Snowfire

by Heather Graham

  “You know exactly what happened! You pretended that your car stalled out—”

  “I didn’t pretend anything!” she cried indignantly. A hot flush stained her cheeks. “And that’s not what I’m talking about anyway. I mean—” Her voice broke off and she moved her hand over the black silk sheets. She felt her face growing to a fiery crimson.

  Oh, Lord! If there were just anywhere to run! But there wasn’t anywhere, there was a blizzard going on, and that was why she was here to begin with.

  “Ah!” he said softly, watching as the color grew on her cheeks. “Let’s go back. Kristin, is it?”

  “Yes, it’s Kristin! Except that it should be Ms. Kennedy to you.”

  “But we’re very informal here, aren’t we?” he asked pleasantly.

  She wanted to scream. Her eyes narrowed and he laughed. “Relax, Ms. Kristin Kennedy. We were never that informal.”

  Relax. He was seriously telling her to relax. But the situation was still painfully informal to her. What was she doing in his bed—if it was his bed—and why was she in it the way she was?

  “Then …” she began. She wanted to go further. The right words just wouldn’t form on her tongue.

  “You passed out on me,” he told her. “I was afraid you were in for a serious case of frostbite or even lethal hypothermia. I took off your wet things and doused you in hot water.”

  “You … what?”

  “Don’t sound so damned indignant.”

  “Indignant! I’m furious! You had no right—”

  “You had no right being here,” he reminded her. “I was trying to save your life. And you weren’t one bit of help. You’re not exactly a lightweight,” he added, and that last seemed to heap insult on top of injury.

  “Oh! So I’m not exactly a lightweight! That’s all that you have to say after—”

  “I didn’t mean that offensively. You’re damned near perfectly built.”

  “Oh!” Kristin groaned. “You don’t begin to grasp the seriousness—”

  “I grasp it, you don’t. You might have died, Ms. Kennedy!”

  She might have. She fell silent, then pulled the covers more tightly about her.

  “How long have I been … sleeping?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Umm, I think it was about noon when you began running away from me and my snow shovel. And it’s past four now, so it’s been several hours.”

  Hours. At least she hadn’t lost days. It almost seemed as if she had, though.

  She was accustomed to being on her own, to making her way through difficult situations. But she had never encountered a situation like this. Not with a man like this one.

  He didn’t seem to be offering her any harm at the moment. He probably had saved her life.

  She was in an absolutely miserable position, and he knew it. And he wasn’t making any attempt to make it easier for her. But then, he thought he had been extremely magnanimous in bringing her in from the cold.

  He had done all that was necessary, just by saving her life.

  What in God’s name was it in his life that made him behave so strangely? Made him come after her so threateningly and furiously before?

  Curiosity began to quell somewhat her fear. She was still wary. Very wary. But she seemed to be in one piece for the moment, and he was being almost polite.

  He laughed again suddenly, and she thought that he really could be charming when he chose. His smile lit up his face, and brought a fascinating glimmer to his eyes. Something haunting … sexy.

  Umm. He was a very sexy man.

  And she was even more distressed than she had been before.

  “Four hours here, in this bed, alone … with you,” she murmured.

  “Yes—”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Not here with me in this bed. I mean I’ve been here with you. And you’ve been in this bed. Oh, never mind. I’m not going to be able to say the right thing no matter what,” he told her. “Sorry, I really was trying to save your life. And don’t keep staring at me like that. Beyond a doubt I wanted to throttle you, but beyond that, I like my women awake and very aware and involved—passionately involved. So you’ve got no worries on any of those little fantasies flashing through your mind.”

  “I don’t have any fears or fantasies—”

  “You’re a liar,” he told her bluntly. “But then, that’s why you’re here in all sorts of trouble wondering exactly what happened to you in my bed, right?”

