The Millionaire's Snowbound Seduction

by Sandra Marton

  ‘Gotta sit up,’ he said thickly. ‘My head…’ He swallowed. ‘If I don’t sit up, I’m liable to toss my cookies.’

  ‘No!’ The kid’s voice cracked. ‘I mean…okay. Sit. But no fast moves. You got that?’

  Nick nodded. A huge mistake. His head felt as if it might fall off. On the other hand, that might not be such a bad idea.

  Carefully, he eased himself up with his back against the wall.

  ‘Damn,’ he said, ‘what was that thing?’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘That animal. The cat.’

  ‘Cat?’ Holly said. She swallowed dryly. Oh, boy. This was bad. He was hallucinating again. First blood, and humans. Now cats…

  ‘Yeah. You know, the one wearing the perfume.’

  Holly took another step back. ‘Cats don’t wear perfume,’ she said carefully.

  ‘This one did, when it attacked me.’

  He was crazy, all right. And you didn’t argue with a crazy man, you just acted as calmly as you could.

  ‘There’s…’ Her voice slipped up the scale, and she cleared her throat. ‘There’s no cat here, Mister.’

  ‘Dog, then. Was it a dog? I hope to hell you’ve locked it in another room.’

  On the other hand, what could it hurt to let him think she had an attack dog by her side?

  ‘It’s a, uh, a…’ Think, Holly, think. What kind of dog was big and tough? All she could come up with was an image of the cocker spaniel that had lived in the house next door, in Tuscany. ‘It’s, uh, a Rottweilder.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A Rottweilder.’

  Nick hesitated. ‘You mean, a Rottweiler.’

  Holly shut her eyes, then opened them again. ‘That’s what I said. A Rottweiler, and don’t you even breathe funny or I’ll turn him loose on you.’

  What she’d said was Rottweilder. Nick was sure of it. And a very well trained one it must be, for it not to be making a sound, not even a growl or a pant.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where is what?’

  ‘The dog?’

  ‘It’s—it’s here, right beside me. You want a closeup look? I’ll let go of its collar.’

  ‘No,’ Nick said quickly, ‘no, that’s okay…’

  There was no dog beside the kid, not a Rotter or even a poodle. The kid was standing in the shadows but his outline was visible and there was nothing beside him, except for a chair.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Nick brought up one leg and then the other.

  ‘Don’t move, I said!’

  ‘I have to. My head’s bleeding.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ Nick touched his scalp gingerly, expecting to feel the warm ooze of blood, but all he found was a huge bump. ‘Yeah, it’s bleeding, all right. Listen, I’ve got to get to a doctor.’

  ‘No! I mean…’ What? What did she mean? ‘I mean, I’ll get you a compress. After I call the…’ Oh, Lord. She couldn’t call anybody. She couldn’t even tie the intruder up, without rope. And how was she going to search for rope? Was she going to ask him, politely, to just lie still and wait until she made a circuit of the cabin?

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. Call whom? Did the kid have an accomplice?

  ‘Look,’ he said carefully, ‘I’m willing to forget this, okay?’ Slowly, holding his breath, he shifted his weight again. ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. You just turn around, walk out the door, and we’ll pretend this never happened.’

  ‘Me? Walk out the door? You must think I’m crazy. I’m not turning my back on you for one second, Mister. And I’m not going out into that blizzard, either.’

  ‘Think it over, kid.’ Carefully, ever so slowly, Nick began lifting himself from the floor. How clearly could the guy see him? Not very. He’d have to bet on that. ‘I’m willing to give you my word that I won’t press charges if you—’

  ‘You won’t press charges? For what?’

  ‘For breaking and entering. For putting a hole in my skull. For menacing me with a gun.’

  ‘You really are crazy! I didn’t break or enter anything. As for menacing…you’re the one who’s doing the men—’

  A scream broke from Holly’s throat. The man had come to his feet with a blinding burst of speed. She turned to flee but he was across the room and on her before she’d had the chance to take a step.

  ‘Okay, kid,’ he snarled.

