Fire Under Snow

by Dorothy Vernon

  When her doorbell rang she raced to answer it, picking up her coat and evening purse on the way. Opening the door to him, she said, “I was just beginning to wonder what had –” And stopped. To begin with she had to lower her eyes a considerable distance. Even in her highest heels she still had to look up at Noel. But she wasn’t looking into Noel’s gray eyes. These eyes, not much higher than her own, were a friendly light brown in color.

  “Hello, Mr. Peters,” she said, recognizing Shane Peters, the compère at The Black Cat.

  “Good evening, Miss Marshall.”

  “Where is Noel?”

  “Unavoidably delayed. No cause for alarm. He tried to contact you himself, but apparently your telephone has a peculiar habit of being engaged; he phoned me instead and asked me to relay the message on his behalf.”

  “I see.”

  What did she see? The end? She had always known she was too tame, too unspectacular, too uncooperative, to hold Noel’s interest for long. Was he bored with her? Had a better prospect turned up and was she being gently set aside?

  “It’s kind of you to come out of your way to bring the message, Mr. Peters. Thank you for not leaving me in the dark.”

  “Hang on. You haven’t let me finish. It’s not kind of me at all; it’s my pleasure, even though I am only carrying out the boss’s orders. I’ve been instructed to take you to the club and keep you ... er ... suitably entertained until Mr. Britton arrives.”

  His audacious grin told her that was not quite what Noel had said. “Suitably entertained, Mr. Peters?” she couldn’t help teasing.

  “All right. His actual wording was, ‘Keep your lecherous hands off her. Remember who she is.’ ”

  With a small return of her confidence, she said, “Perhaps I’ll just wait quietly here by myself until Mr. Britton can find time to collect me.”

  “Perhaps you won’t. Please, lady. I like my job. You wouldn’t have it on your conscience that you’d put me in the unemployment office?”

  “Don’t tempt me. It might save some other poor, petrified girl from being dragged up onto the stage against her will, as I was.”

  “Your friends set you up, not me. And don’t think too unkindly of them; most girls enjoy the attention. You were the exception and quite the worst case of shyness I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry for putting you through it.” His cheeky smile returned to lighten his eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t know you were special to the boss then.”

  “I wasn’t.” She wasn’t sure she was special to him now. “But for that we probably wouldn’t have met. So see what you’ve got on your conscience.”

  Flattering as Noel’s attention was, it could only end in one way for her – in sorrow. Beneath the sophisticated, figure-hugging white dress beat the crazy, mixed-up heart of a very scared, immature girl. How could she have reached the magical age of twenty-three and feel sixteen in experience and ability to cope?

  Some, if not all, of this must have shown on her face, because Shane Peters chuckled richly. “You shouldn’t believe all you hear. Sure, the guy’s sowed a few wild oats. He’s normal, isn’t he? But he’d need to be Superman to keep up with all the reports about him.”

  “You are very loyal, Mr. Peters.”

  His eyes riveted on her in open admiration. “Shane, if you don’t mind. You should be crowing over the conquest, not probing his past as if he were the one on trial and not the –”

  He pulled himself up sharply and she took up the sentence for him. “And not the other way around. You think I’m on trial, don’t you, Shane?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Do you mind if we make a move? I might be parked in an illegal area.”

  He hadn’t sidestepped the issue. He honestly didn’t know. His first hasty assessment was under review. She didn’t know quite how she knew this, since nothing specific in his manner had betrayed him, but he was no longer questioning why Noel was attracted to her, even though she was vastly different from his usual choice of female companion. There had been no shortage of informants to acquaint her with the fact that Noel was reputed to have a rapid turnover of girlfriends. He tended to go for brunettes – tall, sultry, sophisticated yes-girls. Just how long would the novelty of a petite, blonde no-girl last?

  At the club, Shane Peters wanted to seat her at the table that was permanently reserved for Noel.

  “Please, I’d rather not. Most of the regulars know it’s Mr. Britton’s table and I’d feel conspicuous. Could you find me a quiet hideaway somewhere?”

  “A girl sitting on her own and one with your looks ... you’d cause a stir wherever I put you. You could wait for Mr. Britton in his office, if you wish.”

  “I do,” she said gratefully. Apart from the privacy it would grant her, she was curious to see where Noel spent his working day.

  “I’ll get someone to rustle up a cup of tea for you. Unless you’d prefer something more –”

  “Tea would be lovely,” she cut in. “If it’s no trouble.”

  Shane escorted her to Noel’s office and then went to order the tea.

  Noel’s domain was more opulent than any office she had ever known, in a discreet and expensively tasteful way. Her heels sank into the rich pile of the carpet. Her eyes ran appreciatively over the deep leather armchairs and matching sofa, the oyster-color walls hung with pictures of famous recording artists. Her glance dropped to fix on the leather swivel chair that Noel would occupy when he sat at the wide executive desk with its imposing bank of telephones and a single photo frame containing a picture of ...

  Before she could satisfy her curiosity, Shane returned carrying a tea tray set for one.

  “Will you be all right on your own?” he inquired, placing the tray on a small table. “Mr. Britton shouldn’t be delayed much longer, and it’s almost time for me to open the show.”