  “Stop it!” she cried out in frustration—and the very fear that she was denying. The slinky silk sheet started to slip. She snatched it back to her breasts quickly, staring at him with eyes that could have killed. “I am not a liar, and I’m telling you, I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right,” he said agreeably. “You’re not a reporter.”

  A vast uneasiness swept through her. She was a reporter. But how could he know that? And he seemed to think that he had talked to her before they met, and he had never, never talked to her before. She would certainly have remembered if he had.

  But it was clear that she couldn’t admit to being a reporter. She might find herself back in the snow.

  “I swear to you, I do not know what you’re talking about.” There, she hadn’t lied.

  “I never told you not to come here?”

  “I would have never asked you if I could come here!” she snapped. “I don’t need your permission to travel on public roads. I was on my way to see my cousin, that’s all. Can you comprehend that?”

  “Right,” he said.

  He stood up. Instinctively, she backed away farther on the bed. He stopped, and the look he gave her suddenly shamed her. She had no reason to believe him, or believe in him, but she did. He had told her that he had merely warmed her, and she knew it was true. She didn’t know why she was so convinced—the evidence that he was a maniac still seemed to be overwhelming. But he wasn’t going to hurt her; she knew it. A soft flush covered her cheeks again.

  “Sorry!” she said softly.

  “Are you really so afraid of me?” he asked her, and it was with a curious tone. Almost a wary tone.

  She shook her head. “No. I—I’m not. But I should be.”

  She almost jumped again when he placed his knee suddenly on the bed. He leaned dangerously close to her. His eyes were alive, sparkling like gems. And his smile was devilish, while tension seemed to leap from him like static.

  “Why should you be?”

  “Because you’ve threatened me enough!” she blurted quickly.

  “That’s right. You thought my shovel was a shotgun, right?”

  “Well, I was plodding through the snow—”

  “But I told you to drive away.”

  “Oh, you idiot! I tried to drive away!” She was ready to scream with frustration again. “I don’t know who you think was coming here for what, but it wouldn’t be worth it! Nothing would be worth this!”

  “Not even one of the hottest scoops of the decade?” he suggested politely.

  “Not even an exclusive interview with the Almighty!” Kristin assured him sweetly.

  Was it the truth? Despite herself—and him—she was growing intrigued.

  He arched a brow, but his tension had somewhat eased and he was smiling again. That handsome smile. Slow, sensual, dangerous. She realized that he had a pleasant scent about him, too. Nothing heavy or distinctive like an after-shave. He just smelled clean, as if he had recently showered. He had. His hair was still damp, she saw, and that was why the black locks were still staying back so neatly.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” he said very softly. And his voice was husky, very husky. The sound of it sent curiously warm shivers streaking up and down her spine. “Because it seems that you’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

  He straightened, walking to the cream-colored drapes that covered the windows. He pulled them back.

  It was still snowing. Hard. The sky was dark gray, mixed with the white color of the snow th
at fell and fell and fell.

  There must be endless inches of it upon the ground.

  “Yes, you are certainly stuck here for a while,” he said flatly.

  She was stuck here. She felt her teeth start to chatter but then when she looked at him again, she realized she wasn’t as frightened as she should have been.

  In fact, she was growing far more fascinated with him than seemed right at all. Stay wary! she warned herself. He was definitely still wary of her. He hadn’t begun to believe a word that she was saying.

  “May I borrow your phone?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome to borrow it,” he told her. “But it won’t do you a bit of good. It hasn’t worked since this storm first whipped up.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. She glanced at the glowing lamp. He smiled again, this time with a slightly mocking curve, as if he sensed that she doubted his word.

  “I imagine the electricity will go soon enough,” he told her.

  He walked around the bed, picking up the receiver of a cream phone that sat on the nightstand by the bed. He handed it to her. She placed it against her ear, and heard nothing but dead silence. She stared at him, and he laughed.

  “I didn’t fix the phone or pull the plug or the like, Ms. Kennedy. I’m trying to get rid of you, not keep you in prison here,” he reminded her lightly.

