Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance)

by James, Maddie

  By the time Darian reached the cabin, he’d worked himself into such an angry mood at the thought of sharing a holiday with her, that he’d kicked the door open a little too harshly, stomped across the floor a little too loudly, and he had thrown her gear at her feet a little too forcefully.

  Then he simply stood and looked at her, standing in his T-shirt with her back to the cabinet looking entirely too much like she belonged there, and Darian felt incredibly tongue-tied.

  His chest heaved with his smoldering ire. “I brought your gear. Thought you might need your things.”

  She just stared back at him. “Thanks,” she said, her eyes wide with… What, fear? Damn, he didn’t want her to be afraid of him, he just wanted her to leave him alone.

  “Well, guess I’ll make some coffee. You want…”

  “Breakfast?”

  Darian started at her soft voice. His anger abated somewhat. She hadn’t eaten in two days, had she? “Are you hungry?”

  “Actually I’m quite ravenous. I haven’t eaten in—”

  “Two days.”

  Blaire nodded. “I’ll help if you tell me what to do.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Darian shook his head. “Get off your feet. I’ll fix it,” he grumbled. Walking away, he began peeling off layers of clothing. Then he turned slightly back to her. “And change into some decent clothes. Do us both a favor. Okay?”

  His eyes caught hers and held. He knew she knew what he meant. Blaire nodded and then picked up her duffel bag and briefcase, walked across the room, and tossed her things onto the bed. Darian watched her shapely petite legs as they glided across the worn wooden planks. With her back to him, she unzipped her bag, and pulled out a few articles of clothing. Then instinctively, she reached for the hem of her T-shirt but then froze.

  Spinning around, she pinned him with her gaze. “Aren’t you going to get started on that breakfast?”

  Darian squirmed under her speculation. “Yes. I’m going. Now.”

  “Good.” Then he watched as she glanced around the room. “Isn’t there any place in this cabin where a girl could have a little privacy?”

  Darian did a quick perusal himself. She was right. Never before had it been an issue. Before, it had just been him. But she was right. She needed her privacy and there might come a time when he would need his. “The only privacy is out back, you know, the little building with the half-moon on the door?” he answered. “I’ll rig up something later for changing, but for the time being, I promise not to peek.”

  Blaire narrowed her gaze. “Like hell you will. Turn around.”

  Slowly, Darian obliged. A hint of a smile spread across his face as he watched her pull the oversized T-shirt off her body in the reflection of the glass-doored kitchen cabinet in front of him. Then his smile turned to a frown.

  Chapter Four

  Blaire dipped the corner of her toast in the yellow of her fried egg. She’d not eaten fried eggs in years. Not since her mama died. Smiling at the memory, she bit into the toast and egg, thinking about how her mama used to make them for her nearly every morning. Runny eggs, she called them, and Blaire always thought hers were the best in the world.

  Sitting across the table from MacGlenary, she ate quietly and stared into her plate. Sudden images of her mother danced through her head. Her mother was so kind and gentle, musical and loving. She remembered reading to her at every bedtime. The Cat in the Hat. One Fish Two Fish. She always made funny voices and faces when she read.

  And she remembered her lying so still and cold in the casket the night Blaire turned four.

  Letting the fork gently slide out of her fingers to the side of the plate, Blaire dropped her hands to her lap. Staring at the double yolks looking back at her, it was almost all she could do to blink back the tears. Funny, she thought chuckling to herself, I haven’t consciously thought of Mama in years. Why now?

  Because she’d needed a mama growing up. She needed two parents. And she only had one. In most cases, that one parent would at least try to make up for the loss of the other, but not the infamous Mastin Kincaid. He was too busy playing congressman to pay much attention to his own flesh and blood. But MacGlenary—she just couldn’t understand it. He had a son and he chose not to be with him. His son also needed the benefit of both parents. What kind of man would willing deprive his child of that?

  Across the table, MacGlenary cleared his throat. Blaire looked up. “Penny for your thoughts, Pix.”

  Blaire lowered her gaze and shook her head from side to side. “I don’t think you want to hear my thoughts.”

  Silence hung over the table. He chewed silently across from her. “And why is that?”

  Blaire brought her gaze up to meet his full force. “Because you might not like what I am thinking.”

  MacGlenary contemplated her retort. “So what is it you don’t like about me, Pixie?”

  What didn’t she like about him? Beside the fact that he had abandoned his only child, she didn’t like… Well, it could be that he… What don’t I like about him? It was then that she realized, except for the fact that he had a son that was unaccounted for, she couldn’t really put her finger on any one particular thing that indicated dislike.

  She kept the connection between them. “Why do you live out here like this MacGlenary?”

  “Oh, so you’ve decided that I do have a name now, huh?”

  “You never denied it.”

  “But you never acknowledged it either.” Darian stared at her.

  “No, I guess I didn’t. You are him, though, aren’t you?”

  Pausing momentarily before he answered, Darian narrowed his eyes at her. “And you are Blaire Crystal Kincaid from Trenton, Vermont.”

  She sat up a little straighter in her seat. “You know my name?”

  He nodded. “Car registration.”

