Heart of Winter

by Diana Palmer

  She went forward without thinking and put her soft hand over his mouth. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not a cripple. You’re a man with a limp.”

  The feel of her fingers shocked him. The gesture was unexpected and it threw him off balance. He caught her smooth hand, holding it near his cheek as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with it.

  He stood over her, breathing roughly, his eyes dark with pain and anger as they searched hers. His fingers contracted absently around hers, bruising a little, but she didn’t protest.

  “I don’t want you here,” he said quietly, his eyes narrow, piercing.

  “Yes, I know.” She moved her fingers experimentally, and he let them go. She touched his cheek, tracing the long scar down his jaw, into the dimple in his chin. It was incredible how secure she felt with him, and not the least bit afraid. She sensed something in him, something vulnerable and tender, and she wanted to reach it. She needed to reach it, although she didn’t understand why. “You don’t talk about it, do you? Not ever.”

  His broad chest rose and fell. He was very close. Too close. She could feel the muscles ripple when he moved, feel him breathing, feel the warmth of him in the chill air.

  His fingers slid into her hair, hesitantly, feeling the curls as he moved his hands to her nape and turned her head up with firm gentleness.

  “It’s been one hell of a long time since I kissed a woman,” he said half under his breath, looking down at her coldly. “Don’t you realize that you’ve been inviting that for days? I’m not a boy, and I’ve gone hungry in recent years. I can’t play games, I even told you so. You could start something that would ruin both our lives.”

  She let him pull her head back. She looked up at him unafraid, her eyes soft with understanding and compassion. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said softly.

  “I could make you afraid, Nicole.”

  His voice was velvety soft and deep. Her lips parted, because it was as sensuous as she’d imagined it would be. She liked being close to him. She wanted his mouth and her lips parted in subtle invitation. She might have imagined herself in love with Chase James, but never in her life had she felt anything as sweet as this.

  He looked down at her soft mouth, seeing it open, and something in him snapped. He bent quickly, covering it with his hard lips. He wanted to hurt her. She was a child, playing at sensuality, and he wanted to make it so rough that she’d stop tormenting him with emotions he never wanted to feel again….

  She yielded completely, no thought of fighting him. His mouth was hard, warm and tasted of tobacco and it was only then that she realized how expert he really was. He made no allowances for her youth, and despite her small experience with Chase, this was her first real taste of passion. It was devastating, this helpless feeling he caused in her. She sighed hungrily, letting him draw her completely against the powerful hard length of his body, letting him crush her against it. Her mouth yielded eagerly to his insistent lips, tasting the tobacco tartness of his tongue as it pushed into her mouth, penetrating her in a silence that blazed with kindling sensations.

  Her hands grasped his shirtsleeves, holding on, because her knees were getting weak. His arm at her back arched her, the hand at her nape tangled in her curly hair. He made a sound deep in his throat and lifted his head, his eyes black and blazing as they probed her dazed ones.

  “Aren’t you going to fight me?” he taunted with a faint, mocking smile as his mouth poised over hers.

  “No.” She reached up, sliding her arms around his neck. Her mouth was soft, parted and waiting, tempting his. “Oh, no, I want it, too!”

  “Nicky…”

  It was a groan, her name on his lips. He bent, half lifting her up to him. But this time, he didn’t try to hurt her. This time, he was achingly gentle. His hard mouth slowed and softened on hers, and he kissed her with a subdued passion that aroused all her protective instincts. Poor, tormented man, she thought. So much love in him, all wasted on the wrong woman. And now he was driven to hurt back, out of fear that it was going to happen again. But it wasn’t, she thought, her heart blazing with compassion. It wasn’t, because she’d never hurt him.

  She closed her arms tight around his neck and opened her mouth for him, drawing it over his as she was learning he liked it. Her tongue teased at his full lower lip and he made a sound that corresponded with the tautening of his body.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t…know much about this. I’m sorry if I did it wrong.”

