Snowfire

by Heather Graham

She looked at him blankly, then challenged him.

  “So have you decided to believe me, then?”

  He stared at her, seemed about to speak, then paused, a crooked smile curving his lip. “Not really.”

  “Then—” she began in a fury.

  “Hold it! You tell me—do you believe in me?”

  “I never accused you of anything!”

  “Not with words. But I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’ve accused me of just about everything you can accuse a man of being or doing. Do you suddenly trust me? Completely?”

  “No,” she breathed after a moment, still meeting his gaze.

  “Well, we’ve come to a certain honesty. Let’s call it a truce, eh?”

  He came to her and turned her around by the shoulders. She wanted to retain her anger and indignation with him. Both seemed to drain away far too quickly. She liked the feel of him. He smelled so good. And it was very nerve-racking having him touch her so.

  “I didn’t tell you thank-you, did I?” he whispered softly. The sound just touched her ears. The whisper of his breath was warm, and caused a stirring within her. More than a stirring. That single whisper made her think of all sorts of things that she shouldn’t be thinking about.

  “Dinner was…delicious,” he finally added. He made it sound as if dinner had been an entirely sensual affair.

  He was baiting her, she thought. She needed to be even more careful.

  Then he gave her a little prod, urging her from the kitchen. Kristin returned to the living room, pulling his robe more tightly about her. She curled up on the floor where she had been, to watch the television. The movie coming on was a great old Hitchcock. It was the perfect picture for watching before a fire on a snow-filled night.

  A moment later Justin reappeared, carrying matching mugs with sticks of rock candy protruding from them. He sat down beside her, cross-legged on the floor, and handed her one.

  “Cappuccino. I had it once with the rock candy and thought it was great.”

  Kristin sipped it. It was great cappuccino.

  “Do you cook much?” she asked him.

  “Not much. I make cappuccino and espresso, but that’s mostly because the machine does the work.”

  Kristin took another sip. She was going to question him again, but she couldn’t miss the opportunity. “That’s a very elaborate setup you have.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you live with someone else?”

  He smiled. “No, I live alone.”

  “But—”

  His eyes were level on hers. “Why the curiosity, Ms. Kennedy? Are you writing a book?”

  “No, Mr. Magnasun. If I were writing a book on you, I’d already have the answers to questions as simple as that one!”

  He arched a brow. She realized how she must have sounded. “I forgot. It’s a truce.”

  “Yes. We’ve agreed to be entirely unsuspicious of each other.”

  She smiled. He was damned suspicious.

  He was also suddenly the perfect host. And the closer she came to him, the more she felt a compelling attraction. A lock of his ebony hair fell softly over his forehead. He had that wonderful clean scent about him, and he was striking and warm in his plaid shirt with his bright blue eyes.

  She realized suddenly that she wanted to trust him. That she was attracted to him. Far more than she had been attracted to a man since…

  Ever.

  Careful…

  And still, the time seemed to pass easily as she sat there listening to him, covered in his terry robe, sipping his wonderful cappuccino before the fire.

  This was the same man who had ranted and raved to her out in the snow, she reminded herself. The maniac who had thrown her out of her car to get it started for her. The same man who had it in for a certain reporter, and who still seemed convinced that she was that reporter and that she had been willing to brave death to get a story from him.

  What in God’s name was that story?

  If she valued life and limb and sanity, she’d best be careful that she didn’t find out too much about him.

  But she had to know.…

  Not tonight, she decided. According to the fool who had warned her about the “flurries,” they were now in the midst of a full-scale blizzard.

  She might be here for a long, long time.

  “On the other hand,” he was saying, watching her with a simple curiosity, “you’re a really talented cook. That was an incredible meal to just whip up in minutes.”

  She grinned. “My grandfather was a pastry chef, and he really was talented. That’s how he managed to get into this country.”

  “From Ireland?”

  “The name is Kennedy,” she agreed with a laugh.

  “Any relation to the Kennedys?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know about. Grandda came over in 1929 with one of the big hotels as his sponsor. He worked until the day he died, and he loved to cook. I loved him, so I would sit in his kitchen whenever I could while I was growing up. Some of his knowledge simply rubbed off.”

  “Did you ever think about being a chef yourself?”

  “No,” Kristin began, but then she remembered she couldn’t tell him what she really did for a living. “Well, I do some catering now and then,” she told him. It was almost true. When her family got together, there was easily a party of fifty or more. And sometimes she did do the cooking.

  “A jack-of-all-trades?” he asked. “Sorry, a jill-of-all-trades?”

  “Not all of them. Maybe a few. Oh, the movie is starting!” she said with relief. He was watching her too intently.

  She sipped her cappuccino. There was a delicate taste of almond to it.

  He seemed to sense her question before she asked it. “Amaretto,” he told her. “Just a touch. It seemed right before the fire, and neither of us is driving anywhere tonight.”