  The phone went flying as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, kicking and screaming, from the floor. They lurched across the darkened living room in a grotesque two-step, crashed against a table and careened into the sofa. The man went down and she went down with him, falling across his body and into his lap.

  ‘The police are coming,’ Holly panted. ‘I called them, as soon as I heard you breaking in.’

  ‘You didn’t call anybody, punk.’ Nick wrestled the kid’s hands over his head, rolled over and pinned the slight body beneath his. ‘And why would you, when you’re the one who’s done the breaking in?’

  ‘Get off me!’ Holly jerked her hips up and tried to wriggle free of the hard body above her. The hard, masculine body that seemed—that seemed strangely familiar…

  ‘Forget it, kid,’ Nick growled.

  ‘Get off!’ Holly twisted beneath him again.

  ‘Hey.’ Nick scowled. ‘Don’t—don’t do that.’

  Holly fought harder. Her body brushed his, and a flash of heat shot through her blood, which was not just crazy but sick. ‘Get off, dammit,’ she yelled, and shoved against him again.

  Bloody hell. Nick caught his breath. What was happening here? His anatomy was reacting to the shifting motions of the kid’s. That was nuts. Worse than nuts…

  …Except, this wasn’t a kid trapped under him. And it certainly wasn’t a boy. It was—it was…

  ‘Holly?’ he whispered.

  The body beneath his became rigid. ‘Nick?’

  ‘Holly,’ he said again. It was all his brain seemed capable of managing.

  ‘Nick,’ she murmured, on a rising breath.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s me.’

  And then he did the only thing a man could do, under the circumstances.

  He bent his head, breathed in the soft, floral scent of his ex-wife, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WAS this a dream, or was it real?

  Holly couldn’t tell.

  Nick’s arms were around her. His mouth was warm and firm against hers. It felt so good, so familiar, to be in his embrace.

  If it was a dream, she wanted it to go on for ever.

  Nick groaned softly as he kissed her. It wasn’t a sound of pain; it was a sound of pleasure, one she’d heard many, many times during the months of their marriage. Holly’s heartbeat quickened in response. She knew what would happen next, how his hands would slip beneath her, how he’d cup her bottom and lift her closer so that she could feel the heat and hardness of his arousal against her belly…

  Desire, swift and electric as a flash of lightning, shot through her blood. Her arms rose, wound around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

  ‘Nick,’ she said in a broken whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, baby, it’s me.’

  She gave a little moan as he kissed her again, more deeply this time, parting her pliant lips with his. His tongue was hot silk as it slipped into her mouth.

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ she whispered, ‘Nick…’

  His hands slid down her body, cupped her, lifted her, brought her hard against him. Holly gasped at the feel of him. Her body felt liquid, eager and ready for his possession.

  ‘Baby,’ he said, against her lips.

  Holly arched against him, mindless with pleasure. This was Nick in her arms. Nick, whom she’d always loved, Nick who had once been her husband…

  Nick?

  Oh my God, she thought, and she slammed her hands against his shoulders at the same instant she bit down on his lip.

  Nick yelled, rolled off her
and jammed his hand against his mouth.

  Holly shot to her feet.

  ‘Light,’ she snapped. ‘We need light!’

  ‘There’s a flashlight in that box,’ Nick said sullenly, jerking his head towards the upended carton.

  Holly glared at him. Then she stalked to where the box had disgorged its contents and plowed through the stuff until she came up with the flashlight.

  ‘If you had this, why on earth did you come stumbling in here in the dark?’

  ‘Because I didn’t expect the lights to be out.’

  ‘You could have used this flashlight.’

  ‘You attacked me before I could get to it. Why didn’t you turn on the lights?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Holly said coldly. ‘I’m supposed to turn on the lights when I hear somebody breaking in? Why not just hold up a flashing neon sign that says “Hey, here I am”?’ She switched on the beam and shone it at Nick. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t. The storm knocked out the power.’

  ‘Hey.’ Nick ducked away from the bright light. ‘Take it easy, will you? My head hurts enough as it is without you drilling that thing right into my eyes.’

