"I'm taking you into the other room with me," he stated, and carried her through the connecting door to the sitting room. "We have an hour of Thanksgiving left and I mean to spend it with you."
Brock didn't put her down until they were inside the room and the door was shut. A single light burned in the far corner. Outside the window the snow was still falling, but slower and not as thickly as it had been earlier.
Not quite able to believe he was really there in the flesh, Stephanie gazed at his manly features, the darkness of his hair and the melting grayness of his eyes. His hands encircled her waist, gliding over the silken material of her nightgown to bring her slowly closer as if he enjoyed the feel of her.
When his mouth began a downward movement toward her, Stephanie went on tiptoes to meet it. He took possession of the yielding softness of her lips with a gentle sensuality. It was so different from any other kiss that she could hardly understand what was happening to her.
His hands were at the small of her back, caressing but firm against her silk-covered skin and holding her close to the hardening contours of his thighs. Her blood ran with fire as he practiced the subtle art of seduction so expertly and so effortlessly. Stephanie was lost to his skill and she didn't care. When at last he released her lips to seek the bareness of a shoulder, she sighed her enchanted contentment. It gradually dawned on her that the coolness she was feeling against her scantily clad body did not come from any draft in the room. It was Brock who was chilled.
"You're cold," she murmured in concern.
"So?" His mouth was against her ear, his tongue circling its sensitive hollows. "Warm me up."
Taking him literally at his word, Stephanie pressed closer to him in an effort to warm him with her body heat. "How did you get here in this storm?" she asked, her mouth brushing the coolness of his shirt at his shoulder. "I still can't believe you're really here," she sighed at the miracle of being in his arms.
"Neither can I!" His arms tightened fiercely for an instant. "There were times when I wondered whether I would make it," he admitted in a tired and rueful sigh.
"Why did you come? With this storm and all…?" Stephanie lifted her head, shuddering when she thought of him out there in that blizzard.
She was frightened by what might have happened. Her hand glided along the smoothness of his jaw and he rubbed his cheek into her palm.
"Why did you take such a risk?" Her voice was choked by the dangerous chance he had taken.
"I wanted to be with you." He gazed deep into her eyes, letting his look add a heady force to his statement. "I didn't want to spend the holiday without you."
"You should have called. You should have let me know you were coming," Stephanie admonished, but she knew she would have been worried sick about him.
"I wanted to surprise you." His mouth twisted in a wry line. "It's been an eighteen-hour obstacle course—closed airports, diverted flights, trains not running, highways closed. When I finally admitted there was a distinct possibility I wouldn't make it, the telephone lines were down. I couldn't get through to tell you I wanted to be here."
"Brock…" The frustration he had suffered was very real to her.
"I know." The circle of his arms tightened as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
"How did you get here?" She still marveled that he had actually made it.
"I rented a car and bribed a maintenance crew to let me follow their snowplow," he explained.
"How did you guess I'd be here at the inn?"
"I didn't. I went to your home first," Brock told her.
"But the lane—" Stephanie's eyes widened in alarmed protest.
"Was blocked," he finished the sentence for her. "I had to leave the car on the road and walk back to the house. It's a good thing you and Perry are the trusting sort and left the back door unlocked. When I discovered the house was empty, I guessed you'd decided to spend the night at the inn, so I came here. Of course, I never expected to find you sleeping in my bed. Lucky for me, the night clerk knew where you were bunking and I didn't have to go around knocking on doors in the middle of the night trying to find you. Perry would have had some irate guests on his hands come morning."
She was shaken by his single-minded determination to find her, to be with her. Surely it had to mean something? Mere sexual attraction couldn't be all it was that they shared. The thought left her feeling slightly euphoric and dazed by the fiery surge of emotion rushing through her system.
"Come." Moving, Brock took hold of her hand and led her to the side of the room. "I took the seat cushions off the sofa and the spare pillows and blankets from the closet to make us a bed on the floor in here."