  He lifted his head again. He was breathing roughly, and his eyes had a haunted look. The hand in her hair caressed gently. “You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” he murmured with a tenderness he wasn’t aware of.

  “I guess it shows,” she whispered dryly. She looked down at his shirt, missing the sudden shocked delight in his eyes. “I haven’t had a lot to do with men in the past few years.”

  He brushed the curly hair away from her face, touching her with pure wonder. Yes, this was what he’d been uneasy about, this vulnerable side of her that attracted him. He’d tried so hard to avoid this confrontation. Ridiculous, really, when it was inevitable that he was going to feel her warmth in his arms, savor the soft nectar of her mouth. He’d known she was nearby, back at the corral. He’d sensed her somehow. “Why were you watching me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I needed to.” She shifted, burying her face against his broad shoulder. “You disturb me,” she whispered shakily. “It frightens me.”

  “It shouldn’t.” He held her, rocked her. His mouth touched her forehead in a kiss as gentle as the arms that held her. “I won’t hurt you again.”

  She nuzzled her face against him. “It’s very exciting, being kissed like that,” she whispered shyly.

  He smiled. “Is it?” He tilted her chin up and searched her eyes. “Then let’s do it again,” he whispered into her open mouth.

  It was wilder this time, hotter, more unbearably sweet. She gave him her mouth and melted into the hard contours of his body with a soft moan. It wasn’t until she felt the tautening, felt the sudden urgency in the mouth devouring hers, that she realized things were getting out of control.

  She put her hands against his wildly thudding chest and pulled her lips away from his. “No,” she said shakily.

  He bit at her lower lip, his head spinning. “No?”

  “You’re a man…and experienced,” she whispered. “I’ve never…and I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He was breathing roughly, but he didn’t seem to be angry. He brushed his mouth over her eyes, closing her eyelids. “Do you want to?” he whispered, smiling.

  “What a ridiculous question. I expect you know the answer,” she said dazedly.

  “I suppose I do, at that.” He sighed, wrapping her up against him. “Hold tight. They say it passes, eventually. I can’t vouch for it, of course. I’m not in the habit of drawing back at this point.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she moaned.

  “I won’t die.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers, rocking her. His arms had a faint tremor, but his breathing was calmer now and his heartbeat had stopped shaking them both. “What a potent little package you are. I didn’t plan this. I meant to…hell, I don’t know what I meant to do. Scare you, maybe.”

  “You did.”

  He laughed. “Like hell I did, you were with me every step of the way. I could have laid you down in the grass and—”

  “Hush!”

  He drew back then and looked down at her, frowning, his eyes wary and searching. She was flushed, and her eyes had an unnatural brightness, as if she were holding back tears.

  “What are you so afraid of?” he asked quietly, touching her eyelid gently to release a long, silver tear. “It was passionate, but still just a kiss. I didn’t even try to touch you in any way that would have offended you.”

  “It isn’t fear,” she whispered. She lowered her eyes. How could she explain to him the intensity of her f
eelings, the aching tenderness she was beginning to feel for him?

  “Are you afraid of intimacy?” he asked very quietly.

  She lowered her eyes to his chest and closed them. “I’m afraid of getting involved. Just as afraid as you are,” she added. And it was true. She’d given her heart to Chase—she’d almost given her body to him. And he’d betrayed her trust. How could she risk it again?

  “Why?”

  She looked up at him. “Why are you?” she countered, searching his quiet eyes.

  He bent and touched her forehead with lips that were breathlessly gentle. “I loved her,” he whispered, “in my way. It was the first time I’d ever felt more than a physical hunger for a woman. When she walked away from me, I wanted to die. I swore I’d get over it, but I don’t know that I really have. The scars go deep.”

  She touched his face gently, running her fingers slowly along his hard cheek. Amazing, how exquisite it was to be near him.

