Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance)

by James, Maddie

  “Forget it. This is ridiculous.” She stomped off to the bed and sat on the edge and faced Darian who promptly returned his gaze to his work. She crossed her arms and legs, harrumphed loudly, and shook her foot rapidly back and forth.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, Blaire’s anger growing fiercer by the minute. Finally, she exploded. “What did you mean by that crack earlier?”

  Darian’s pencil slowed, he closed the spiral notebook with a sigh and then gave her his full attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “That crack about me aiming for accuracy.”

  “I didn’t say that, you did.”

  “Well, I know that, what you said afterward certainly sounded like you were taking potshots at me.”

  Darian shrugged. “What did I say?”

  Rolling her eyes, Blaire stood and took three steps toward him. “I said… You said… Oh, forget it! It’s not worth getting into an argument.” Blaire threw her hands up, walked to the window, turned her back to him, and stared out at the fairyland. If she weren’t so mad—if she weren’t cooped up in this tiny cabin with him, it might be kind of beautiful. But not now. It was only keeping her prisoner. With him. Funny. The cold always kept her prisoner.

  “You’ve not been totally honest with me, Pixie.”

  Blaire listened. His voice was low and husky, almost seductive. She shivered. She hoped not noticeably. So that’s what he meant. Honesty?

  “And you have?”

  “Yes. You haven’t asked me anything that I haven’t answered,” Darian quickly returned.

  “Same here.”

  “So we’ve both been avoiding the issues of importance?” Darian rose.

  “Perhaps.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” He stepped forward. Blaire felt the static of the warm, dry air in the cabin sizzle between them. “The truth?”

  Are we talking about the same thing?

  Blaire swallowed a lump forming in her throat. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell Darian exactly why she was here. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him the truth. And what truth was he after anyway? The truth about his grandfather’s estate? Or the truth about how he made her feel?

  “The truth?”

  Darian stood directly in front of her. “I’m game. How about you.”

  Backing up a half step, Blaire felt the icy coolness coming off the cold panes of the window. She lifted her chin. “I don’t have anything to tell you, Darian MacGlenary. I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’ve been totally truthful with you.”

  He inched closer, his face soft and cuddly-looking, a half-smile breaking his lips. Um…his lips. Blaire broke her gaze away from them.

  “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”

  Anger began a slow trek across her body, alongside a tingling of warmth traveling from her belly to her cheeks. He was close. Too close. “So what do you think I haven’t been honest about? Why I came here?”

  Darian’s lips drew into a puzzled frown. “No, actually that was the furthest thing from my mind.” His hand cupped her elbow. “I want you to tell me why you kissed me this morning.”

  The statement came out of nowhere and Blaire was not prepared to respond. She started to her left but was immediately caught by both elbows in Darian’s strong hands. She looked down at the length of fingers and muscled hands as they held her there. Wisps of dark hair curled out around the rolled back cuffs of his flannel shirt halfway up his arm. Damn! The shirt again. Then she made her fatal mistake. She looked up into his eyes.

  Warm pools of molten lead beckoned. These were not the beast’s eyes, she told herself, these were the eyes of the man. The inner soul. Wanting honesty…and a whole lot more. More than she could offer, no doubt, no matter how she felt at the moment.

  “Tell me, Pixie,” he whispered. “Tell me why you kissed me.”

  Blaire felt lost. Time suspended; the beating of her heart stopped. “I don’t know why I did it,” she whispered back. “I just did.”

  “Without thinking?”

  Blaire nodded.

  Darian’s hands released the grasp on her elbows and she felt them circle her back pulling her closer. “Do you do that often?”

  Blaire inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly. Cautiously shaking her head from side to side, she returned, “Never.”

  “Me neither…usually.”

  Within the expanse of a split second, Darian had tightened the embrace, and pulled Blaire even closer into his warm, flannel-covered chest. He leaned in, at first brushing over her lips as if testing the waters; then the pressure increased, and Blaire felt herself wanting to open herself to him and let him in. In more ways than one.

  The cold at her back was gone, replaced by warmth radiating from her lips to her fluttering heart, to her jittering abdomen—and lower. Burning. His tongue lightly raked across her lips, he nibbled with fire, and then he began to withdraw.

  Panic thrust through her. Not here. Not this man. No.

  Blaire pushed the palms of her hands up between them and pushed at this chest. Darian stepped back.

  “This time it was you, not me,” Blaire huffed out, trying to catch her breath.

  Darian stood before her, his hands at his sides, looking at the floor between them. When his gaze rose up to meet hers, Blaire was nearly knocked back on her heels, for Darian MacGlenary possessed the most sexy, come-hither smile Blaire believed she’d ever seen. Then he spoke in the huskiest voice she thought she’d ever heard. “Yes. This time it was me.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Blaire stepped forward. “But you said this morning—”

  Stopping mid-stride, Darian turned back. “What I said this morning doesn’t apply anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Because now it’s different.” He turned and walked back to the table and sat down, reopening his spiral notebook.

  “What? Why?” Blaire traced his steps and stood next to the table. “Why is it different?”

  Darian caught her gaze. “It just is. And if you were honest with yourself, you’d agree.”