  “Of course. Thank you for the tea.”

  “If you’re quite sure, I’ll leave you to pour it yourself. If the boss still hasn’t got back, I’ll pop in again when I’ve set things in motion.”

  Instead of reaching for the silver teapot when he’d gone, she decided to appease her curiosity before her thirst and went around to Noel’s side of the desk to look at the photograph. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about the identity of the couple. The man had a tender smile on his face as he looked at the woman. The woman’s features were almost a duplication of Noel’s in a softer, feminine form. They just had to be his parents. She restored the photo frame to its original position, smiling softly to herself.

  There were two more doors apart from the one she’d entered by. One door would undoubtedly give access to his secretary’s office, the kindly sounding Miss Judith Brown whom she’d spoken to when she phoned in to try to find out where Jamie was staying. What was behind the other door had her guessing. A private washroom, probably, because there would be occasions when it would be necessary for him to change and freshen up after work before going on somewhere else. She resisted the temptation to find out and poured her tea.

  She was finishing her second cup when Noel arrived via one of the mystery doors. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and his shirt was immaculate, as if he’d just changed it. His hair was damp and unruly at the front, as if he’d just refreshed himself with a quick wash, more or less confirming that she was right in her surmise.

  “Goodness, girl! What are you hiding in here for? Wouldn’t you have been happier in the club with some life around you?”

  At one time, before she was scarred in the fire, the answer would have been yes. She would have fitted in admirably with the convivial crowd, enjoying their speculation as. to how importantly she figured in Noel’s life, just as she would have enjoyed being pulled up onto the stage to take part in the birthday celebration spot, which she knew was one of the club’s most popular features. In the old days she had reveled in being in the limelight and had mixed easily with people. She hadn’t known what it was to be shy, to want to hide oneself away out of sight. The scars had disappeared; there was no need
to scuttle into a corner. She remembered the words of the surgeon who had operated on her: “One day you’ll walk out of the shadows. You’ll find your lost confidence.” In time she hoped to prove him right.

  She managed to smile up at Noel as she said, “Mr. Peters suggested I sit at your table, but I preferred to wait in here. You’ve got a lovely office.”

  “It’s a suite, actually, with a mini-flat attached. It isn’t as large or as grand as my apartment, but it’s sometimes more convenient. I’ll take you on a conducted tour,” he said, pulling her to her feet and leading her across the room to the door, which he flung open to reveal a smaller office. “This is where my secretary sits.”

  “I thought that might be Miss Brown’s office,” she said carelessly, letting the name slip out, her concentration absorbed by the caressing thumb on the tender inside of her wrist.

  “How do you know that my secretary is called Miss Brown?”

  It was a lightly aired query, and she made more of it by blushing furiously. “You said her name, didn’t you?”

  “I most assuredly did not.”

  “Then Shane must have mentioned her name.”

  “Oh – Shane, is it? Did Shane take you on a conducted tour of these rooms?” he inquired, his eyes narrowing in displeased speculation.

  “No, of course not. It wouldn’t be his place to do so. He said I could wait in your office and very kindly brought me some tea. Why are you looking at me like that? And why are you cross- examining me?”

  “I’m looking at you like this because you are a very beautiful woman. And I’m cross-examining you for the same reason. Shane took a shine to you on the night you went up on stage. Oh, I know he always makes a play for the girls in the birthday spot – that’s part of the show. It’s expected of him and it gets a laugh. But if I were to find out that he’d repeated his on-stage performance with you, I’d break his neck.”

  “He was a perfect gentleman. His manner was impeccable. Yours is insulting. Even if he had tried anything, don’t you think I would have slapped him down? I’m not attracted to him in that way, and anyway, he’s too old for me.”

  He had the grace, or the subtlety, to look sheepish. “Fair enough. Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

  Because she was still seething in righteous indignation on Shane’s behalf as well as her own – he might be an old roué, but on this occasion he had been grievously misjudged – she allowed herself to be swept into Noel’s private quarters. Although he called it a mini-flat, it was comparable to her own apartment in size and considerably more luxurious.

  The carpet throughout was a rich chestnut color. The walls were creamy white, except in the tiny bathroom, where mirror tiles were used to create a more spacious effect. A stereophonic music deck took up half of one wall of the main room; the remaining portion of wall accommodated a bar. The floor-length drapes were in the same geometrical pattern as the silk covering of the sofa. In the bedroom, where she found herself before the subtlety of Noel’s maneuver occurred to her, the rich chestnut carpet was further enhanced by a magnificent oriental rug. The twist-pleated brown silk wall light extended the full width of the bed and gave out a discreet glow that was kind to her blushes. Being in a bedroom with Noel was not a good idea.

  She took a step toward the door, but he took two steps and forestalled her exit.

  The welcome that had warmed his eyes when he first came in and saw her cooled to mockery. “Perhaps now I’m glad you chose to wait here in my private suite rather than in full public view. This is cozier. Surely that was the idea?” he said, censuring her backing-away movement.

  She gasped. Did he think she had arranged it this way deliberately? Didn’t he know she’d been motivated by shyness and a deep disinclination to sit at his table by herself, his reserved table where she would be the subject of gossip?

