with every breath she took.
Nick's hands came up to cup her face, and ever so slowly he guided her face to his. Clea's eyes slid shut. His lips brushed against hers, his tongue coaxing her lips apart.
Clea moaned. Her will to resist him crumbled into tiny grains of sand taken away in the wind. She remembered this, all of it, his taste, the way he kissed, the way he touched her. Right now she wanted to trust him, even though her mind told her not to. Wanting to forget everything but the way she felt, she reached for him, her hands curling in the flannel of his shirt.
Nick's hands moved from her face, to her shoulders, to her back. He molded her to him, and she fit against him like they were made for each other.
Every nerve in her body came alive for him, for his touch. The kiss grew hotter, more carnal. Without breaking the kiss, Nick lowered her to the sofa, his body following her down until he lay full on top of her.
Clea's fingers slid into his hair, hair that felt like silk against her skin. This time, Nick moaned, the sound sending a rush of pleasure through her. His lips moved to caress her jaw, her neck, while his hands found their way under her sweater. Her skin caught fire where he touched her.
The lights came on.
The refrigerator hummed as it restarted.
The microwave beeped.
Reality came rushing back. "What am I doing? This is wrong." She shoved at Nick. "Let me up."
He lifted his head to stare down at her. Passion still burned in his eyes. "I want you, Clea. I don't want to stop."
She didn't want to stop either. "I'm engaged," she said, blurting out the one thing she hoped would affect them like a dousing with ice water.
Nick groaned, but moved so she could get out from under him and sit up. "You're not married yet. Break your engagement."
"I can't. I don't want to," she said, meaning it. She loved Robert, what she felt for him was real and solid. What she felt for Nick was physical, not something she could build a life on.
"Do you love him?" Nick pushed his fingers through his hair. The hunger in his eyes made her want him even more.
"Yes. He's everything I want in a man. He doesn't deserve to be cheated on." Guilt assailed her. "Please go."
"How can you love him and kiss me like that?"
Clea glanced away. "I don't know."
Nick stood. "You better think long and hard about that, Princess." He grabbed his coat. A minute later the door closed behind him.
Clea curled up into a ball. She didn't want to think about her reaction to Nick. Her body ached for him. She wanted him, despite everything he'd put her through. Did she still love him, or was she merely feeling a lust more powerful than her will to refuse?
She wasn't ready to throw Robert away for a moment of stolen passion. Robert had to come first this time, no matter how attracted she was to Nick.
This time she was sticking to the choices she'd made. She'd stay away from Nick from this point on. She had to.
Chapter Seven
The sound of the snowplow pulled Clea from a fitful sleep the following morning. Jumping out of bed, she dressed quickly, then ran out to her car. She intended to follow the plow up the mountain. After last night Port Bliss wasn't big enough for both her and Nick. She needed to get away from him before she lost sight of the
things that were truly important to her, John, Robert, and her internship.
She couldn't see the plow when she turned her car up the road to Lake Bliss. Snow continued to fall, the flakes thick and heavy already covering the road in winter white where the plow had just cleared the pavement.
The Honda's wheels spun over the icy road, the back end sliding as she rounded the first bend. Clea's hands tightened on the steering wheel. The road held a film of ice making driving worse than she'd expected. Seven miles of curves stood between her and Robert's house. She considered turning the car around and heading home, but the thought of another confrontation with Nick kept her foot to the gas pedal. She didn't want to be alone with him again, not when his kisses stole her will and made her forget all about her fiancé.
Last night she'd wanted to give in to Nick, even though she'd known it was wrong. When Nick hadn't returned after his release from prison, she'd wanted to be anywhere but Port Bliss. For ten years she'd harbored hope. While she'd never acknowledged that feeling, she realized now that it had been there, simmering just below the surface. She didn't want to have that kind of all-consuming passion again. It hurt too much.
Clea gave the car some gas and sped forward. The studded tires spun, but she kept going. Snow hit her windshield as fast as her wipers could clear it away. For the first couple of miles trees bracketed the road, the forest growing thicker as she climbed the mountain. Covered with snow the firs looked as pretty as a picture on a Christmas card, but Clea didn't take the time to enjoy the sight. The car fishtailed as she rounded a curve. Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh when she noticed she had just missed the ravine that served as a drainage ditch on her right.
But she didn't stop; she couldn't. If she did, she might never get going again. Studded tires were fine on snow, but did her little good on the ice. She figured herself to be about three miles up. The forest to her right gave way to a solid rock wall. To her left the road dropped off into a deep gully. There were no guardrails. She couldn't afford to make a mistake under these conditions.