“But it tends to take the spontaneity out of life.”
“Yeah, I suppose it does.” He tried to sympathize, and wondered if he’d trade all his refrigerator raids for the chance to do whatever he wanted with his life and not have to worry about making a living at it… ever. Probably.
“I know that look,” Ally said.
“What look?” He quickly erased all envious thoughts.
“I’ve seen it a million times on the faces of my friends. You’re thinking that I have nothing to complain about, and you’d be right.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “But you can’t blame a girl for wanting to stage a refrigerator raid when she has the chance.”
Her wistful expression got him right where he lived. “Let me find the matches first. Then we’ll douse the lights and raid the refrigerator.”
Her smile widened. “Mitchell, you’re not half as stuffy as I thought you were.”
That meant his disguise was slipping. And now that he’d agreed to this midnight snack, he could see the card game evolving into a full-blown party. If she spent too much time in his room, she might find his recorder. She might even, given enough time, find his gun.
But she’d just handed him the perfect excuse to move the festivities to her room. “I’m at least as stuffy as you think I am,” he said. “We’re eating this late-night snack in your room because I can’t stand crumbs in my bed.”
* * *
Well, so he was persnickety about crumbs in his bed. Ally didn’t think that was so unusual. She didn’t know how she felt about that subject, having never slept in a crumb-filled bed. Eating in bed had been reserved for times when she was sick, and then the linens had been changed immediately after she finished.
At least Mitchell had enough experience to know he didn’t like crumbs in his bed. She wondered if he’d discovered that on his own or when he was sharing a bed with a woman. Until very recently she hadn’t imagined Mitchell with a love life.
Now she could sort of see it. He obviously had the capacity to be spontaneous, possibly even wild. A totally controlled person wouldn’t break down a door.
His appearance had been greatly improved by those gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, too. When she’d first seen him sitting on his bed playing cards, with no glasses and his hair sort of messed up and that cute cleft in his chin, he’d looked almost studly. Thinking of Mitchell as studly made her laugh, but he had looked that way.
Yes, he was still the guy who’d bought himself an orange parka and a matching knit cap with a yellow pompom on top, but he wasn’t wearing either of those things right now as he rummaged through Betsy’s kitchen drawers looking for a box of matches.
“Got ‘em!” He held aloft the box of kitchen matches.
“So lights out?”
“Lights out.”
She hit the switch, and the kitchen went black. The light from the Tiffany lamp in the lobby was too faint to reach the kitchen and the storm had blocked the window with snow and ice. “Tactical error,” she said. “I should have opened the refrigerator door first.” She groped her way toward what she thought was the refrigerator.
“Here, let me get it.” He reached out and got a really tight hold on her breast. With a gasp he backed up and bumped noisily into something, probably the kitchen table.
Once she got over the shock, Ally started to laugh.
But Mitchell wasn’t laughing. “Ally, I’m sorry. I sure didn’t mean to—”
“Cop a feel?” She swallowed another fit of laughter and cleared her throat. “I’m sure you didn’t, Mitchell. You’re not the type. Besides, in the dark, boobs and refrigerator door handles look pretty much the same. At least you recognized the difference when you felt it.”
He groaned.
“Oh, Mitchell, forget it. Let’s get this raid started.” She pulled open the refrigerator. “I know there’s blackberry pie. Ah, here it is.” She pulled the pie tin from a shelf. “And here are some kind of cold cuts. Don’t know what, though.”
Mitchell had recovered himself, apparently, because he came to stand behind her. “If you can’t identify it, don’t take it.”
“Relax. The moose meat turned out to be okay. Here, take the blackberry pie.” She handed it to him.
“I vote we don’t take the meat. It could belong to something that was scraped off the road.”
“We’re taking it.” Ally pulled out the package of sliced meat. “You can’t have a decent refrigerator raid without making sandwiches. We need bread.”
“Bread sounds safe. I think there was a breadbox on the counter.”