  ‘You—you…’ Surely, there was a word that suited the occasion, and the man, but Holly was too angry to think of one.

  Nick stood up slowly. He took his hand from his lip and peered at it. There was a blur of something dark on his fingertips, something warm and sticky.

  He looked at Holly in disbelief.

  ‘You bit me,’ he said.

  ‘You’re lucky that’s all I did!’ Rage bubbled through her, at him, at herself, at whatever unholy combination of forces had brought them together this night. ‘You—you sneaky, scheming, miserable, lying, cheating…’ She ran out of words but not out of anger. ‘I hate you, Nick Brennan,’ she yelled, and just to make sure he got the message she kicked him.

  ‘Hey!’ Nick danced back out of range. ‘What are you, nuts? First you give me a concussion, then you try to bite off my lip, now you’re treating my shins as if I’m a soccer ball.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh!’ Holly folded her arms over her chest. ‘All you’ve got is a little bump on your head.’

  ‘I’m glad you think it’s little!’

  ‘And your lip’s still attached to your face.’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ he said indignantly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the cut. ‘Dammit, I’m bleeding buckets!’

  ‘You aren’t…’ Holly frowned. ‘Where? Let me see.’

  ‘Right there,’ he said, pointing to his mouth.

  ‘Where? I can’t—’

  Nick took her hand. His fingers were warm, the tips calloused, just as she remembered. It surprised her that they would be, after so long. Nick Brennan had made a success of himself. His was the quintessential tale of Boy Makes Good. She saw his name and his photo in the papers, from time to time. Not that she looked; it was just that he was hard to miss. Nick in black tie, at the opera. At charity benefits. At the opening of his newest hotel. No way he’d ever be seen in jeans and workboots again; no way he’d ever wield a jackhammer or drive a big Cat, or work up a sweat…

  ‘Here,’ he said softly, and touched her fingertip to his mouth.

  It was like touching a hot stove. Heat sizzled through her bones and through her blood. Nick felt it, too. She could hear it in his quick, indrawn breath.

  His hand tightened on hers. His lips parted. He drew her hand further across his mouth, until she could feel the whisper of his breath, the softness of his flesh…

  Holly snatched her hand back.

  ‘You’re fine,’ she said briskly. ‘There’s hardly anything there.’

  Nick stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘Yeah, well, it feels like it’s going to be swollen for a week.’

  ‘Good,’ Holly said self-righteously. ‘What made you figure you could bust in here, scare the life out of me and get away with it?’ She pointed at the door. ‘You turn around and get out of this house this minute, Nick. You got that?’

  ‘My head hurts.’

  ‘Good. Now, get out!’

  ‘I need a compress. And some aspirin.’

  ‘You need a night in a jail cell,’ Holly said coldly.

  ‘For what? Nobody’s going to arrest a man for using his key to open his very own door.’

  ‘What do you mean, your very own door?’ Holly slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t tell me that realtor screwed up! I rented this cabin for four weeks of peace and quiet.’

  ‘You couldn’t have. This cabin isn’t—’

  ‘Isn’t what?’

  Isn’t the realtor’s to rent, he’d almost said…but some inner voice warned him that now was not the time to tell her that, or to go into details about his ownership. Besides, there was always the faint possibility he’d screwed up, misread the date on which Brennan Resorts assumed ownership of North Mountain.

  ‘Isn’t what?’ she demanded again.

  Nick shrugged. ‘It must be a mix-up,’ he said. ‘I, ah, I made rental arrangements, too. One of us must have gotten the date wrong.’

  Holly stared at him. Nick had decided to spend time at the cabin? But why? She couldn’t think of a single reason. Nick Brennan was Brennan Resorts. He had half a dozen of the world’s classiest hotels to stay in, if he wanted to get away for a few days.

  ‘My company is thinking of buying property in the area,’ he said, as if he’d been reading her mind. ‘I decided to come up and take a look around. I figured I might as well arrange to spend the weekend in a place I knew rather than take my chances on some dinky motel.’

