by Rachel Lacey
He nodded, grabbed a leather jacket from inside the door, and led the way to her car. She slipped on the driveway, and Sam’s arm shot out to catch her. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to stay until they’ve plowed the roads?”
She shook her head. “They aren’t going to be plowing these roads. If I don’t get out of here right now, who knows when the roads will clear up.” Worry settled in her stomach. What if she couldn’t make it back out? Crappity crap crap.
“Do you have good tires?” he asked, his brows knitted in concern.
She nodded. “I wasn’t sure what to bring. I hope I didn’t bring too much.”
He glanced into her car, piled high with delivery boxes, and laughed softly. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She raised the rear hatch, and she and Sam grabbed as many boxes as they could carry. Five minutes later, they’d transferred everything to his front porch, where he’d insisted she leave it to get back on the road more quickly. He handed her several crisp hundred-dollar bills—at least one more than she had planned to charge him—and wow, if it wasn’t sleeting like crazy, she’d definitely stop on the way home for an expensive bottle of wine to go with her peanut butter and jelly.
“I don’t like this at all, Carly,” he said, kicking at the icy slush coating his driveway. “Even if you make it up the hill, how will I know you’ve made it home safely?”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, even though she really wasn’t sure of that at all. “We get ice like this here in the mountains a lot.” And she always got home ahead of it and stayed in until it had passed, but it was too late to change things now.
“Hand me your phone,” he said, his voice quiet but with an authoritative tone that had her yanking her phone out of her back pocket and handing it to him. He typed something into it and handed it back to her. “Call me when you get home so I know you’re okay.”
She nodded, breathless. Sam Weiss’s number was in her phone.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucked a soggy strand of hair behind her ear, and holy crap, she couldn’t breathe. Maybe she’d always had a bit of a celebrity crush on him, but real-life Sam was way better. He made her heart race, and her belly turn into a big puddle of mush, and she really needed to go before the roads got so bad she killed herself on the way home, but…
“Drive safe. And call me. Promise?” His voice was hypnotizing, his blue eyes locked on hers.
“Promise.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and this was getting ridiculous now. She managed a silly wave as she sloshed back to her car—grateful for her boots—and climbed inside.
Sam stood on the porch next to the pile of delivery boxes, watching. She backed up the car, turned, and started up the hill toward reality. Halfway up, her tires started to spin, and oh, no, this was not good.
She glanced in her rearview mirror to see Sam still watching from his porch. Her tires spun again. The car was losing speed. She nudged the accelerator, knowing if she stopped now, she’d never make it to the top. The car fishtailed, and she let out a squeal as she careened toward the edge of the road.
Chapter Two
Sam led the way inside. Carly stopped in the entranceway, staring at him with those big, doe eyes. Her blond hair glistened with ice as damp strands framed her face.
“I should, um, I should call someone,” she said.
“Sure. Can I get you anything to warm up and dry off? Coffee? A towel?” He paused and smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Scotch?”
That earned him a small smile. “A towel would be nice. I don’t want to drip all over your floor.”
“You got it.” He went down the hall to the guest bath and grabbed two plump towels. He rubbed one over his head and settled it on his shoulders, then padded back down the hall toward Carly. After she’d nearly slid off the road into the trees, it had still taken him several minutes to convince her to give it a rest and come inside until the weather let up.
Now she was here, and neither of them were quite sure what to do about it.
“Thanks.” She took the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders as she pressed her cell phone to her ear.
To give her some privacy, he went onto the front porch to start bringing the bakery boxes into the kitchen. There sure were a lot of boxes, and it all looked and smelled as good as Carly herself. He grabbed an armload and carried them into the pantry, then headed back for more.
Carly stood in the entrance hall, her back to him. “I can’t believe it either,” she said in a hushed tone.
He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Was she talking about him? Bragging about being at his house?
“I can’t. My car’s stuck,” she said, running a hand through her soggy hair.
She’d known they were expecting ice. Had she driven up here hoping this would happen? His hands clenched at his sides. Damn, this industry had made him a cynical bastard.
“No,” Carly was saying. “I’m okay. I’m…I’m at a friend’s house.”
What now? Sam rubbed his chin, confused.
“Let’s just hope it fizzles out so I can get home sooner than later.” She paused. “Will do. Thanks, Mom.”
As she ended the call, he walked into the living room, feeling like a total scumbag for eavesdropping on her conversation with her mother. And for doubting her. She hadn’t sold him out, hadn’t even told her mom that she was at his house.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Word is the roads are a nightmare and only expected to get worse. I might be, well…stuck.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.
“I’m real sorry about this. I feel terrible I made you drive up here.” He’d been holed up on the covered porch all day with a notepad and his guitar, trying to finish the song he’d started in her shop. He’d never thought to check the weather.
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I should have had plenty of time, or I never would have driven up here. Mother Nature is having a laugh at our expense, I suppose.”