  Blaire felt like she was caught in a puzzle she didn’t know how to get out of.

  Chapter Five

  “If you have some extra blankets or a sleeping bag or something, I’ll just make a little spot for myself on the floor. I’ll be just fine.”

  Darian glared at her. “No need for that. We’re adults. We can share the same bed. We’ve done it the last two nights anyway.”

  Blaire shook her head. “No, over there by the fireplace will be fine. You take the bed. You’ve probably not had a good night’s sleep in two nights. You deserve the bed. Really, I want to sleep here on the floor.” Blaire stepped in front of the fireplace and surveyed the area. “Just point me to the blankets.”

  Darian lifted the lid on a primitive trunk at the bed’s footboard and pulled out several old blankets and quilts. “I’ll take the floor, you take the bed.”

  Blaire took the blankets out of his hand. “No. I want to.”

  “You’ll take the bed.”

  “I’ll take the floor.”

  “The bed,” he repeated.

  “The floor,” she responded again.

  “Bed.”

  “Floor.”

  “Bed.”

  “Floor.”

  “Floor.”

  “Bed.” Damnation!

  “There. That settles it. You take the bed.” Darian glared at her through narrowed eyes. “And that’s the end of it.” He jerked the blankets out of Blaire’s grasp, stalked over to the fireplace and began layering blankets in front of it.

  Blaire stood behind him, hands on hips. “You cheated.”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Nope. All’s fair in love and war, they say.”

  “Love and war,” Blaire muttered.

  “Yeah.” Darian turned to face her. “I just can’t get it straight in my head which one
this is.”

  Blaire’s eyes widened. What! What in the hell is he talking about? Love and war? “Go to—”

  “Hell?”

  “No, Mr. Finish-My-Sentences. I was about to say go to bed. So there.”

  Blaire turned and stepped behind the quilt hanging on the other side of the bed—the one he’d hung earlier to give her privacy when dressing—and stripped off the sweater and blue-jeans and donned the T-shirt he’d loaned her for sleeping. Flinging the quilt aside, not looking at all in Darian’s direction, she threw back the covers on the bed and slid between them; after which she promptly turned on her side, away from him, with a huge sigh.

  Men.

  ****

  Darian watched, feeling the slight grin on his face fall into a frown.

  Before he turned in, Darian added two more large logs to the fire, and brought a couple more inside and placed them by the door in case he needed them throughout the night. Sitting at the table for a little while longer, he completed his journal entry for the past two days. Then he sat and simply stared at the sleeping form across the room from him. Ignoring the want surging up through his body, he quickly snapped the book shut, extinguished the coal oil lamp at the table, and then stepped across the room.

  Just before he stooped to blow out the flame on the table beside of the bed, the golden highlights of Blaire’s hair sparked in the lamplight, causing him to pause. Barely a few inches of her hair peeked out at him from beneath the covers, for she had them drawn up tight under her chin. She still faced away from him. And just when he thought he might like to reach out and touch the soft short tresses, he stopped himself and quickly blew out the flame, thrusting darkness upon the room.

  The only light was from the flame in the fireplace now, which was more than enough for Darian to make his way to the pallet on the floor. Quietly, he stripped away the layers of clothing—shirt, undershirt, jeans, underwear—until he stood naked in the dark. He glanced once more about the room, lingering momentarily on the bed in the shadows, and then lay upon the layers of blankets facing the fire. He covered himself with an old worn quilt.

  ****

  Sensing him so near, Blaire held her breath as he’d stood beside the bed. Not realizing at first that he only came closer to extinguish the flame in the kerosene lamp, she nearly trembled at the thought of him throwing back the covers and sliding into the bed beside her. Brief flashes of what his hands would feel like covering her flesh attacked the images forming in her brain. So she did all she could do: she held her breath and pretended she was asleep. And soon, but not soon enough, he blew out the light.

  Only after several minutes had passed, had she dared to move from her position facing the wall to look in his direction. And when she did, she immediately wished she hadn’t, for she was faced with the most magnificent male form humanly possible silhouetted against the orange-blue flame of the fireplace. As he peeled one article of clothing after another off his body, she grew warmer and warmer. Not from the heat of the fireplace, but from the heat building within her at watching Darian undress.

  He turned toward her then, and seemed to look directly at her. Blaire closed her eyes and held her breath once more, fearful she would give herself away. Fearful he could sense the surge building with her. Because for him to see her staring at him would only make things worse tomorrow, she was sure. Already, she was beginning to understand what he was thinking. She didn’t want him to even think he knew what she was thinking.

  ****

  “You realize, of course, that today is Thanksgiving, don’t you?”

  Darian glanced over his shoulder as she gathered the breakfast dishes off the table. “One day’s the same as another up here.” He turned back to the sink where he’d just added a pot full of boiling water to the ice-cold water from the pump.

  Blaire stepped up beside him and laid the dishes on the porcelain sink. “But Thanksgiving is kind of special, don’t you think?”

  Darian added a squirt of soap to the water, plunged the plates into the sink and began washing them. “Just another day.” He rinsed the dish in cold water and set it in the drainer. Blaire picked it up and dried it.

