Northern Rebel: Daring in the Dark

by Jennifer Labrecque

  “You want logic? Try this on. I went out there because if I didn’t, you would, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.” He snapped his mouth shut, as if he’d said too much. And well, really, he’d just said a lot.

  Simon had gone out there because he was worried about her? Warmth that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with emotion suffused her. It hadn’t been all about him—making him look brave and macho. His climbing out on the ledge had been about her.

  “Oh,” she said rather dumbly.

  “So I’m sorry that you’re annoyed, but I promised him a new name.”

  Simon wasn’t just a control freak intent on running her business. Guilt displaced her anger. “Maybe I did overreact just a little to all of that.”

  “Maybe you did. How would you like to be this big, bad-attitude cat with a name like Peaches?” He shuddered.

  Really, he didn’t have to sound so disdainful and he could drop the theatrics. “It’s not as if I single-handedly emasculated him.”

  Simon reached along the back of the sofa and trailed his fingers along her shoulder. “No. The vet helped, but that name does a fine job.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear you do better. Whatcha got?”

  “Sorry?” His blank look struck her as rather comical and cute. She didn’t think Simon often looked blank.

  “Names,” she prompted. “It was your idea. You come up with a name for him.”

  “It’s your cat.”

  “According to some ancient cultures, since you saved his life, he essentially belongs to you now.”

  “But I don’t want him.” He looked horrified at the prospect.

  “I’m not literally giving him to you. Think figuratively. I’m giving you the task of naming him.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “Tough. You promised him a new name...so give him one.”

  “But I don’t know anything about naming animals.”

  She rolled her eyes. God. He was sexy and insane and exasperating. “What do you mean you don’t know how to name an animal? You just do it. Haven’t you ever had a pet?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

  He was pulling her leg. “No cats, dogs, gerbils, guinea pigs when you were growing up?”

  “No.”

  She moved down the pet chain to a group she didn’t exactly consider petworthy. You just couldn’t cuddle a reptile. “Not even a lizard or snake or...maybe a frog?”

  “No pets.”

  A lightbulb lit up in her head. “Let me guess...your parents.”

  “They weren’t into pets.”

  Tawny ground her teeth, endangering thousands of dollars of orthodontia her parents had sunk into her pearly whites. What kind of people emotionally neglected their kid and to top it off denied him a pet? Even the very proper Edwards household had included a dog, a hamster and several goldfish over the years. A frog would’ve been better than nothing. “Let me guess again. A pet would be too much trouble?”

  “Righto.”

  “I really dislike your parents.” She ached to give them a piece of her mind.

  Simon looked startled, as if surprised she’d take exception with his parents on his behalf. Then he grinned. Wow! He should grin more often.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “they wouldn’t be charmed by you either. You’re too...unleashed for them.”

  “Unleashed? I like that.” And she’d be frightened if those people did like her. “Don’t think you’re weaseling out of renaming Peaches. You either name him or he will forever be Peaches and you’ll have reneged on your promise.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Tawny Edwards.”

  “Humph. I’m just forcing you to put your...whatever...where your mouth is.”

  “Brutus.” He smirked.

  “Uh-uh. I can’t live with a cat named Brutus. Try again.”

  “Magnus.” An even bigger smirk.

  Okay. She’d play his game...and beat him at it. “Forget it. I just had a stroke of genius. And it is a stroke of genius if you consider how ornery and standoffish and generally difficult he is. Instead of you naming him, I’ll name him for you.”

  “Fine with me. What’s his new name?” The smirk gave way to trepidation. He should be leery.

  “Simon. I’m naming him after you.”

  “Didn’t you just mention ornery and contrary and generally difficult?”

  “Exactly. If the shoe fits...”

  Oddly enough, Simon didn’t appear leery or confounded or in the least put out. Who’d have thought it? The crazy man looked extremely pleased at having a cat named after him.

  * * *

  “He seems happy with the new name. What do you think?” Tawny said.

  Simon the cat, formerly known as Peaches, sat atop the refrigerator, eyes closed, patently ignoring them. Simon the man thought Tawny was crazy, totally irrational and altogether adorable. “I’d say he’s beside himself.”

  Tawny shook her head and sent him a chastising look. “I know him better than you do and I say he’s happy.”

  “Whatever you say. I promised him a macho name and I’m fairly certain Simon doesn’t fall into that category,” he argued, knowing it was futile.

  Tawny laughed and Simon mentally took a snapshot. He wanted to remember this moment forever. They were engaged in a totally inane conversation in her oven of a kitchen with no electricity and he couldn’t recall ever feeling happier than he did at this moment.

  “Like Magnus was boss? Yeah.”

  “You know, you could give a guy a complex,” he said.

  “Better watch out or you might turn out gay like Elliott,” she said, obviously joking but obviously still smarting from Elliott’s revelation.

  “Not a remote possibility. I know you’re having me on, but Elliott’s sexual preference is no reflection on you.” He smiled and allowed himself to look at her with the familiarity of a well-satisfied lover. “I know firsthand.”

  She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Thanks. Whether you like to admit it or not, you’re really a very nice man.”