  “I didn’t call you a liar,” she said sweetly. “You’re the one who keeps calling me a liar.”

  “I’m not a liar, just a dangerous lecher, right?” he asked.

  “You’re just incredibly rude,” she replied flatly.

  He laughed again, and the sound was easy and pleasant. “Well, excuse me, Ms. Kennedy!”

  “Oh, I am trying very hard to do just that!”

  “It is my house,” he reminded her.

  “So it is. And since you keep accusing me of the stupidity of driving through a snowstorm just to reach you, why don’t you tell me why you imagine anyone would want to do so?”

  “I’m still not convinced that you didn’t do just that,” he said, but his tone remained pleasant.

  “I think you’re an egomaniac!” she announced.

  “Ah, well, that’s better than a madman.”

  “Ah, but I think that term might just fit you as well,” Kristin blurted.

  “Yes, indeed. One of those madmen who shoot with their shovels, right?”

  She flushed and shrugged. There seemed little reason to deny it.

  He changed the subject. “Was this cousin of yours expecting you?” he asked suddenly.

  “Yes, eventually,” Kristin said. “I didn’t tell him exactly when I was coming. I’m not late enough for him to call out the National Guard, or anything.”

  “Good,” he said very softly.

  Why had she just admitted that? She should have said that Roger would soon be combing the woods for her!

  “One would hate to think of a relative risking this storm to rescue you!” he said dryly.

  He was standing near her back. She spun around, suddenly feeling a series of little hot sizzles against her naked back. He obviously didn’t believe a word of what she had told him.

  But he was still smiling. And he was still completely charming with his deep blue gaze and slow curling lip.

  “Want something to eat?” he asked her suddenly.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

  She realized that she was ravenous. “Wow, you mean you’d actually feed me?” she asked with a wide-eyed innocence. “You’ve already let me in the house. Are you sure that you want to offer that much hospitality.”

  “I’ve already let you into my house, my bathtub and my bed,” he corrected her, grinning as his comment sent new color to suffuse her cheeks. “Still suspicious!” he said, arching a knavish brow. “But then that’s good, isn’t it? It probably wouldn’t pay for either of us to be off our guard now, would it?”

  Kristin was suddenly determined to gain some dignity around this man. “I’m telling you, sir, I really do not know what you’re talking about. And you probably did save my life, and I’m extremely grateful that you did so. Whatever it took. I like living.”

  “My, my,” he murmured softly. “That sounded like a thank-you. From a reporter. What a surprise.”

  “Reporters are people,” Kristin said stiffly.

  “Not in my book.” The comment was as hard and certain as steel.

  “It sounds as if you’ve been maligned by scandal sheets—” Kristin began.

  “A reporter is a reporter, Ms. Kennedy. I don’t care who sent you here—”

  “No one sent me here!” she wailed in exasperation.

  “Well, then, Ms. Kennedy, yes, since you are here, I do want to offer you the hospitality of a meal. I’m starving, myself. And as rude as I may be, I don’t want to eat in front of you. And the electricity most probably will fail very soon, so I think I’ll go down and get started on something. Feel free to join me anytime.”

  He started to leave the room. He was going to leave her. Alive and well and unmolested.

  Kristin caught her covers more tightly to her chest and moved forward, calling after him. “Wait! Please, where are my things? I, er, I can’t come down like this.”

  His eyes moved over her quickly, then met hers again. It wasn’t a licentious stare in any way, but she still had a feeling that he remembered her very well.

  “There are some robes in the closet. Pick out whatever you like. Your clothes are still sopping wet. I didn’t think to put them in the dryer, but I’ll do that now, too.”