  ‘Oh.’ His explanation was logical, and yet it disappointed her…not that there was any reason it should have disappointed her. Nick wouldn’t be here to bury his ghosts. Why would he, when he didn’t have any? Holly smiled coolly. ‘Well, that makes sense. I mean, Mr Hotshot Brennan certainly wouldn’t want to spend his time in a place that wasn’t up to his standards, would he?’

  ‘Cheap shots used to be beneath you, Holly.’

  ‘And pretentiousness used to be beneath you.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! What are we arguing about?’ Nick stalked across the room, then swung around and faced her. ‘Look, there’s obviously been some sort of mistake made.’

  ‘You can say that again!’ She bent and scooped the portable phone from the floor. ‘And you should consider yourself damn lucky. If this stupid thing worked, the sheriff would be here by now, clapping you in leg-irons.’

  ‘Leg-irons?’ Nick laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too many bad movies. Besides, the only guy liable to show up here this time of year is going to be riding in a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer.’ His grin faded as he took a second look at the thing in her hand. ‘A phone? Dammit, Holly. You said you had a gun.’

  ‘What did you expect me to tell a lunatic who breaks into my home in the middle of the night? Stop, or I’ll shoot you with my portable?’ Holly tossed the telephone onto the sofa. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t a gun, or you’d be complaining about a lot more than a teeny bump on your head.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t decide the only way to take out a guy with a gun was to beat the hell out of him.’ Nick put his hand to his head and winced. ‘And the bump isn’t teeny, it’s the size of a grapefruit.’

  ‘That’s a pathetic untruth.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Nick turned and marched away. ‘It’s really the size of a cantaloupe.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Holly demanded, stalking after him.

  ‘To the kitchen, to get a cold compress for my lip before I bleed to death.’

  ‘Oh, stop being melodramatic. You’re not going to bleed to death.’

  ‘And to get some ice for my head.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear what I said before? I want you gone!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Nick said wearily. The long, difficult drive, the shock of the confrontation a few minutes ago—hell, the shock of finding Holly here—were all catching up t
o him.

  He paused in the center of the kitchen. The room was dark but he could make out the hulking shapes of the stove, refrigerator and sink. If he remembered right, there was a paper towel holder just above the sink, and he headed for it. What he really needed was a shot of Scotch, assuming the bottle wasn’t shattered, but he had the feeling Holly wouldn’t appreciate waiting while he went back to the living room to find out.

  ‘I know what you told me,’ he said, as he tore a handful of sheets from the roll, folded them into a square and pressed it to his lip. ‘But mmf mff mffer.’

  Holly snatched the improvised compress from his hand.

  ‘I can’t understand a word you’re…’ She frowned. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  Nick gave a hollow laugh. ‘I told you that twenty minutes ago. Heck, baby, that’s what tends to happen when you sink your fangs into somebody’s face.’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ Holly said quickly. She turned on the faucet. It made a gurgling sound, spat out a few drops of water, and went dry.

  ‘Don’t call you what?’

  ‘Baby.’ She grasped his chin, put the folded paper towel to her lips to moisten it, and dabbed at the cut on his mouth. ‘I don’t like it. I never did.’

  ‘Seems to me there was a time you liked it a lot.’

  Her gaze flew to his. His eyes were locked on hers, and what she saw in their hazel depths—the shared memory of nights, and days, of breathtaking passion—made her heartbeat stumble.

  ‘Well,’ she said, lying through her teeth because he was right, there’d been a time his nickname for her, murmured in that soft, gravelly whisper of his, had been enough to make her melt, ‘you were wrong.’

  Nick’s jaw tightened. ‘Yeah.’ He jerked the compress from her hand, balled it up and tossed it into the sink. ‘I was wrong about a lot of things.’ He looked at her again. Even in the near-darkness, she could see the arrogant little smile that tilted across his lips. ‘But not about what happened a few minutes ago.’

  ‘That I beat you up, you mean?’

  ‘That you were mighty cooperative for a woman who thought she was in the grip of a guy who’d just broken into her house.’

  Holly felt the colour bloom in her cheeks. ‘I’m sure you’d like to think so. But I wasn’t cooperative, I was shocked.’