“Do you have enough light to find it, or are you likely to grab my ass while you’re searching?”
“Ally, I really didn’t mean to grab you. It was a total accident.”
“I know.” She grinned at him. “I just couldn’t resist.” He was really quite adorable in his obvious discomfort. Another kind of guy might have grabbed her boob by accident and then held on, thrilled by the unintentional contact and willing to use it as an excuse to start something. Not Mitchell. He was mortified.
Locating a wedge of cheese and a jar of mustard, she pulled both out and held them with one arm while she snagged a couple of beer bottles from the refrigerator door. “Did you find the bread?”
“Yep. And a knife to slice it.”
“Then I think we’re set. We can—” She stopped speaking when she heard the front door open. The wind blasted in with a roar, and then the door closed with a loud slam.
“Betsy’s home,” Mitchell said under his breath.
“I refuse to be caught red-handed on my very first raid,” Ally muttered. She closed the refrigerator door gently so that they were once more in the dark.
Mitchell leaned toward her. “We’ll stay right here until she goes into her parlor,” he whispered.
Betsy’s voice drifted from the entryway into the kitchen. “Clyde, you animal, you. Hold your horses.”
A man’s voice followed, but his words were muffled, as if he might have his mouth up against something soft. Ally could easily imagine what that something might be.
“I know what you want, tiger. And Betsy’s gonna give it to you. But first we need to take off our boots so we don’t track up my carpet.”
The man’s murmuring became more insistent. Ally bit her lip to keep from laughing. Betsy had found herself a live one.
“No! Clyde, you naughty man! You stop that! I haven’t even had a chance to get my other boot off… Oh, my goodness!” Her exclamation was followed by a solid thud. Clyde wasn’t big enough to make that much noise going down, so it had to be Betsy.
“Clyde!” Betsy started laughing. “You’re a crazy man. You can’t just go ripping a woman’s shirt off and… well, as long as it’s unbuttoned…” Moans and loud sucking noises came next.
“Good God,” Mitchell muttered.
Warmth spread through Ally as she realized that she and Mitchell were trapped into being voyeurs, whether they liked it or not.
“Clyde…” Betsy’s protests sounded weaker. “We should at least get into the bedroom before we… oh, well… as long as we’ve come this far…”
The labored breathing and rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh could only mean one thing. Ally closed her eyes as the groaning and moaning grew in intensity. She was bearing auditory witness to Betsy getting some.
Sure, she was embarrassed to be caught in this awkward situation, especially with Mitchell standing right behind her. But embarrassment wasn’t her only reaction. She was getting into it. She didn’t want that to happen, but she seemed to have no control over her wayward body.
Most of all, she didn’t want Mitchell to know that this incident was affecting her that way. That would be humiliating. She swallowed and tried to breathe normally.
Then she became aware that Mitchell’s breathing had changed, too. Oh, no. It was happening to him, too. And he, poor guy, had the hots for her. Talk about your cruel and unusual punishment.
Thank goodness she
didn’t have a similar crush on him. Otherwise, once they finally made it back upstairs, their midnight snack would be forgotten. They’d have far more important things to take care of first.
For a nanosecond Ally let herself imagine how much fun that would be, even considering she’d be doing it with Mitchell instead of a guy she really craved. Then she dismissed the idea. Doing it with Mitchell, when he cared and she didn’t, would be unforgivable. He deserved better than that.
Chapter Eight
This is what he got for allowing himself to be sucked into unnecessary schemes like refrigerator raids. Mitch listened to the sounds of lust from the other room and tried to gain some control over his already susceptible package.
If he’d had any common sense, he would have nixed the refrigerator raid and he and Ally would be upstairs now, playing poker with matches. But no, he’d decided to go along with Ally’s wish for a middle-class experience—a midnight snack swiped secretly from the kitchen without the cook’s knowledge.
Now the cook was horizontal in the hall with the tap-dancing owner of the Top Hat, and Mitch had to carry on as if that sort of thing didn’t faze him.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ally murmured.