  Sinking back down in her chair, she added, “So now that you know my name, you don’t have to call me—”

  “Pixie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fits you perfectly.”

  Blaire snorted. “As I told you before, I’m no pixie.”

  “I know,” he returned. “You’re a woman.”

  Looking into MacGlenary’s gray eyes, Blaire was almost certain she saw them twinkle, but under the beard and mustache, it was extremely difficult to read his facial features. But his eyes—Blaire’s gaze caught his and held, and the look he gave her caught her breath in her throat. Then she felt the rat-a-tat-tat of her heart kick-start against her chest. She hadn’t even known it had momentarily stopped beating. Then he dropped his gaze back into his plate of eggs and bacon.

  “Who are you, Blaire Crystal Kincaid?”

  Blaire sat in silence for a moment. She looked at him staring into his own plate now. Then as he looked up, the warmth of his glare caught hers and held. Even with the beard and mustache and the long hair, he was a handsome—quite ruggedly handsome, she might add—man. “No one special,” she answered.

  “Everyone is special.”

  Blaire’s lower lips puffed out and she shook her head. “Not me.”

  “Yeah, even you. You just might not know it though. Or you haven’t found the person to make you feel that way.” His voice was soft.

  She stared ahead, a tremor racing down her spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He lifted his coffee cup to his lips, pursing them together to blow into the hot liquid. “Nothing.” He shook his head and then sipped the drink. “Forget it.”

  Blaire studied his face for a few minutes. “What about you? What’s special about you?”

  His eyes darkened and narrowed. “Nothing, anymore.”

  “But you said…”

  “What I said doesn’t apply to me. Only other people.”

  “Is this why you hole yourself up here like a hermit?” Blaire leaned closer.

  “I am a hermit.”

  Blaire shook her head. “When I look at you, I don’t see a hermit.”

/>   “When I look at you, I don’t see a Blaire.”

  “Then what do you see?” Her voice trailed off, half-afraid of his answer.

  He paused. “I see a fairy. A pixie. Tinker Bell.” He let his gaze play over her slightly upturned face and then into her eyes, holding the stare for a long moment. Then he sipped his coffee again and continued, changing the subject. “If you don’t see a hermit in me, then what do you see?”

  She was about to say the heir of a very rich, very influential man. But she didn’t. “I see a—”

  “A what?” MacGlenary chided.

  “A… A beast. Like in the story, you know? Beauty and the Beast?”

  He chuckled. “Me? A character in a children’s fairy tale?”

  Blaire nodded. “You know the story, don’t you? You’re like the beast.” Her eyes glazed over as she stared just past his head. “When I look at you I see a kind, handsome, caring man trapped inside the gruff, rugged exterior of the beast on the outside. The thing is, I find myself wondering what made you this beast to begin with.”

  After a moment, Blaire snapped her gaze back to his. He looked at her in wonderment. What had she said? Panic zinged through her. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot. Oh, God. Why did she say that? Where did those thoughts even come from? Finally, she allowed her gaze to connect with his. He stared at her with amusement in his eyes.

  “So,” he began. “If I’m the beast, who is the beauty?”

  Blaire blushed even deeper. Surely he didn’t think she was implying… “Certainly not me,” she answered. “I’m the pixie, remember. Pixies are anything but beautiful.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Matter of opinion, I think.” He brought the fork full of egg to his lips as she watched. “Why are you here, Pixie?” Then he took a bite. He chewed—slowly—and Blaire watched the movement of his lips; then as his tongue raked across both upper and lower, she swallowed hard and blinked, her gaze rising to meet his.

  She couldn’t keep it from him any longer. “Your grandfather died, Darian.”

  A momentary flash of pain washed over Darian’s face, and then he blinked and dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “When?”

  Blaire continued. “A little over two months ago.”

  Bringing his gaze up to meet hers then, Blaire noticed the hardened look. She felt sorry for him, and for some reason, wanted to help him cope with his pain. Stretching her hand across the table, she touched his hand, laying hers over the back of his. He flinched slightly, but let it remain.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He shook his head back and forth rapidly and glanced away. “It’s all right. I’m surprised he lived this long. I’ve wondered for years if he’d gone yet.” His eyes met hers and held. “Now I know.”

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “I guess you do.”

  He rose then suddenly, pushing back away from the table, his height towering over her. Blaire looked up, flannel chest and all hovering over her. “But you didn’t come all the way out here just to tell me that, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then why?”

  Slowly, Blaire rose herself. Standing, she barely reached the center of his broad chest. Funny, the only time she’d ever been as close to him prior to this was when they were lying side by side in bed. She hadn’t noticed how tall he was and how little she actually was in comparison. No wonder he called her Pixie.

  Finally, she looked him straight in the eyes. “I came to tell you… Your grandfather, when he died, he left you his entire estate. All of it.” It was all she could say. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would rip the estate right out of his hands. It was strange, she knew it, but for now, she just couldn’t.

  The look in MacGlenary’s eyes was one of pure surprise. Then one of worry. “So why are you here? To take me back to Vermont?”

  Blaire simply shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m only a messenger.”

