She gave herself a mental shake and delved into the cabinet beneath the sink for a toothbrush and toothpaste. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she studiously brushed her teeth, but finally her hand stopped moving and she just stared.
Who was he? she wondered. Curiosity was burning like a fire within her. He was rich and striking, with a temper like wildfire, and the capability of being as smooth as Cary Grant.
He was certain she was a reporter after a story.
Which meant there was a story to be had.
He didn’t want his story told, whatever it was.
But she had to know.…
No. She didn’t have to know.
She had to be careful until the snow stopped, until she could get away.
She rinsed out her mouth, found soap and a washcloth and bathed her face. She hadn’t come to get anything from him.
She had gotten into trouble here, and it seemed he had helped her despite his suspicions. She couldn’t go delving into his life.
She was going to have to delve into his life.
No.
Yes.
With a sigh she dug back beneath the sink, looking for a brush. There wasn’t one there. She walked back into his bedroom and found one on his black walnut dresser. Before the fire, she started to brush out her hair, and then she stopped.
She was comfortable here. Comfortable in a strange man’s bedroom, with the fire blazing so warmly. Comfortable in his bath, because it was such a beautiful place with such sleek lines. She had been so comfortable that she had just picked up his brush to use.
She put it back down on his dresser quickly, and moved her hand away as if the brush had suddenly come to life.
She didn’t want to think about how easy it was to feel that she was on informal terms with this stranger.
Kristin pulled the belt more tightly on the robe and hurried out of the bedroom. As he had told her, she walked into a sitting room. And there she paused again and frankly stared at the fireplace and the black walnut desk, at the rows and rows of bookshelves and the two deep black leather armchairs set against rich cream rugs. There was a stereo system and a large-screen television that could be seen from the chairs, or if someone was stretched out on the deep plush rugs. She could almost imagine a fire blazing and two people curled together, enjoying music or a movie or just watching the fire crackling.
She’d better watch it. She was falling in love with a house. A house she needed to leave as quickly as possible.
She opened the sitting room door to discover herself in an open hall with a curved staircase that led downward to the first floor. She could see the entry to the house from where she stood, for the open hallway looked out over the door and the dusky gray tiles there. She followed the stairs down to that entry, and from there down a few steps to the living room. She paused, staring once again.
Beyond the living room, large plate-glass windows showed a huge turquoise pool to the rear of the living room. It, too, was enclosed in glass. There was a patio surrounding it with comfortable deck chairs, there was a large barbecue, there was a whirlpool at one end of the pool, and water cascaded in an elegant fall from the whirlpool into the main body of crystal-clear water.
Against the darkness and the snow outside, the pool was beautiful. And against the pool, the darkness and the snow were equally fascinating.
“Do you like it?”
Kristin whirled around.
Justin Magnasun stood in a doorway at the far end of the living room, watching her with intense curiosity in his eyes.
“You’ve a really beautiful house.”
“Thank you,” he said almost curtly. “Come on through here. The kitchen is this way.”
She followed him through the doorway to a kitchen that would have been anyone’s dream, from the center island range and grill to the state-of-the-art conveniences, to the rows of copper cookware hanging from ceiling hooks.
Beyond the kitchen was a large sun room with a tile floor, completely encircled with window seats. The windows looked out to the front of the property. Without the snow, Kristin thought, the view would go on forever.
“This is wonderful!” she gasped. She spun around with enthusiasm. “So secluded, every comfort…”
She broke off because he was studying her again so intently.
“This is a great kitchen, state of the art,” she told him flatly. “And it’s all just for you.”
He returned her stare without answering.
She realized she wasn’t going to get any answers from him—not now—and ground down hard on her teeth. She wasn’t supposed to ask questions. Well, she didn’t care about his damned story. She hadn’t come here for a scoop.
They stared at each other for a long hard moment. Then he turned away and asked casually, “Red wine or white, Ms. Kennedy?”
“I don’t know. What am I cooking?”
His anger seemed quick to fade. Either that, or he baited her constantly. He flashed her a quick smile and extended a hand toward the refrigerator. “Your choice.”
She walked past him and opened the refrigerator, which seemed fairly well supplied. And there was a spice rack on the wall, so she could get creative.
She smiled and looked at him. “Spiced beef with vegetables,” she told him. “A nice burgundy would be good.”
“Spiced beef with vegetables?” he inquired doubtfully.
She nodded.
“Well,” he murmured softly, “if you can really make it taste as good as it sounds, saving you from the snow might turn out to be extremely worthwhile.”
“It will taste better than it sounds,” Kristin promised him.
He brushed past her, reaching for a bottle of wine that lay in a built-in rack. She felt his scent whisper softly over her again. Clean, masculine. Simple. And very alluring in that simplicity.
Food, she reminded herself. She didn’t intend to become too intrigued with the man.