  “I got thrown over by my fiancé,” she confessed. “He decided he wanted a rich girl, and I wasn’t…” She almost added “anymore” but she caught the word in time.

  He searched her soft green eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him,” he said, gazing at her intently.

  “That’s hard to explain.” She stared at his top shirt button. It was undone, and thick dark hair peeked out against his tanned skin. “I wanted the first time to mean something. What hurts the most is that I never felt that way about him. I thought I loved him, but I never thought about sleeping with him.”

  That was the truth. Seeing how fast living had ruled her parents’ lives had soured her on that part of life. Intimacy had become to them as careless as handshakes, and Nicole had determined that it would be treated more reverently in her own life. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was one of the reasons Chase had left her. He’d pushed her toward intimacy more and more after their engagement, but she’d resisted stubbornly. And now, standing close in Winthrop’s arms, she was savagely glad she’d resisted.

  There was more to it than that, he knew, but she wasn’t volunteering any more information. He studied her quietly, thinking how much like him she was. He ran his finger down her cheek. Secretive, too, but he’d get more of an explanation eventually. It was insane to be so pleased that she was still innocent. It excited him, as sophisticated women never had.

  “I could eat a moose,” he said conversationally. “Why don’t we rush back to the house and raid the freezer? Can you cook, in case Mary decides to try out for the Rockettes one day?”

  She laughed at him. His humor had surprised her. Was this the real man? Had that cold veneer finally melted away? “Yes, of course I can cook. Why would Mary want to try out for the Rockettes?”

  He shrugged. “She threatens it once or twice a winter. She saw them on television once and was sure she was just the right height, even though her legs were a bit large. I haven’t taken her seriously in past years, but as I get older, my stomach worries.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Christopher, I’ll take care of you,” she murmured and turned toward the house. “Are you walking or riding?”

  He sighed and grimaced. “I guess I’m riding,” he muttered. “Damned leg hurts like hell.”

  She had a feeling he wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone but her. It was the best kind of compliment. She smiled and shook her head when he offered to let her ride with him after he’d painstakingly mounted the horse and was sitting regally on its back.

  “It wouldn’t do your leg much good,” she reminded him. “I’ll just walk alongside and look up at you adoringly, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’ll be the day,” he mused.

  She looked up. “What happened to your leg?” she asked softly.

  “Bone damage and torn ligaments. I was pinned in the car when she wrecked it,” he said simply. “The surgeons repaired it as best they could, but there were complications. I’ll always limp. And when I overdo, I’ll always hurt.” He glanced at her. “I had a choice between limping or giving up the leg. I came in with a matched set and I intend to go out the same way.”

  She pursed her lips, feeling mischievous, and almost asked an outrageous question. Then she blushed wildly and turned away.

  He guessed the question and burst out laughing. “No,” he murmured. “It doesn’t cramp my style in bed.”

  She gasped, glaring at him. “I never—”

  “You might as well have written it in twelve-inch letters on canvas,” he retorted.

  Her mouth opened and then closed while she thought up searing retorts, none of which came to mind. Later, she’d think up hundreds, she was sure. But the thought of him in bed with another woman made her feel jealous and angry. And it showed.

  He stopped, fingering the reins in one lean hand and waited for her to look up at him. His dark eyes, shadowy under the wide brim of his hat, watched her. “I’ll qualify that,” he said after a long exchange of eyes. “I don’t think it will cramp my style. I haven’t been with a woman since it happened.”

  Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. It was such an intimate thing to know about him, and she struggled to think of a suitable reply.

  “That wasn’t fair, was it?” he asked with a slow smile. “And I can’t tell you for the life of me why I wanted you to know that. But I did. We’d better get home. It’s getting dark.”

  She lowered her eyes to the trail that led back to the house. His revelation shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it did. She smiled softly to herself, unaware that he saw the smile, and understood it.

  He lit a cigarette and rode along beside her with a carefully hidden smug expression while he smoked it. “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll drive you into Butte.”