Stephanie stared at the blanket-covered cushions on the floor and the two pillows lying side by side at the top. Brock was studying her, waiting for her reaction. But there was none—at least, not a negative one.
"I'll turn out the light." Releasing her hand, Brock moved to the opposite side of the room where the lamp burned.
Stephanie watched him. There wasn't any conscious decision on her part. She was only aware of how very close she had come to losing him to the winter storm. All arguments for and against going to bed with him paled in comparison to that unshakable fact. It was truly the only thought in her mind.
When the click of a light switch buried the room in darkness, she sank onto the hard foam cushions. A sublime calmness settled through her as she folded back the blanket to slide beneath it.
She loved Brock. The quiet knowledge wasn't a rationale for her action, but the simple truth. Implausible as it seemed, as short a time as she had known him, She loved him. The unshakable strength of emotion made her feel mellow and warm, ripe with the fullness of it.
Brock was a dark shadow as he approached the makeshift bed. Not until he had joined her under the covers did he take form and substance. Lying on his side, he reached for her to draw her into his embrace.
Her hands encountered the muscled bareness of his chest, its dark hair sensually rough beneath her palms, his legs shifting to tangle with hers. The sweet intimacy twisted its knife-sharp blade into her stomach, a heady desire building.
His mouth sought and found hers, covering it with a softly bruising force and demanding a response that she had no wish to suppress. He mastered her with a fiery hunger, possessing her heart and soul, which she was only too willing to give into his keeping. With a surrendering sigh, she slid her arms around the smooth skin covering his hard shoulders to bring more of his weight onto her.
The blanket slipped to a position over their hips as Brock pushed the silken strap of her nightgown off a shoulder. His mouth explored the rose-crested top of a breast that had been exposed to his dark gray eyes. It heightened the taut desire curling her toes and knotting her insides. Then his mouth returned to crush her lips while the sensually abrasive hair on his chest brushed across the sensitive skin of her naked breast.
A moaning sound came from his throat, his warm breath filling her mouth with suffocating sweetness. The thin barrier of her nightgown didn't keep out the sensation of the growing limpness of his body.
Reluctantly, Brock drew away from her to roll onto his back, an arm flung above his head onto the pillow. Stephanie was confused and aching by this withdrawal. Turning onto her side, she levered herself onto an elbow to gaze at him.
His gaze slid to her, the vibrant glitter fading from his eyes. He reached out to slide the strap of her gown onto her shoulder, his hand remaining to silently caress her. A half smile was lifting one corner of his mouth. Even that seemed to require a lot of effort.
"What's wrong, Brock?" Stephanie asked uncertainly, wanting to curl herself into his arms, but refraining to obey the impulse because of the lack of an invitation.
"I've been working some long hours the last few days, trying to clear up any business that might come up at the last minute and kept me from coming here to be with you." His hand moved to rest on the curve of her neck beneath the curtain of chestnut hair. "I've had six hours of s
leep in the last fifty-two. That's what's wrong."
She heard the weariness in his voice, but in the dimness of the darkened room she could only guess at the strain of fatigue etched in his features. When he chuckled softly, she frowned in confusion.
"Don't you see the irony of this, Stephanie?" Brock murmured. "After all this time you're finally beside me—here in this bed, just the way I imagined it. And now I'm too damned tired to do anything about it," he sighed in irritation.
Her personal dissatisfaction was forgotten in a rush of loving concern for him. Leaning forward, she kissed his lips with infinite tenderness. A loving smile curved her mouth when she straightened.
"You'd better get some sleep before you collapse," she advised, and turned to sweep back the covers to return to her own bed.
"No." Brock waylaid her action with an outstretched hand. "Stay with me tonight."
Her hesitation was fractional. Accepting his invitation, she lay down once more beside him. Brock turned her onto her side with her back to him and curled her against his length. His arm was around her waist, a hand possessively cupping a breast.