  No, she wouldn’t be driving anywhere. But she still needed her wits about her.…

  “It’s good,” she told him. He smiled. He always seemed to sense her thoughts. She looked quickly to the television screen.

  The movie had come on, and they both started to watch it. They were quiet for a while, comfortably quiet. They were sitting side by side on the floor, using the sofa as a backrest. The fire blazed cheerfully, the movie was good, the cappuccino was warm and delicious and lulling. A sense of well-being settled over Kristin, and as she watched the suspects dramatically gather on the screen, she delicately licked at her stick of rock candy.

  Then she sensed that Justin was watching her. She almost froze, and her eyes rose to his. The tip of her tongue was just touching a clear square of the candy. She froze for a minute.

  And then she felt the touch of his gaze warm her. Slowly, completely. From head to toe…and in be tween. She felt a fluttering in her stomach that moved deeper and deeper as his eyes remained on her. He didn’t really touch her, not at all, just with his eyes.…

  And yet she’d never felt a more sensual touch upon her flesh.

  Never.

  She had ceased even to breathe, she realized, gasping in air at last.

  Then he placed his fingers on hers. He took the stick of candy from her and set it back in her mug. And his hand cupped around her cheek.

  He was going to kiss her. She knew it because of the way he looked at her, and she knew it because she had never felt anything so much like lightning as the tension that seemed to snap and sizzle on the air. She knew because she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted him to touch her now, right now.…

  She should have opened her mouth and protested furiously. She should have jumped up and run. She should have stopped him. It was insane.

  But she wanted it.…

  Wanted to feel his lips, the fire and sear of his kiss, the caress of his touch.

  His lips formed over hers.

  Suspicion, fear…

  Desire…

  They all warred within her.

  The fascination that had been slowly
building inside her allayed all other emotion. She was a fool. The words haunted her mind, but did not still her longing for his touch. She did not protest.

  His fingers splayed across her cheek, his lips just touched down on hers. Touched down and parted them, and the tip of his tongue slipped between her lips, hot and wet, and just touched hers.

  Teased…touched. Moved against her more fully, more deeply. Tasted, explored.

  She arched to the touch. She savored the texture of his lips, of his tongue. Mesmerized, she felt his fingers move over her face. Felt them massage sensually into her hair. Felt his lips break from hers, touch them again.

  And then she looked into his eyes. They were so very blue. Searching…

  And fascinated. Whatever the draw that pulled her to him so innately, he felt it, too. And wondered at it.

  She moistened her lips, for he continued to search out her eyes.

  Sanity suddenly returned. She jumped to her feet. He watched her as she drew her hand to her mouth, as a stricken light appeared in her eyes.

  “We can’t be doing this!” she gasped.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “And I don’t know you,” he agreed.

  “You despise who you think I am!”

  He was silent for a moment and she knew that it was true, he still didn’t believe her, truce or no.

  “How could you!” she breathed in sudden anger. “Someone you condemn so thoroughly! Someone you hate—”

  “I don’t hate you!” he snapped. Hands on his hips, he stared at her across the room.

  “You don’t believe in me!”

  “But damn you!” he said in return, his voice soft, very, very soft. “I do want you!”

  At least he was being honest when he said that. At least one thing was open between them. Maybe his words should have made her even angrier than she already was. But they didn’t. Anger at them would have been hypocritical.

  She shook her head slowly. “Well, don’t want me, Mr. Magnasun. Don’t—”

  “You responded damned quickly!” he told her through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, I did. But I won’t again. I admit that you’ve got…something. Still, it’s just not that simple to me. Wanting means at the very least respecting someone. Enjoying them, laughing with them, trusting them—”

  “It doesn’t mean any of those things,” he interrupted her quietly. “Maybe going with the emotion hinges on them, but wanting someone…well, that just happens.”

  It did just happen. She had wanted him. But she needed to believe that it was more. And maybe it was. She hated to admit it to herself, but she liked him. And as difficult as it should have been, she was discovering that it was very easy to want to trust him, to trust in him.

  He swept out a hand suddenly. “Shall we see the rest of the movie? Have a seat. Over there. Far over there.” He smiled. And as angry as she had been, she couldn’t help but smile, too. Distance was good.

  She sat across the room, against a chair. He tossed her a pillow, and leaned back himself, staring at the screen.

  “Damn, this is difficult,” he said after a while.

  She didn’t answer him. She watched the screen, and she listened to the snap and crackle of the fire.

  “Justin,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Why do you have that great kitchen all for yourself?”

  He was quiet for only a minute. “Well, when I envisioned this place, I wanted it to have everything. I thought that it could be a real home one day. Where two people might have everything.”

  Curious, Kristin reflected on his words. “Were you—married? Or planning on being married?”

  She could see him stiffen. So tautly that she was suddenly afraid again. “Look, I’m sorry if I—”

  “Not now.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not married now, nor planning on marriage,” he said harshly.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said at a loss.