  He could feel her gaze upon him as he worked. Dish after dish was washed in silence. Then the huge iron skillet. Finally, he let the water out of the drain and turned to her. “Sometimes a man just doesn’t have anything to be thankful for.” Then he stalked away.

  ****

  Blaire laid the towel down beside the sink, dumbfounded. Her gaze followed him until he sat in an overstuffed chair near the window. For several minutes, she watched him stare out over the countryside. Then she couldn’t stand it any longer. “If you want, I’ll fix a special dinner for us. I mean, you’ve been cooking and everything for me, I’d be glad to—”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Okay, the civil approach doesn’t work.

  His gaze settled over the snow drifted hills.

  “All right.” She studied him for a few minutes more, took several steps across the cabin floor to him, and sat on an ottoman angled slightly in front of the chair. With her elbows on her knees, her fists propping her chin, she continued. “So, tell me the Darian MacGlenary story.” How about the blunt approach?

  Slowly, his gaze left the hills and rotated toward her. When his eyes, cold and empty, met hers, Blaire swallowed. Had she said something wrong?

  Leaning forward, his voice was low and edged in ice. “There is no Darian MacGlenary story.” His glare penetrated, pinning her directly to the ottoman, telling her with no words and so much body language to butt-the-hell-out. But Blaire wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “I think there is.”

  Darian took a huge breath and held it. As he spoke, each word punched from his mouth tinged with anger, and perhaps frustration. “And what, dear Pixie, do you think you know about me. And what do you think you want to know about me. Which incidentally is none of your goddamn business.”

  Blaire licked her suddenly parched lips and blinked her eyes. “I don’t know that much about you at all, Mr. MacGlenary, nor do I really want to know anything about you, or your business. I just thought I’d make conversation, you know?” She rose, her fists clenched. “I don’t know how you can stand it all alone up here in this isolated, god-forsaken land. I’d go loony-tunes within the week.”

  She stomped off toward the door, not sure why in the hell she was doing so. The snow was piled up outside. She wasn’t going any damn place.

  “So what do you want to know?” he growled.

  Blaire stopped in her tracks and huffed out a breath. Looking skyward, she said a little prayer for support and shrugged her shoulders. She twirled, went back to the ottoman, and sat with a thump. “I don’t know. Tell me about your childhood, your grandfather, your Aunt Reva. Tell me why you left them.”

  For several minutes he simply stared ahead. Blaire waited. Suddenly, he let loose with a string of powerful sentences that nearly knocked Blaire backward off the ottoman. “My parents died when I was six. My grandfather gave me everything I ever wanted except a hug. My Aunt Reva was the bitch from hell and my legal guardian. She physically abused me until I was too old for her to sit on, then she let loose with the verbal and emotional abuse. I never had anyone to tuck me in at night or read me a story, never anyone to take me to father-son events, never a family member at my baseball games, and never an encouraging word from either one of them. Needless to say my childhood was no picnic. I was a loner. Still am. And that, my dear Pixie, is that.” He punched his body up straight and stood, as if the exclamation point to his diatribe.

  Blaire sensed his pain and saw it etched across his face. Reaching out, she cupped his hand in hers. “Darian,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Think. Yeah. I know. You didn’t think. Well, before you go asking people to dig up the skeletons in their closets, you might want to think about how it might make them feel.”

  Blaire stood and faced him. “I said I’m sor
ry, Darian. I never meant—”

  “Forget it.” He turned his back and walked away.

  “But don’t you want to talk about it? Don’t you think it might help you to talk about it?”

  His nostrils flared. “Who made you junior counselor?” he went on. “I don’t want to talk about it. I told you that.”

  “Then why…?”

  He turned on her then. “Dammit, Blaire. Get off of it! You’re like a puppy nipping at my heels! I don’t want to talk about Vermont or anything connected with it. I don’t want to think about my past. It’s none of your goddamned business, so stay the hell out of it!”

  “Fine!”

  “Great!”

  “It’s your life!” Retreat, Blaire. Get away from him. Remove yourself. Do you have to be so damned nosy? Where’s your P.I. bedside manner? Why do you goad him so?

  She rushed across the room, shutting him out of her head, and physically taking him out of her line of sight. Damned man! Makes me so angry! She spotted a book on a shelf and picked it up.

  “Yeah, it is!”

  “Good!” She plopped herself on the bed, crossed her feet at her ankles, and opened the book in front of her face. So, if he wants to be the beast, let him be the beast. I will not let him get to me. He can wallow in pain in this cabin for eternity, for all I care. So there, sucker.

  Be the goddamned beast!

  She nosed her face to the book.

  Darian stood across the room and watched her.

  For a long time.

  She could tell.

  She could sense his every movement and felt his stare. After a moment, her gaze still fixed to the pages in front of her, she heard the plank floor boards creak as he approached the bed. Her insides twittered.

  She turned a page. Her eyes followed the line of words.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. She turned another page.

  He leaned closer. She rolled to her side and propped the book squarely between them.

  “Good book?”

  “Fantastic,” Blaire blurted out.

  “Excellent author, don’t you think?”

  “Wonderful.”