Stephanie was warmed by the memory that Brock had once insisted that he preferred to sleep alone. He shared this need to be close—a need that transcended every thought and feeling that might have been true in the past. What they had was unique. Stephanie knew it, and she suspected Brock did, too.
Hugged close to him, she heard his breathing grow deep and heavy as tiredness carried him quickly to sleep. She closed her eyes, not certain that she would drift off so quickly, but the utter contentment soon whisked her away. Thus they slept spoon fashion, enfolded in an embrace of passive desire.
Morning light infiltrated the room through the large windows, pricking at Stephanie's eyelids. She became conscious of a heavy weight across her legs and stomach. A delicious heat was radiating from something and she snuggled closer to it. When she realized the heartbeat she was hearing did not belong to her, she opened her eyes.
A pair of broad shoulders were in front of her, tanned skin stretched across sinewy muscles and darkened with rough, curling hairs. The weight across her stomach was Brock's arm, his hand cupped to her hipbone in firm possession, while a leg was hooked across her knees, Peering through the top of her lashes, she studied the unrelenting strength of his face in sleep. Lean and powerful, he stirred her senses.
There was a very strong impulse to kiss him awake, but the amount of sunlight streaming through the windows and the muffled voices of others in the outer hall warned Stephanie of the lateness of the hour.
Reluctantly she slid out of his hold and out of the makeshift bed on the floor. Her bare feet made no sound as she entered the bedroom where the young woman and her two children were still sleeping. With her overnight bag in hand, she slipped into the bathroom to wash and dress.
There wasn't a sound from anyone when she came out. She hesitated in the sitting room, but Brock was still sound asleep. He had left the key to his suite lying on an end table. Stephanie slipped it into her pocket and quietly left the room through the hall door.
She went directly to the restaurant kitchen. The inn was already astir with early morning breakfasters. Outside, the sky was clear—almost too blue against the pure snow white of the ground. She laid a tray with china cups and a pot of coffee to take to the suite.
As she was passing through the lobby, her brother appeared. "Stephanie!" he called out to stop her. "Brock's here," he said when he reached her side. "He arrived last night."
"Yes, I know," she nodded. "I'm taking him some coffee now. He's still sleeping. He made a bed on the floor of the sitting room." She didn't mention that she had shared it with him. It wasn't an attempt to conceal the knowledge from Perry. Rather, she preferred to choose her own time to tell him when there weren't others around who might overhear and misinterpret her action.
Perry glanced at the tray, then at her, studying her closely. "Why is he here? Did he say?" he questioned.
"He wanted to have Thanksgiving here." She hesitated over carrying the explanation further, but she needn't have.
Her brother did it for her. "With you," he identified the reason specifically.
"Yes," Stephanie nodded, unable to keep the radiance from shining in her eyes.
Perry shook his head in absent amazement. "In that blizzard…" he murmured. He bit at his lip in a second of pensive silence. "Maybe I was wrong about him…and his interest in you," he offered. Whatever else he was about to add, he changed his mind and flashed her a wry smile. "You'd better take that coffee to him before it gets cold."
"I'll be back shortly," she promised.
"No rush," Perry insisted. "After the long day you put in yesterday, you can be as late as you want this morning."
Her smile was full of affection for her brother. "Thanks, boss."
At the door to the suite, Stephanie had to set the tray on the floor to have her hands free to unlock the door. The cups rattled on their china saucers as she entered the sitting room, but the delicate noise didn't waken Brock, who was still sleeping soundly on the floor. Only silence came from the bedroom where the young woman and her two little girls were.
Stephanie carried the tray to the rattan table and set it there. Knowing how little sleep Brock had in the last few days, she didn't pour him any coffee yet, only a cup for herself. The thermal pot would keep the coffee hot for a long time. She walked to a chair, unconsciously choosing one that would permit her to watch Brock in sleep.