  He started to leave the room again, then hesitated, pointing to a door. “The bath is there. There’s a door out to the hallway through a dressing room from the bath, or you can come through the sitting room, this way. There’s a cabinet beneath the sink in the bath where I’m pretty sure there are new toothbrushes and toothpaste and the like. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you,” Kristin told him, amazed. He seemed such a far cry from the man who had told her that she was welcome to freeze out in the snow because it would be her own fault if she did so. “Thank you, really, Mr.—” She broke off. She didn’t know his name.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I never even asked you your name.”

  “You didn’t?” He arched a brow, and smiled. There seemed something wary about that smile again. “It’s Magnasun. Justin Magnasun.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Magnasun.”

  He was staring at her. Pointedly. As if she had known what his name was all along. As if he were waiting for her to make some comment upon it.

  But the name Justin Magnasun didn’t mean a thing to her.

  “Justin,” he told her pleasantly. “After all, we are in close quarters.”

  “Justin,” she said, her teeth grating. He was looking at her like the cat who had wolfed down the canary, trying for a rise out of her. He wasn’t going to get it.

  “Thank you, Justin,” she said. She smiled sweetly, innocently.

  He arched a brow. “My name doesn’t mean anything to you?” he asked.

  “Not a thing. Should it?”

  “It’s known in certain circles.”

  “Sorry. I must not be in those circles.” She smiled again. “Would you like me to cook dinner for you? I’m a good cook.”

  “You don’t mind cooking for me?”

  “You didn’t mind—er—saving my life.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mind in the least,” he assured her. He grinned, the devil’s own grin. “It seems we’ve come a long, long way already, Kristin,” he said, and left the room at last, closing the door behind him.

  Kristin stared after him, exhaled slowly and then leaped to her feet. She hurried across the room to the closet he had indicated and threw open the door.

  The closet was a huge walk-in room with racks on either side, rows of shoes on the floor and shelving for sweaters and knits on the top. It was pleasantly scented with cedar. />
  She discovered herself running her fingers over the tweed fabric of a jacket while she searched through the hangers for a robe. She found one, white terry cloth, and pulled it down. It probably came just past his knees. It would cover her nearly to her ankles. She slipped it around her body as quickly as she could, hugging it to her.

  This was strange. So very, very strange.

  She started to shiver, wondering if her ordeal in the cold hadn’t affected her mind. Justin Magnasun was frightening. He suspected her of being a reporter who had braved severe hazards to get to him.

  The irony was that she was a reporter. Not the reporter he was expecting, but…

  She remembered the tone of his voice when he had stated that no reporter—no matter what kind—was quite human, in his book.

  She had best never, never admit to him that she was one of their number.

  Dummy! she thought in silence. He really didn’t know reporters at all! She was a good one, and she was proud of herself, and she was very proud of the number of things that she had done. Her series of investigative articles had brought attention to the plight of the aged in certain nursing homes. She had brought a whole town around to donate the money for a child’s operation. She’d done good and meaningful work, and this man was maligning not just her, but her colleagues—most of whom were diligent, hardworking and caring individuals!

  He had thought she should recognize his name.

  Why?

  She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember. No, the name meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

  She sighed, determined that she had to be very careful around him, no matter how charming his smile could be. She touched her cheeks and found they were warm and flushed again. He’d stripped her clothing from her and put her to bed. He was nonchalant about it, but he’d commented that he thought that she was perfect.…

  “Stop!” she whispered out loud to herself.

  She belted the robe securely about her and hurried out of the closet. She saw the door that he had indicated led to the bathroom and she strode quickly across to it. When she had thrown open the door, she paused again.

  It was an extraordinary bath. Like the bedroom, it was done in shades of black and cream with small red accents. Against the far wall was a huge whirlpool tub. The spigots were brass, and the steps leading up to it were sleek black tile. The tile on the flat part of the floor was white. There was a shower stall in a smoked-glass and brass enclosure, and the commode was enclosed as well. The double sinks were in a center island under a skylight. All the skylight offered now was a vision of gray, but the effect of the room was still overwhelming. Mr. Magnasun had to be a man of means to afford such handsome opulence.