“Welcome to Alaska.” Mitch tried to say it in an off-hand way, as if he found this mildly amusing instead of downright stimulating.
“Not so loud,” she whispered back. “They might hear you.”
“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t hear a full orchestra playing the ‘Eighteen-twelve Overture’ complete with cannon fire. I’m sure we could parade right through the lobby and up the stairs and they’d never notice.”
“Tell me you’re not suggesting that.”
“I’m not suggesting that.” The mental image made him cringe. “We’d both be scarred for life.”
“Probably. I can’t say, never having been in this—” She stopped speaking as Betsy screamed, “Oh, God, I’m coming!”
Mitchell cleared his throat. “There’s a chance that could be the grand finale.”
“We can only hope.”
But Clyde’s tempo didn’t change and Betsy tuned up again.
“That’s two,” Mitch said as Betsy announced her second Big O. “Now it should be over.”
“Maybe not. I think she’s been saving up.”
And sure enough, Mitch caught the unmistakable signs of Betsy working up to another climax.
“That’s three,” Ally said when the moment arrived.
About a minute later, Mitch sighed. “Four.”
Four, it turned out, was Betsy’s limit, at least for this particular coupling. Mitch clenched his jaw as they were treated to Clyde’s delayed, and definitely well-deserved, bellow of satisfaction. Then silence reigned.
Mitch was afraid to say anything, because the silence was so complete that the slightest shuffle of their feet would echo through the lodge. He hoped Betsy and Clyde hadn’t killed each other with passion. He waited, breath held, for signs that they’d recovered.
With luck they wouldn’t lie there until morning, but it was always possible. Even when they roused themselves, they’d probably crawl on hands and knees into Betsy’s red parlor. Neither of them were exactly spring chickens. Still, Mitch had to award grudging respect to Clyde’s performance, and unless Betsy had been faking, she was one hell of a woman.
Finally, signs of life issued from the lobby.
“Get off me, Clyde. I can’t breathe.”
That was greeted with more muffled mumbling.
“Yes, yes, it was terrific. You’re a stallion. Now move before I suffocate.”
Mitch smiled. Betsy might take the sex, but she wasn’t going to give her heart to the first guy who presented her with four on the floor. He had to admire her style.
After several groans and a considerable amount of thumps, rustling, and gasping, another door clicked shut.
“I think it’s safe to move.” Mitch kept his voice low.
“Okay, I’m heading out,” Ally said. “Don’t drop anything.”
“I won’t.” Mitch followed her into the dim light of the lobby. He didn’t look over toward the entryway, just in case Betsy and Clyde had left items of clothing scattered around. Or in case Betsy had left Clyde lying there, his weenie waving in the breeze. She was one tough lady.
“We probably don’t have to worry that they’ll hear us,” Ally said. “And even if they did, I doubt Betsy would have the energy to come out and investigate.” Ally started up the stairs. “I certainly wouldn’t.”
Mitch wished she hadn’t said that. Now he wanted to know if she’d ever had multiple orgasms. It seemed to be the order of the day in Alaska. Lurleen had left Rudy because he couldn’t provide them, and Betsy seemed to accept them as her due.
In Mitch’s experience, multiple orgasms were a cooperative deal. The guy had to have some skill and staying power, but the woman had to be open to the idea. The combination had only worked out a couple of times for Mitch. Although the sex in each case had been great, he’d had nothing in common with either woman besides this particular achievement. Nice as it had been, it hadn’t been enough to make him want to hang around.
All that had taken place pre-Madeline Jarrett. Since Madeline had hired him, he’d been too involved with the job and its heavy responsibilities to have time for women. And the heaviest of his responsibilities, despite her gorgeous little figure, was climbing the stairs ahead of him for the second time tonight. And he wanted her more than ever.
* * *
Ally opened the door to her room and walked in, leaving the door ajar for Mitchell. For good or bad, they’d just shared something that few people ever did. She felt a kinship with him.