He grinned. “Fickle creature, she is. So what are we looking at here? Are you stranded overnight?”
Carly grimaced. “I think I might be. I’m sorry—”
He put a hand out. “No need to apologize. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got plenty of space here and several empty guest rooms. I’m pretty well stocked with food, too, and you’ve brought all the sweets the two of us could ever want.”
She glanced around, her brow bunched. “What about your party?”
“No party.”
“So it’s just you and me?” She stood in the middle of the living room, arms clasped around her waist, looking confused and maybe even a little bit wary. It was laughable that, just a few minutes ago, he’d questioned her motives in coming here when she’d so clearly rather be somewhere else.
“Just you and me.” And he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Being stranded with a beautiful woman, let alone the woman who’d given him his first musical inspiration in almost a year, couldn’t be anything but good. “How ‘bout you get settled in the guest room while I finish bringing in the boxes and get a fire going? You don’t happen to have any dry clothes in your car, do you?”
She shook her head, glancing down at her soggy clothing. Her bottom lip shook. Hell, she was soaked and shivering.
This, at least, he could fix. “Well, it’ll probably swallow you whole, but I can hook you up with a T-shirt and some sweats if you want to throw your stuff in the dryer.”
Arms still clasped around herself, she nodded. “I hate to impose, but that does sound great. Thank you.”
Of all the millions of women around the world who wanted to throw themselves at him, he’d gotten himself stranded with one who seemed horrified at the thought. But he wouldn’t want it any other way. There was something about Carly that appealed to him in a way no woman had in a long time. “You like burgundy or blue better?”
She gave him a questioning look. “Burgundy, I guess. Why?�
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“Color choices in the guest rooms. They’re both down the hall, if you want to take a look. You can pick whichever one you like. They share a bathroom. My room’s upstairs so no need to worry about bumping into me in the middle of the night.”
Her cheeks colored ever so slightly. “Thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Carly was set up in the burgundy bedroom, and he had failed miserably at starting a fire. He wadded another ball of newspaper under the logs he’d placed in the fireplace and lit it. The paper went up in flames, but the log? Not so much. He was trying really hard to make Carly feel comfortable here, and he couldn’t even start a damn fire.
She came out of the back hallway wearing the gray tee and sweats he’d given her. As predicted, she was swimming in them, but the sight of her in his clothes was a huge turn-on. Her breasts pushed against the loose fabric of the T-shirt. Was she wearing a bra? He couldn’t quite tell.
“Any luck?” she asked.
He shook his head, dragging his gaze from her breasts. “Not nearly as easy as flicking the switch in a gas fireplace.”
She laughed as she crouched beside him. “You need some kindling in here with the newspaper to help get the wood started. I wonder if we can find anything outside that’s not soaked?”
“The owner left me stocked with plenty of firewood. It’s in a shed on the back deck.”
“I’ll go have a look.”
He shook his head. “You stay here. I’ll go.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay. Well, we need plenty of sticks and twigs, the smaller, the better. Leaves and bark work great, too.”
“On it.” He headed out the back door, thankful for the all-season deck that kept him warm and dry as he retrieved wood from the storage shed. He found some wood scraps, bark, and pine needles in the bottom of the container of firewood, which he brought back inside to Carly.
She’d rearranged the wood and newspaper in the fireplace, creating a hollow for the kindling to go in beneath the logs. “This is perfect,” she said. A few minutes later, she was nursing a small flame, blowing gently on the sticks as the first log began to burn.
“Okay, I’m impressed,” he said, watching her work.
“I grew up here. It’d be tragic if I didn’t know how to start a fire.” She turned her head, giving him a sweet smile that ignited a million not-so-sweet thoughts in his head.
“I suppose that’s true. You hungry?”
Her eyes darted toward the kitchen, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her belly rumbled. She’d worked a full day at the bakery and driven here straight from work. She was probably starving.
“A little.”
“Well, if you want to know my dirty little secret, I cook about as well as I start fires so I have someone who’s been bringing me meals. All I have to do is heat them up. You’ve got your choice of meatloaf and mashed potatoes or some kind of chicken and vegetables with a creamy sauce. I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Which were you planning to have?” she asked.
“I was thinking about meatloaf, and there’s more than enough for two if you’d like to share.”
Her lips curved softly. “You brought dinner, and I brought dessert.”
“Did you ever.” He grinned at her as he stood. “You know, if we had to get iced in, this isn’t half bad.”
“True, but I’m sorry for crashing your weekend.” The T-shirt had slipped down her shoulder, revealing a thin pink strap and ruining his braless fantasy.
Damn. “Don’t be. It’s been kind of lonely out here, and besides, I like your company.”
Her eyes widened, but she was still smiling. “Me, too.”
He went into the kitchen and started the meatloaf warming in the oven. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?” She’d followed him into the kitchen, peeking over his shoulder at the fully stocked bar. “Holy crap.”