You’re supposed to remain intelligently frightened and very wary! she reminded herself.
She wasn’t intrigued, surely she wasn’t. He had been far too rude initially. And he was still watching her constantly, convinced that she was someone else.
A reporter. Ouch. It was very dangerous here.
“Spiced beef…” she murmured. She delved into the refrigerator for all the ingredients she had seen that she could use. She began piling things on the counter. She turned and discovered that he was right behind her. He had poured the wine and was offering her a glass.
Her fingers curled around it, brushing his. He smiled, standing so close to her that they nearly touched. She felt warmth emanating from him.
“Cheers, Ms. Kennedy,” he said. He sipped his wine, and urged her glass to her lips. She swallowed the wine and it, too, was warm. Very warm. It seemed to bring heat racing throughout her. A heat that flashed between them, that seemed to tempt her to come nearer and nearer.
He stepped away from her suddenly, as if he had felt it, too.
As if it had been far too tempting. And as his eyes remained on hers, she remembered that he had her at an advantage.
He had seen far more of her than she had of him.
He had even called her perfect.…
“I’ll leave you to this culinary masterpiece of yours, Ms. Kennedy. I’ll be anxiously awaiting its completion in the den. Call me if you need me.”
He turned and left her then.
But the warmth of his nearness seemed to linger on the air.
And dance along her spine …
And settle somewhere within her. Somewhere deep, deep within her.
Who are you? she wanted to shout after him. And why are you so damned wary of reporters?
The question would get her nowhere then, she knew.
But the snow was still falling outside. Falling with a vengeance. She didn’t need to be told that they were in the midst of a good blizzard. She had hours—maybe days—of discovery before her.
Days …
&nb
sp; She trembled suddenly, and she wondered if it was because she was dreading the time ahead with him.…
Or if she was anxious for it to come.
Chapter 3
Although she had feared that the electricity might fail her, it held while Kristin cooked their meal.
Since her unwilling host had disappeared, she felt free to roam through the cabinets at will. He didn’t seem to be missing a thing. He had every gourmet convenience in the world, and even when she had found everything she needed for the simple meal she was making, she continued to probe cabinets. She just couldn’t resist. Beyond the usual food processing equipment, he had a beautiful copper-scrolled cappuccino and espresso maker, special spice grinders, an ice cream maker, a pasta machine and any number of other wonderful kitchen gadgets.
She made her spiced beef in the wok and prepared some fried rice to go with it. She stared out the front windows of the beautiful sun porch as she worked. There wasn’t even a hint of sun to be seen. Night had come with the weather. It was nearly black out, with the snow barely visible now in that darkness except where it slammed against the window.
Some flurries, she thought.
With her feast prepared, she began to wonder where he would want to eat it, and just what he might want to eat it on. He hadn’t walked in on her once. But just as she was about to go in search of him, he appeared in the doorway again. It was uncanny. Almost as if he had been watching her.
But then, she reflected, maybe he really had been watching her. Maybe he had appeared while she was diving into all his cabinets. Maybe she simply hadn’t seen him.
He could move so silently when he wanted to. It was unnerving.
He didn’t seem angry, though. He was just watching her, with that endlessly speculative light to his eyes. Tall, broad, confident, he leaned against the doorway, and she knew then that he had been there for more than a little while.
And then he smiled. “Is dinner all done?”
“All done.”
“Let’s take our plates into the living room,” he suggested. “There’s a weather report coming up.”
“Wonderful,” she agreed. “What plates?”
“I could swear I’ve got dozens of plates in the cabinets,” he told her.
“Yes,” she said, flushing. He did have dozens of plates in the cabinets. “It’s just that I don’t know what plates you meant to use for something this casual. I mean, you may have good plates that you don’t just use for every day.”
He gazed at her with an amusement that actually bordered on the friendly. “If it’s there, Ms. Kennedy, it’s there to be used. I don’t believe in having things just to have them.”
She felt her lips curling into a smile. There was just something about him. She didn’t want to trust him. Not in the least. She didn’t want to lose one bit of her wariness. His smile was just so damned charming. And his voice could carry such a deep and husky edge. If she’d only met him under other circumstances, she could have been swept right off her feet.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “I don’t believe in having things just to have them, either.”
“Glad you approve,” he replied. And then it seemed that they stood there, staring at each other.
He didn’t trust her, and he didn’t want to trust her. But she felt that even as he watched her, he seemed to feel something curious, too. An elusive draw to her despite everything…
Umm. Your basic lust. So elusive a draw, she taunted herself. But it was true. She found him very sensual—beguiling. There lay the danger.
And while he might not like her, or trust her…it seemed he felt a curious draw, too.
She suddenly felt very desperate to back away.
But then he spoke, breaking whatever it was that had come between them. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get the plates.”