  She felt chills to the tips of her toes and a wild excitement that was new, like the sudden tenderness between herself and Winthrop. “If Gerald doesn’t need me, I’d love to,” she said.

  He hesitated. He looked down at her curiously, but he didn’t speak. “Okay.”

  She wondered about the reason for his withdrawn expression and the odd silence the rest of the way to the house. That was good, because it kept her from thinking about the way he’d kissed her. She’d never felt more threatened in her life, and the worst of it was that she wasn’t even afraid of what might happen between them.

  He glanced at her just once, shocked by the surge of jealousy he felt at her remark about Gerald. It was that, too. Jealousy. He was afraid that there was something between this woman and his brother, and his own sense of honor and family wouldn’t allow him to trespass on Gerald’s territory. He wanted her to be heart-whole. He wanted that desperately. Could she have kissed him that way and still belong to Gerald? Surely not!

  He pulled his emotions up short. It wouldn’t do to give in to this unexpected yen for her. He was playing with fire, and God forbid he should get burned a second time.

  Nicole, unaware of his thoughts, was having some difficulties of her own trying to figure out his taciturn somberness after the new and delicate camaraderie between them. She guessed, rightly, that he was holding back out of apprehension, and she even understood. But she didn’t want him to leave her alone. She was beginning to love him, and it was only when she admitted it that she realized how desperately she wanted him.

  Chapter Four

  Winthrop wasn’t at the supper table. Nicole didn’t really expect him to be, because it was early November now, and according to Gerald, the boss was getting his management program in gear for winter. That included culling cattle; weaning, preconditioning and delivering calves; making the initial selection of replacement cattle and starting them on feed; and all the veterinarian-related chores that that entailed. With the sheer immensity of the cow-calf operation, it was a full-time job for the boss to keep up with what was going on. Mike, the foreman, relieved Winthrop of a lot of headaches, but even with a firm of accountants to do the paperwork, Winthrop still had to make the big decisions. No wonder he was putting in so many late hours, N
icole thought after Gerald had explained his absence.

  Later that evening, Gerald had some correspondence for her. They went into the study to work. The room had Winthrop’s personality stamped all over it. There was a bear’s head on the wall, and burgundy leather furniture. The rugs were Indian, and the huge stone fireplace was made of native rock in comparable colors. The desk was oak, the chairs man-size and comfortable. There was a copper kettle on the hearth, and it reminded Nicole of the huge copper mining operation she’d seen as they came through Butte on the day they’d arrived. On the wall was a portrait of a man in buckskin, and she wondered if that was the French trader who was an ancestor of the Christophers.

  “By the way, Sadie’s invited us for dinner Friday night,” Gerald said as he sorted out his mail, which had been forwarded from Chicago that afternoon. “Is that convenient for you?”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I look forward to meeting her again.” She sat poised with her steno pad on her lap. “Uh, Winthrop asked if I’d go into Butte with him tomorrow night. To a restaurant.”

  Gerald pursed his lips and smiled mischievously. “I see,” he mused. “So Winthrop’s out to take my girl away from me, is he? I’m not sure if I like that.”

  It was an old joke between them, dating from her first six months as his secretary when two of the vice presidents had tried to steal her out from under his nose. She laughed and he was smiling. But the man out in the hall, overhearing him, didn’t see that. Winthrop was within reach of the doorknob, but his lean hand faltered.

  “He’s not likely to try to take me away from you, so you can stop worrying,” she said, tongue in cheek. “Anyway, he couldn’t do it, you’re quite unmatchable. Are you reassured?”

  “I am.” Gerald sighed theatrically, his brown eyes playful. He wasn’t at all bad-looking. He just seemed very young beside his brother. “What a frightening thought!” he added with a mock shudder. “That I could lose you to my own brother. But Winthrop is too much a gentleman to steal from people, so I can relax. Now, suppose we get down to work?”