  Her tenderness shook him. “Didn’t you call me a jerk not too long ago?”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive. You can be that, too.”

  The way she looked at him—as if he’d hung the moon—left his mouth dry and his heart pounding. She was wrong. She might think she knew him, but she didn’t. He was 99 percent jerk 99 percent of the time. She was rebounding big-time and painting him to be someone he wasn’t.

  “You’re going to have to talk to Elliott, Tawny.”

  “Technically I don’t have to do anything...but I suppose I will.”

  “You’ll need closure on it or you’ll be tracking him down because you’ll have that Prozac addiction,” he said. She was too easy to be with. Too easy to tease.

  “You know me too well.” She threw a dish towel at his head.

  He caught it one-handed. “You seem to be handling it well.”

  “I’m not prone to hysterics.”

  He quirked an eyebrow, recalling the scene she’d made when he’d come back through the window earlier. She’d verged on hysteria. Over him. He was still reeling.

  “Okay. Well, thinking you’re about to see someone you care—know—die, that’s a little different. But as a rule I don’t get hysterical.” She looked him over from head to toe, her gaze lingering at the front of his trousers. “And you’ve definitely helped ease my rejection pain.”

  “Glad to be of service.” And he’d be up for more service if she didn’t stop eyeing his crotch that way.

  “You may think, yeah, right, but I’m almost relieved. Not that Elliott’s gay and not that he decided to screw around on me—that’s a little tough to take—but I think both of us knew something wasn’t working. And then when I started having those dreams about you...well, it does sort of make a girl think she’s not quite ready to tie the knot.”


  He was still floored he’d been the object of this woman’s fantasy—even if she had been unconscious at the time.

  “Dreams are a pretty iffy indicator,” he said. “Would you have called it off if Elliott hadn’t gotten involved with someone else?”

  She considered his question for a few seconds, her lips pursed, before she pushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t know. Probably. Hopefully. I don’t hate him, although I came pretty close when you told me. I’m less than impressed with his cheating and then dumping it on you to tell me.”

  “Do you still love him? You obviously did at one point.” The question tied his belly in knots.

  “I’m not sure.” She nudged the spot on her finger where her ring had been with her thumb. He was sure she didn’t realize what she was doing. “I did love him. Actually I think when I’m over being so pissed, I still do.” His stomach plummeted. “But I don’t love him the way I should to marry him. We have fun together, but there’s no real passion between us—” her gaze snared him, trapped him with the banked fires within their depth “—no intensity. Do you know what I mean?”

  He looked away before she saw the answering fire in his eyes. “The mention of his name ties you up in knots? You’d go to hell and back again if you thought he needed you? The sound of his voice sends shivers through you? I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Elliott and I don’t have that.”

  Granted, she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. But at one point she’d been sure enough to agree to marry Elliott. He knew firsthand she could be wildly emotional and illogical and he didn’t want to see her make a decision she’d later regret.

  “Passion doesn’t last. It burns out and evolves into something else altogether,” he said, playing devil’s advocate.

  “I’m not naive. I don’t think people still have that after twenty years. Or—who knows?—maybe they do. But you should definitely have it in the beginning. Love shouldn’t be totally comfortable, like an old pair of slippers. It should be like a pair of stilettos—sexy and exciting and worth the discomfort. And if that’s what Elliott’s found, more power to him.” She shrugged and smiled.

  Her smile was so her—natural, irrepressible, sunny—he couldn’t help smiling in return.

  “That’s an original. I’ve never heard love compared to a pair of stilettos.”

  “I didn’t realize I felt this way until...well, I think it started with those dreams, and now this with Elliott has forced me to reevaluate everything. And I can’t help it if you think I’m being tacky when I say the sex between us, you and me, has been pretty incredible.”

  He’d have to be dead or stupid not to feel a surge of male pride that he’d rocked her world to a degree that Elliott obviously hadn’t. He was fairly sure he wore the village idiot’s grin. “It has been, hasn’t it?”

  “While we’re discussing Elliott...I want you to know I have no intention of mentioning what happened tonight to him...you know...us.”

  That wiped the grin off his face. “Because you’re ashamed?”

  “No.” She shot him a look that said he knew better. “Because he’s your friend and I don’t want to come between you. But even more than that, because I don’t want you to think I slept with you to get back at him. I slept with you because you drove me crazy in my dreams and then when you got here...it was even worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “You know what I mean. The sound of your voice, the touch of your hands on my shoulders, your scent.” All the hallmarks of passion.

  She aroused him without even touching him. And there was only one logical response to that.

  Simon backed her up against the counter and kissed her.

  9

  TAWNY RAN HER HANDS OVER Simon’s sweat-slicked chest. Making out had definitely raised her temperature, but it was like a furnace in the kitchen.

  Something she’d read in a magazine once and filed for future reference came to mind. Now seemed like the perfect time to try it.

  “How about a Popsicle? If the electricity’s off much longer they’re going to melt anyway. At least it’ll be cool.”

  He moved so that she was no longer wedged between the counter and his hard—and some parts getting harder—body. “Sure. I haven’t had a Popsicle in years.”