He pulled down a pair of plates with a beautiful pattern and set them on the island. He breathed in the scent of the spiced beef that she had spooned from the heat of the wok to cool in a crockery bowl. He glanced at her again. “If it tastes as good as it smells, you really can cook,” he told her.
She shrugged. “I try.”
“What else do you try?”
“Pardon?” she asked, fighting for composure. She’d heard him. She’d heard him perfectly well. But the question had seemed to cast chill fingers right around her heart. She didn’t dare answer him. He hated reporters with a passion. And he was surely baiting her, because she was certain that he hadn’t believed a word of her real story.
And he still might be a maniac. A sensual, striking maniac, but a maniac.
He smiled at her response to his question. She couldn’t begin to read the meaning of that smile. “What do you do, Ms. Kennedy? What do you do for a living?”
“Oh, I dabble in a few things. Actually, I’m between jobs,” she murmured, then quickly changed the subject. “Hurry up and dish out a plate before it gets too cold.”
He prepared himself a plate, then took hers and fixed it for her, too. “The wine is already out by the fireplace. Just grab our glasses.”
In a few minutes they were settled before the fire, watching the news on a large-screen television. Kristin had found it most comfortable to sit cross-legged on the floor; Justin Magnasun was on the sofa behind her. The fire snapped and crackled warmly, and the wine was fine and dry and warming, too.
It would be easy to feel very comfortable and relaxed here, she thought.
But she mustn’t. She didn’t know him. And she didn’t know a thing about him. She was very aware of him, sitting so close behind her that he could reach out and touch her. She could feel him there, despite the bit of distance between them. She felt nervous tremors again, hot and then cold. His hands were fascinating. Handsome, large bronzed hands with short, neatly clipped nails. She couldn’t help wondering how they would feel against her naked flesh. And then her tremors would run very hot, and she would try not think about him at all. She gave her attention to her food and to watching the broadcast about the snow ravaging the city.
The same newsman who had so blithely mentioned the possibility of flurries was on the screen again.
The story had changed, of course. It was a blizzard, a full-scale blizzard. Cars were stuck all over New England. Rescue services were doing their best, but it was difficult with the storm in full force. Phone and power lines were down, and in the outlying regions of the state, it could be a good week before roads were cleared and utilities restored.
And according to the weatherman now, he had suspected that morning that the lighter snow in the forecast would become something far more serious.
“Why didn’t he say so then?” Kristin blurted aloud.
“He says he did,” Justin said lightly from behind her.
She swung around, her eyes sparkling, ready for battle. “He most certainly did not!”
The wine was giving her a fine new courage. She set her plate down and rose to her feet, hands on her hips, accosting him. “I’m telling you, Mr. Magnasun, I most certainly did not start out from Boston this morning planning to have car trouble right in front of your house! I’d have to be a complete fool to do something like that. What if my car had died a mile earlier, a mile later? I would have risked my life!”
“Some people think a good story is worth risking a lot for,” he responded, staring at her evenly.
“I happen to be fond of living,” she informed him. She spun around then, picking up her plate and her wineglass and heading back to the kitchen, her hair flying out in a wild fluff behind her as she did so.
She gasped when she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her, spinning her around.
His eyes were like a blue blaze, his bronze features were tense. “You swear it?” he demanded suddenly.
She stared from his eyes to the fingers that wound so tightly around her flesh. Then she stared back into his eyes. The fire from them seemed to leap out and touch her. To sizzle through her flesh and blood and touch her soul.
> “Do I swear what?” she demanded.
“That you didn’t come here on purpose! That you’re not that little scandal hound I spoke to on the phone!”
“I swear it!” she snapped. She was suddenly afraid for him to touch her. Not because he was hurting her. But because of that sizzling fire she felt between them.
She broke free and went on through the kitchen. She turned the water on high and squirted a liberal amount of dish detergent into the sink.
She was startled to feel him behind her. “I’ll do the dishes, Ms. Kennedy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re better than fine,” he said lightly. “You’re perfect. But you did the cooking. I’ll clean up.”
“Oh, but you saved my life, remember? Surely that’s worth cooking and cleaning up in return.”
“I definitely remember saving your life. I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” he told her huskily.
She could feel his vibrant presence at her back. Feel the timbre of his voice, the heat of his body.
He backed away, still speaking. “Let’s clean up together, then. There’s a great movie coming on. A classic whodunit. It will be a nice way to pass an evening.”
He wasn’t waiting for her to agree. He left her with the soap-filled sink and found a sponge to clean out the wok. There wasn’t much to do, and in a matter of minutes, the kitchen was cleaned up. Justin watched her fold up a dish towel.
“Want something hot?”
She arched a brow. “Something hot?” At times, there just didn’t seem to be anything hotter than him.
“Coffee, tea, cappuccino?”
“If you do, I suppose,” she murmured uneasily.
“Then go on out. I’ll have it in a minute.”
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