  “And this is your only message?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She couldn’t bring herself to approach him with the rest. Not just yet.

  “And who hired you to deliver this message?”

  Blaire watched his chest heave before her as she lowered her gaze.

  “Who?” He said a little louder this time as he reached forward and grasped her upper arms.

  Blaire jerked her gaze back to his. “Your Aunt Reva.”

  A myriad of emotions flashed across MacGlenary’s face. Some Blaire could read, some she couldn’t, but they ranged from anger to pain to surprise. Then she felt the bite of his fingers as they gripped her arms tightly, his gaze settling somewhere over her head.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whispered, still watching his face. “Darian?”

  Then he looked down in utter surprise and quickly released her. He stepped back, exhaled deeply, and rubbed his hands over his bearded face. Blaire watched as he stalked away to the sink, gave the water pump two quick thrusts, the cold liquid spattered into his cupped palms, and he splashed his face.

  After drying his face on a nearby towel, he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Blaire stepped around the table. “It’s all right. You didn’t.” Then she added, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, eyes closed. “I guess it was more of a shock than I thought it would be.”

  “Death is always a shock.”

  He looked at her then, strangely. “Death is natural. I’d actually suspected he’d died years earlier. It’s when the memories of my Aunt Reva flash into my head that my system goes haywire.” Then he turned away, as if he’d admitted something to her he didn’t want to admit.

  Blaire stepped closer and placed a hand on his elbow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He stiffened and then cast his steel gray eyes upon her. “I don’t ever want to talk about it,” he grumbled and then removed his elbow from her grasp.

  Blaire dropped her hand and watched as he turned his back. “Okay,” she said. “I don’t have to be told twice.”

  ****

  Several hours later, Blaire sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, staring at the four walls of the cabin while MacGlenary sat at the table, pencil in hand, hunched over a spiral notebook, writing. She tried earlier to take a nap, but because she’d slept so much the past two days, it only took up about twenty minutes of the day. Then as she turned over flat on her back and stared straight ahead. She found out there were twenty-two rafters angling down each side of the open roof, eight perpendicular boards between each set of rafters for a total of 176 boards across the ceiling. Four large beams. Four stark walls. Four windows in the entire cabin. Twelve panes in each window for a total of forty-eight panes. She knew all this because she counted them. Each and every one of them. It was when she started on the logs going up each wall that she sat up and stared at him.

  “I’m going to go stark-raving mad in here.” She rose and found her duffel bag. “I’m leaving.”

  Darian slowly lifted his head, the motion of the pencil stopping. “You say something?”

  Blaire glanced over her shoulder. “No. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

  She walked closer to the fireplace. The clothes she’d worn here were still thrown over a couple of chairs. They were stiff as boards, so Blaire rolled them over her arm and stepped back across the cabin to the bed. After pulling out a heavy sweater and donning it, she stuffed the dirty clothing into the bag and turned to MacGlenary.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  MacGlenary’s concentration was unbroken, his head bent to his task, so Blaire simply turned and walked to the door.

  ****

  Darian lifted his eyes off his writing and stared at Blaire Crystal Kincaid’s back as she sashayed her little pixie butt across his floor. Leaving? Yeah. Tell me another one.

  The cold blast of air burst through the door the second Blaire opened it, hitting Darian square in the face and ruffling the pages of his notebook. He stil
l stared at her back, frozen like a statue, silhouetted against the blanket of white in front of her. About a bucket of snow whipped in the door around her feet. Still, she didn’t move. Darian chuckled to himself.

  Then she slammed the door shut and turned in anger.

  Her eyes narrowed. Her breathing deepened. She stared at him with a vengeance and then pointed behind her. “There’s a blizzard out there!”

  Stone-faced and silent, Darian simply nodded his agreement.

  Blaire hurriedly stepped closer to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t know.”

  “Yes, you did. You were out earlier. I could have gotten out of here then. Now it’s going to be—”

  “Days.”

  “And I need to get—”

  “Out of here? Now? I don’t think so.”

  Blaire’s eyes widened. “Stop finishing my sentences!”

  “Didn’t know I was.”

  “Well you do it all the time and it’s annoying.” Hastily, she turned away and made an attempt at throwing her duffel bag and brief case at the bed. She missed and both landed with a thud on the floor.

  Darian’s gaze followed the flung objects. “Nice shot.”

  “I’m not aiming for accuracy.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “I’m—” Blaire stared at him. What did he mean by that crack?

  “Mad as hell, I see.”

  “Would you please stop?”

  Darian stared at her. “I’ll stop when you stop acting like a raving lunatic. It’s just a snow storm. It will pass in a few days.” He dropped his head back to his work.

  “A few days? A few days? I’m ready to leave now.”

  “No you’re not.” He still faced his work.

  “Don’t tell me what I am, and am not, ready to do.”

  Slowly, Darian raised his head, his gaze settling on her face several feet in front of him. “All right. Go then.”

  Blaire nervously twitched toward the door and then back to face him. She stood for several long seconds, her chest heaving, a frown on her face, staring back at Darian. She almost turned once more back to the door but then stopped before she made a fool of herself.