  “I keep them stocked when it’s this hot. Sort of a sweet fix without all the calories.” She opened the freezer and pulled out a box. “Great. They’re still frozen. Cherry, strawberry or grape?”

  “Definitely cherry.”

  She passed one to him. “That’s my favorite, too.”

  She returned the box to the freezer.

  She’d told him it would cool him down—but not before she heated him up. She peeled off the wrapper. Slowly, making a sensual production of it, she licked up one side and down the other. “Mmm.” Looking up at him, she deliberately took the Popsicle into her mouth and sucked, moving her head up and down over the frozen treat. She moaned in the back of her throat.

  Simon stood transfixed, clutching his Popsicle in his hand. “I’m not sure I can watch you eat that without having a heart attack.” He leaned against the counter, as if he was equally unsure his legs would support him.

  Tawny smiled and nibbled at the tip. She was really getting off on how much she was turning him on. Turning both of them on. She slid her tank top down over her shoulders and pulled the front down, freeing her breasts. “Well, then, how does this work for you?” She trailed the Popsicle over her nipples. The icy cold felt incredible against her skin, the sensation shooting through her. “Wow! Guaranteed to cool you down quick.”

  Simon made a choked noise. “Tawny...”

  There was a definite bulge straining the front of his jeans.

  “Want to take our treat to the bedroom? I think it might be more comfortable in there.” And she had no intention of having Popsicle sex—or any other sex, for that matter—in front of her cat. She snagged a bowl.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and damn near dragged her down the hall and into the bedroom.

  “Mmm. I like a man with enthusiasm.”

  “You and your Popsicle have definitely aroused my enthusiasm,” he said.

  Laughing, she scooped up the towel he’d worn out onto the ledge from the floor, spread it on the bed and sat down on the edge.

  Simon reached for her and she backed him off. “Enthusiasm’s one thing, but impatience is another. It’s not time yet. We’ve only begun to enjoy our Popsicles.”

  She trailed it back over her nipples—God, it did feel incredible—and then over her belly and across the tops of her thighs.

  “Luv, please...”

  She felt like such a wicked woman. And she loved it. She was dripping wet and it wasn’t sweat. “I can tell you where I really need cooling down....”

  She lay back, leaning on one elbow, and spread her legs. She propped one foot up on the mattress, leaving herself open, giving Simon a visual of just how wet she was already.

  “Tawny...” Simon said, part groan and all appreciation. His low, faintly accented voice slid over her, arousing her even more.

  The kiss of the ice against her inner thigh zinged through her. Slowly she rimmed the frozen treat along her vagina, the sensation deliciously arousing.

  She felt thoroughly wicked and thoroughly excited. She eased the melting Popsicle in and twirled it around.

  “Ooh.” It was hard and icy and she was so hot. Simon never looked away from her as he unzipped and took off his pants. She worked the melting ice in and out and licked her lips.

  Simon walked over to the edge of the bed. “Suck on mine.” She was so close, she could’ve come with very little effort when he used that erotic, commanding tone. He teased it along her lips and then slid it into her mouth. She moved the icy-cold Popsicle in and out of her vagina and he matched the rhythm in her mouth.

  Tawny wasn’t sure that she’d ever been so turned on in her life. She was so hot inside, she was melting the Popsicle
in record time, deliciously cold against her inferno. And the look on Simon’s face...

  She slid her mouth off his Popsicle and licked leisurely down the length of it. “You look hot—” she eyed his straining erection “—and uncomfortable. I’ve got just the thing to cool you down. Cold on the surface, hot inside.”

  Simon didn’t need a second invite. He rolled on a condom and in one smooth stroke he was in.

  “Oh my God.” Tawny wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Had anything ever felt as good as his hot cock against her icy-cold flesh? Hot and cold. Hard and soft.

  It felt too good...she was so hot...she wasn’t going to last any longer.

  Popsicle sex with Simon—guaranteed to come in three minutes or less.

  * * *

  Simon startled awake. It took him a second to figure out his cell phone was ringing in his pants somewhere on the dark floor. He slung his legs over the side of the bed and reached down, groping for his jeans.

  By the time he found them, he’d missed the call. He glanced at his watch. Who the hell was calling him at this hour in the morning?

  Tawny leaned up on one arm. “Hmm. Who’s on the phone?”

  “I’m checking now.” He listened to his voice mail. “Simon, it’s your father. Call me back at...wait, you can’t call me here.” He’d hung up. What the— His parents never called him.

  “It was my dad,” Simon said to Tawny, who had sat up, wide-awake now. “First he asked me to call him back and then he said I couldn’t call him where he was. But I’m going to try anyway.” Apprehension flooded him. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

  Before he could hit Send to call the number shown on the display, his phone rang again. Same number flashed across the screen.

  Simon answered. “Dad?”

  “Simon, thank God you answered. I’m at City North Hospital. We think your mother’s had a heart attack.”

  His father’s words struck him like a physical blow. He sank to the edge of the bed. “Where is she now?”

  “Here at City North.”

  “No.” Simon bit back his impatience. “Is she in ICU?”