She’d also be willing to jump his bones, but she didn’t trust that feeling. She might have been willing to jump any guy after the boinkathon they’d been privy to. So she’d concentrate on food, instead. Maybe that would take the edge off.
“I’ll make the sandwiches,” she said.
“I could make the sandwiches.”
“I know, but making the sandwiches seems like an integral part of the refrigerator raid, so I’ll do it.”
He glanced at her. “Do you know how?”
She put her pile of food on the dresser and turned to him. “I may be filthy rich, but I’m not totally incompetent.”
“Sorority living,” he guessed.
“Exactly.” She went into the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel and spread it on the dresser. Then she took out bread and started in on the sandwiches.
Mitchell sat on the edge of her unmade bed and picked up the book lying there. “Tanya Mandell. I’ve heard of her.”
“She’s only the best wildlife photographer in the world, in my opinion.”
“I never could understand how they get some of these shots, like this one of the bear on its hind legs, without being—”
“Noticed?” She arranged slices of meat on each sandwich.
“I was thinking mauled.”
“You learn those things. That’s what I’m here for.”
Mitch closed the book with a shudder. “Let’s talk about refrigerator raids, instead. Didn’t you ever swipe food from the kitchen when you were a sorority girl?”
“The truth is, I never got past the pledge stage.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, one afternoon I overheard a couple of seniors talking about me.” She tried to sound as if it didn’t matter, but thinking of the conversation still hurt. “One said, ‘Thank God she’s not a real pain,’ and the other one said, ‘I know. Because we’d have to keep her, regardless, after all the money her grandmother gave us.’ See, I hadn’t known about any money changing hands.”
“So you de-pledged.”
“Uh-huh. You should have seen how hard they tried to talk me out of it, too. I should have made those girls clean the sorority kitchen floor with their tongues.” She used the carving knife Mitchell had brought up to cut slices off the wedge of cheese and put them on the sandwic
hes.
“I wish you had.”
“Actually, I was determined to hit them where it would hurt the most. I wanted Grammy to take back the money.” Slapping another piece of bread on top, she picked up both sandwiches and handed one to Mitchell.
“Thanks.” He took the sandwich in both hands. “Did she?”
“No. Instead she wrote them a note saying it was a shame they’d treated me so callously, but because money seemed to be more important to them than gracious behavior, they could keep it.”
“Hm.” He bit into his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “I have no idea what this meat is.”
Ally sat on the edge of the bed beside him and took a bite of her sandwich.
He glanced at her. “Do you recognize the taste?”
She shook her head, still chewing. Then she swallowed. “A little gamey.”
“Then we probably don’t want to know what it is.” He lifted the bread and studied the meat. “Are you going to eat it?”
“Are you kidding? This is my refrigerator-raid sandwich. You bet I’m going to eat it.” She took another big bite.
“Me, too.” He tucked into his sandwich with gusto. About halfway through the sandwich he got up and opened both beers, twisting off the caps with his fingers.
“Nice job.” She accepted the beer, impressed at the way he’d opened it. “I’m beginning to think you have hidden depths, Mitchell.”
“Because I can twist off the top of a beer bottle?”
“No, because you can manage my grandmother’s estate and twist off the top of a beer bottle. That combo is hard to find.”
“Not so much.” He grinned at her. “If I could twist it off with my teeth, that would be saying something.”
“I’ll bet Rudy can.”
“Which could be another reason he’s missing a few of those pearly whites.” Mitchell took a swig of his beer. “So how did that work for you, that your grandmother let the sorority keep the cash?”
Ally considered that. “I thought it sucked.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“I mean, maybe they all had an attack of conscience and are still feeling guilty, but I doubt it. But that was Grammy. She never wanted to descend to petty behavior. Which is why I never could understand that she—” Ally caught herself just in time. The new-found comradely with Mitch had made her forget that some topics were better left alone. Like Kurt.
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