  She said hesitatingly, “I thought you specially wanted to hear Toni Carr sing. If we don’t go at once, we’ll miss her.”

  Her chin slid sideways to escape the grasp of his fingers, but she could not evade his eyes as they glided over her body.

  His eyes triggered off a reaction wherever they touched. Each part of her body reacted differently, so that it was a different sensation depending on where his eyes rested. His mouth was tight over his lips. Such a sensuous mouth could never go into a hard thin line, but that was the impression it gave. Yet she knew he found her body both sexy and exciting and that he, too, was aroused. His eyes flicked quickly up and down her; all the different sensations combined, and it was more feeling than she could bear. Her skin was burning and yet she felt as though she were being held on ice.

  The expression in his eyes was all too readable. He thought he had been good to bide his time for this long. He had seen her presence here as the promise that his patience was going to be rewarded. A promise she was now rescinding.

  There was a coldness of purpose about him, a deep-grained resolution that told her more clearly than words that he had no intention of allowing her to escape him.

  He said, with icy determination, “I’ll take my chance of catching Toni Carr’s act another time. That opportunity will undoubtedly present itself again. This one might not.”

  He had backed away to look at her, but now he stepped closer, close enough for his fingers to slide along her bare shoulder and fiddle meaningfully with the narrow shoulder strap of her white dress.

  “No,” she said huskily.

  “Yes,” he said positively.

  It was torment not to yield as he meddled with her shoulder strap in that sensuous, distracting fashion.

  “Don’t go any further, Noel.”

  “Why? Will you slap me down as you would have slapped Shane down?”

  His malicious teasing brought the color into her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “For the same reasons?”

  “No.”

  “On this occasion the negative answer is the favorable one. You said you would have discouraged Shane because you weren’t attracted to him. May I take it that you are attracted to me?”

  “Yes.” Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She could not see the crescent imprints but only feel the pain as she said bitingly, “Of course I am. You know I am.”

  “You also think Shane is too old for you. You are quite right, he is. Am I too old for you? The difference adds up to ten years in actual age, but considerably more in experience.”

  “I don’t think you’re too old for me. That’s not the reason, either.”

  “But there is one?”

  “Yes.”

  His face was devoid of expression, not even touched by a flicker of scorn as he said, “It’s because I haven’t offered to put a ring on your finger.”

  Perversely, for reasons unknown even to herself, she did not immediately rush to correct his mistaken assumption that she was holding out for marriage. Perhaps, womanlike, she was curious to know how much he was prepared to give up. By her calculations he was thirty-three. To reach that age and still hold his bachelor status, he must place a higher value on his freedom than on any woman he had met. Could his attraction for her tilt the balance the other way? But what thoughts were these? The futility of wasting time on them made her shake her head.

  “I couldn’t marry you even if you asked me to.”

  “Couldn’t?” That word again. It ruffled him the wrong way and narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Why couldn’t you?”

  “Because ...” She faltered and lied on inspiration, “I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love.”

  He looked stunned; then he laughed, and she hated him for the superior mockery of his tone. “In that case, I won’t complicate things more by asking you to marry me.”

  He hadn’t meant to ask her to marry him, she knew that. He’d spoken in cold jest, little realizing how much it would complicate her situation if he had asked her to become his wife.

  His head started to come down. She read the conciliatory expression on his face, but her reactions weren’
t quick enough to stop her chin jerking aside and deflecting the kiss to her cheek.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said gruffly, claiming her mouth in savage mastery.

  Her brain had been a split second too late in relaying the message that when the conversation turned to marriage, his ardor had cooled. The first kiss had been intended as a token apology before going out as planned to the Cabana to hear Toni Carr sing. In avoiding his kiss she had incited his anger.

  The relationship between them was combustible; it always would be. It needed only the smallest thing to set the flames roaring. And, small as her chin was, the gesture of turning it aside was a massive insult to his masculine pride. She knew now that he would never allow her to get away with that.

  She had made his blood boil by running away from his kiss. Blood that boils in anger is also the right temperature for passion. She was on the retreat, and this excited him.

  Somehow, in her stumbling, naive way, she had found the key to his interest. It was unfortunate that she lacked the adeptness to use it to her own advantage. Man was the hunter, and she brought his hunting instincts to the fore.

  He moved in on her with a kiss of wrath that forced her head back into the viselike grip of his hand. The compelling dominance of his hard mouth was a demolishing force that ordered her to submit. His crushing mouth refused her lips the maneuverability to cry out in protest. The hot assault of his mouth ... the invasion of his hands – one on her neck, the other commanding the small of her back, lining her body along the length of his – made her almost insensible.

  She had no fight left in her. She went limp in his arms, a doll who lifted her mouth in docile compliance. But that was not to his liking. He wanted a responsive plaything, and he knew how to get himself one. With undeniable expertise he awoke her own desires. His mouth no longer commanded hers in tyranny, but begged in gentle entreaty.

  Her own mouth gained strength and urgency. Her hands were halfway around his neck before a spark of intelligent reasoning warned her of the foolhardiness of her actions.