He turned his head to meet her eyes, feeling the air between them sizzle. “Whatever you like, sweetheart.”
* * *
Carly was trying so hard to play it cool and sure that she was failing spectacularly. Sam had catered meals in his fridge. A friggin’ bar in his kitchen. And half her bakery in his pantry. “Wine,” she whispered. “I like wine.”
“Red or white?” While she’d been in the guest room drying off, he’d also changed into an olive green T-shirt with some kind of cool tribal design on it. It looked soft and well-worn, and she wanted to run her hands over it…and him.
“Red.”
“This one’s supposed to be good,” he said, lifting a bottle from the rack. His biceps were yummy. So were the tattoos that ran the full length of his left arm.
She tucked her arms under her breasts to keep from touching him. “I’m easy to please.”
He turned, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I mean…no…are we still talking about wine?” And oh my God, what had gotten into her? Was she actually flirting with Sam Weiss? And was he actually flirting back?
“Depends.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he winked.
This was so not her real life. She never flirted with hot guys, let alone world-famous rock stars. No, she generally kept to herself, lost in her daydreams and listening to music while she baked or sat at home with her nose in a book.
Sam opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. “So, Carly from the bakery, unless I’m mistaken, you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”
“There’s not much to know.” She sipped her wine. It was bold and spicy, probably outrageously expensive, and one of the most delicious things she’d ever tasted.
“You’re from Haven?” He motioned for her to follow him into the living room.
“Born and raised,” she said as she sat in an overstuffed chair near the fire, tucking her feet underneath herself. “Now my turn—what brings you here to Haven?”
Something harsh flickered across his features, and she wondered if his seclusion here in the mountains had anything to do with the scandal with his housekeeper. There’d been some talk that Sam had fathered a baby with her, although Carly was pretty sure he’d been cleared of that accusation. But then the housekeeper got deported, which had caused even more backlash against him.
“Needed space to clear my head and write some new songs,” he said. “My turn. How’d you end up owning a bakery?”
“It was my grandma’s. I helped out a lot over the years, and I fell in love with baking, so when she retired, I took over for her.” And she was doing a great job of running the place straight into the ground. “Did you always want to be a musician?”
“Since I was a little boy.” He was sitting on the end of the couch closest to her chair, close enough that she could see the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes.
She’d taken only a few sips of her wine, but already warmth spread through her veins. “You’re really talented, you know.”
“You listen to my music?”
She nodded. “Renegade is one of my favorite albums to listen to when I’m baking.”
He leaned closer. “I can just picture you in the kitchen all covered in flour, singing along.”
“I don’t sing along.” Liar. She totally did. And she was sitting way too close to him now, close enough that she was looking at his lips and thinking about kissing him…
It might have been her overactive imagination, but Sam was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her, too. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely breathe.
A beep sounded in the kitchen, and she lurched upright, almost splashing red wine all over her clothes…or rather, Sam’s clothes.
“Meatloaf’s ready,” he said. “You hungry?”
She nodded. Actually, she was famished, which might be why the wine was going straight to her head. She’d eaten a sandwich at the bakery what felt like a million hours ago, long before her ill-fated trip up the mountain.
He stood and went into the ki
tchen. She followed, tugging at the waistband of his too-big sweatpants and wishing her own clothes were dry. Although admittedly, there was something intimate, sexy even, about wearing Sam’s. Yeah, okay, the wine was definitely messing with her head because she was thinking words like sexy and intimate when the only reason she was here in his house was that her poor little car hadn’t been able to make it up the hill before the ice sealed her in.
She picked up their wineglasses, pausing for a moment to take in her surroundings. This place was seriously awesome. The living room was huge and open, with exposed beams at the ceiling, an enormous, ornate light fixture hanging above them, and rich, wood-paneled walls. It opened to the kitchen, where Sam stood by the table overlooking the back deck and what she imagined were spectacular mountain views. Right now, it was too dark outside to tell.
“This is an awfully big place for one man,” she said as she walked to the table.
He’d placed two plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table. “It was starting to feel that way until you arrived.”
She set their wineglasses beside their plates. “Have you gone into town much?”
“Not much. Trying to keep a low profile, although you made me the minute I walked into your shop.” He smiled, a sexy smile that intoxicated her even more than the wine. He lifted his glass. “To ice storms.”
She lifted her glass and tapped it against his. “To ice storms. And may this one be quick.”
“But I was just starting to have fun.” He was teasing, but truthfully, she was having fun.
“It could definitely be worse.” She sat and took another sip of her wine. “This smells amazing.”
“My ability to heat up food someone else cooked is second to none.” He sat across from her, and just like that, the whole place went black.
The silence was all-encompassing for a few seconds as her ears adjusted to the absence of the hum of a million different electronics. She looked across the table at Sam, illuminated now by just the pale, flickering shadows of the fire in the living room. “I was afraid this would happen.”