The blanket was down around his hips, exposing his lean, untanned torso to her inspection. Briefly she was fascinated by the button roundness of his navel, a dark hollow in his flat stomach. He was lying on his side, facing her.
Stephanie let her gaze wander upward to his strongly defined mouth and the thickness of dark lashes resting against his cheekbone. His brows were thick and malely arched. Across his forehead was a thatch of rumpled dark hair. Even in sleep, Brock exuded an incredible virility. She wanted to touch him so much, it was almost a physical pain.
When he stirred, she unconsciously held her breath. His hand moved across the empty cushion beside him, as if instinctively seeking something. Was he in search of her? What a wondrous thought! His hand froze for a full second, then instantly he was awake, turning onto his back and alarm flashed in his expression.
"Stephanie!" He called out for her in an impatient voice a fraction of a second before he saw her seated in the chair. His expression changed immediately to one of satisfaction.
"Good morning." Her voice was husky with the knowledge that he had missed having her sleeping form beside him.
"Not so good," Brock denied her adjective in describing the morning. "You should have awakened me when you awoke."
"Would you like some coffee?" Stephanie rose, conscious of his gaze taking in her fully dressed appearance, detail by detail. Without waiting for his acceptance, she walked to the table and poured a cup for him.
"Why did you get dressed right away?" he questioned before his gaze flickered past her to the sunlight that drenched the room. "What time is it?"
"Nearly nine o'clock." She carried the cup to him.
The blanket had slipped a little farther downward, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of the elastic waistband of his white jockey shorts. It was crazy the way her pulse reacted to the sight, yet she had entered her brother's bedroom many times to waken him when he slept through his alarm, and found him similarly clad. She hadn't even blinked an eye then.
"I suppose you have to work this morning." His mouth was grim as he looked up when she stood beside the crude bed. He was still supported by his elbows and forearms in a half-reclining position.
"No. Perry said it was okay if I was late," she assured him, and knelt down to give him his coffee.
But Brock didn't reach for it. "In that case, come back to bed." His gaze became obsessively attached to her lips, sending her heart knocking against her ribs.
Stephanie couldn't find her voice. She recover
ed it after he had sat up and circled one arm around her waist while his hand curved itself to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him.
"I'm going to spill the coffee," she warned a breath before his mouth covered her lips to hungrily remind her of the volatile attraction they shared.
Her hand gripped his hard shoulder for balance while the cup of coffee jiggled in its saucer in the opposite hand, the steaming liquid sloshing over the china rim. But she offered no resistance to his kiss, melting under his heady domination.
"Get rid of that coffee and those clothes, and come back to bed with me," Brock ordered against her mouth, and proceeded to outline her lips with his tongue.
He kissed her thoroughly and sensually before drawing away. Stephanie was drugged in a euphoric state, barely capable of thought when she met the gray darkness of his eyes. A sound intruded, a mere irritation until a movement entered her vision, drawing her glance.
Five-year-old Amy was standing in the doorway wearing her flannel nightgown, one bare foot on top of the other, eyeing the pair of them curiously. Stephanie was brought sharply to her senses. Brock turned to look behind him and barely stifled a curse of frustration rather than anger. There was a glitter of ironic amusement and profound regret when he glanced back to Stephanie.
"Who's that man?" Amy wanted to know. "Is he your husband?"
Brock rescued the cup of coffee from her shaking hand and arched a mocking brow in her direction. "No, he's a friend," Stephanie explained a little self-consciously.
The little girl padded quickly across the room as if invited. "Why are you sleeping on the floor?" she asked Brock, and bounced onto the cushions to sit on a pillow with her legs under her.
"Because there wasn't any place else for me to sleep," he replied, regarding the little girl's intrusion with a patience and tolerance that faintly surprised Stephanie.
"There was lots of room in the bed," Amy insisted.
"It looked a little more crowded than I wanted." His glance darted to Stephanie, heavy with secret meaning.
Heart of Stone Page 8