  Suddenly his eyes were on her. Sharp. Very blue. “What about you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Are you married?”

  “No,” she murmured, flushed.

  “Engaged? Living with a ‘significant other’?”

  Was he mocking her? Once again, he was watching her intently, looking for… something.

  “No,” she said softly.

  “Good,” he said. “At least…”

  “At least what?”

  “At least what happens will be between the two of us, no one else involved.” He looked back to the screen before she had a chance to worry about his statement. “Let’s watch this, shall we? They’re gathering together again for the unmasking of the murderer.”

  “Ah, but I know the end,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite classics.”

  “Next to Arsenic and Old Lace,” he said.

  “And Harvey!”

  To Kristin’s amazement, they went on with their light war over classic movies. Then their comments came farther and farther apart. She closed her eyes, tired. More comfortable than she should have been.

  Then her eyes suddenly flew open. She was trying to awaken as she felt herself being lifted.

  He was carrying her again.

  “Hey! It’s all right,” he said to her look of alarm. “You fell asleep. I’m just putting you to bed.” He grinned. “Alone.”

  “Oh,” she said awkwardly. “I can walk. You don’t have to carry me up the stairs.” No, he didn’t have to carry her. It was so intimate. And too damned comfortable. She had to curl her arms around his neck. And she still liked the feel and the scent of him, and it would still be way too easy to…

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You told me before that I wasn’t exactly a lightweight.”

  He grinned slowly. “Well, maybe I exaggerated just a little bit.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Back to my room.” His grin deepened as her eyes widened. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in the guest quarters.”

  “I’ll sleep there. I don’t want to throw you out of your own room.”

  “You’re not throwing me out.”

  “But I shouldn’t take your room—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You wanted to leave me in the snow,” she reminded him.

  “That was then. This is now.”

  He carried her up the stairs and set her down in the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.” He stood close to her. Very close.

  “Good night.”

  “Wait,” she said.

  He paused. “Yes?”

  She hesitated, then her curiosity prodded her on. “Just what was this story about that I’m supposed to have risked all to delve into?”

  He stood there, watching her. Then he turned and started walking away.

  “Justin!”

  He paused and called something softly over his shoulder. She couldn’t hear what he said, but it had been an answer.

  Kristin felt tension flash through her body.

  “Wait!” she cried out. She raced after him, but he ignored her. He walked down the hall and opened another door. “Wait!” she cried again, still running after him. He paused in the doorway. “You actually answered me! But what did you say?”

  He stared at her. “You swore you didn’t come for a story.”

  “I didn’t! But you said something—”

  “I said murder.”

  “What!”

  “I said that the story would be about a murder,” he told her bluntly.

  Amazement seared through her. Well, she had thought his behavior maniacal at first. But…

  No, he couldn’t have committed a murder. She didn’t know him! But, yes, she did, in a way. She’d spent the evening with him. She’d felt both his passion and his control of it. She had no reason whatsoever to believe in him, and she might have imagined all sorts of things.

  But h
e couldn’t be guilty of murder.

  How did she know that? She should run. Into the snow? No, back to his room. She should lock herself in. And she should—

  “Whose murder?” she heard herself say.

  “That’s all that I’m telling you tonight,” he said.

  “But you can’t just say something like that and go to bed!” she protested.

  “I can, and I intend to,” he told her firmly. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

  Her hand lay flat against the door to the guest room. He moved it so that he could close the door.

  “But—but—”

  He smiled icily at her. “Ah, but I could be a murderer, right? You’ve had your suspicions since you came. Especially when you thought I was going to shoot you with my shovel! Good night, Ms. Kennedy!”

  He managed to shut the door on her. Kristin stood there in the hallway, shaking.

  He was locking her out. She should be locking him out!

  “Justin, how dare you scare the hell out of me like that!”

  The door opened again and he stared at her hard. “I can’t just scare you like that? Ms. Kennedy, may I remind you, you’re the one outside here screaming at my door! Go to bed. Leave me alone for the night!”

  The door closed firmly once again. And Kristin remained in the hall, stunned.

  “Good night!” he snapped from behind the door.

  She backed away. Then she turned and ran back down the hall, through the sitting room and into the bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her heart hammering like wildfire.

  But of course he wasn’t coming after her. He had just thrown her out.

  She slid the bolt on the door and went flying across the room. She curled into the bed, dragging the covers over her. She lay there numb and shivering.

  Then she felt a bit like a fool. He didn’t mean to murder her. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have done so any time. And he had not.

  He just wasn’t the type of man to be a murderer. How could she know that? She sighed. She didn’t know. All that she did know was that she sensed something about him. He was a good man. And it wasn’t just the chemistry between them. It was more than that. It was intui tion. He couldn’t have murdered anyone.

  She didn’t know anything about him. She should be nervous as all hell.

  She needed to get some sleep. That was exactly what she needed. A really good night’s sleep.