She crouched beside the bird, picked up a wing and examined it. “I guess if you can go out and shoot it, the least I can do is cook it,” she mumbled. “So what do I do here, mountain man?”
Darian crossed the room and knelt beside her. He lifted the wing that Blaire still held in her hand, their fingers touching. After several seconds, she covered his hand with hers. “Darian, I’m sorry. I was out of line earlier. I don’t know why I mentioned—”
Without a sound, Darian took both her hands and lifted her to her feet. Standing in front of him, their hands still clasped, Blaire found herself staring at the row of dull eggshell buttons on his brown flannel shirt placket. She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m an idiot.”
He crooked a finger under her chin and lifted. The corner of Darian’s mouth turned up slightly beneath the coarse whiskers of his mustache. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I am.” She watched his face, every wrinkle around his eyes, every expression that dared form there. “And, and not just for the turkey thing. I shouldn’t have said… I mean, earlier… I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“About Angelina. N-Nicky.”
It wasn’t lost on her how painful it was for him to say their names. His grimace made her heart ache. What was his story?
For several minutes, he simply stood there, searching her face. “I want to tell you about them,” he began. “I do. All of it. But not now. Later. Right now I need to think. I’ve pushed everything so far away, for so long, I’m not sure I know where to start.”
He dropped her hands and picked up the bird. “Besides, I’ve got a turkey to pluck. Let’s have dinner, then talk. That is, if you want to listen.”
Blaire nodded. “I do.”
****
It took most of the morning to ready the turkey for the oven, all of the afternoon and into the evening to roast it, and until well after nightfall that their bellies were full of wild turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread, and canned green beans.
They’d worked together, neither mentioning any event that had occurred between them prior to that moment, simply preparing their feast together, almost in harmony.
Darian faced Blaire across the table, her strawberry blond head bathed in the warm glow of the kerosene lamp next to her. He’d stared at her in silence for quite some time. At first, she didn’t notice, as she finished her meal. Then, when things were too quiet, she lifted her eyes and met his. Her freckled nose reminded him of a spotted newborn fawn, fresh, new and untouched. Somehow, he thought of her that way. Unspoiled. He didn’t know why. She was just so damn beautiful.
Darian blinked and realized he was smiling. She smiled back. That perfect bow mouth smiled back at him.
“Good dinner,” she finally said.
He nodded. “Good company.”
Blaire stopped chewing, her smile faded, their gazes held. After swallowing the last bite, she lowered her fork to the table. She stood and picked up her plate. “Guess we better clean up now.” She went to the sink.
Darian followed. She’d started pumping water like she’d done it every day for years, but he grasped her elbow and gently turned her toward him. “Leave it. We need to talk.”
After a second’s hesitation, she answered. “I know. I’m just not sure about what I’m going to hear.”
****
Blaire had thought about it all afternoon. Since they had promised not to discuss any of it until after dinner, she hadn’t brought it up, but her mind hadn’t stopped wandering from time to time. There were too many questions. Why was he here? Where was Nicky and Angelina? What has Darian been running from for all these years? Why did he leave Vermont so young and never go back? What kind of a man is Darian MacGlenary, anyway? Did he have anything to offer her? And why, suddenly, did it matter so much?
She didn’t know. But now, as this man took her shaking hands to lead her across the room to sit before the fire, she realized that the answers would all become apparent soon. Perhaps too soon. What if she didn’t really want to know the answers to all those questions?
The room was dark save for one lit lamp on the table where they were eating and the light from the fire. Darian sat on the pallet of quilts he’d slept on the night before and pulled Blaire down beside him. For a while, she sat there, staring into the fire, feeling his gaze on her—then not being able to stand it any longer, she looked at him.
His large hand cradled her face, whisked back a few stray hairs from near her eyes. Darian gathered her into his arms, against his ruggedly massive chest, and held her to him. She heard his contented sigh; felt his soft caresses on her back—and closed her eyes against the warmth she felt between them, his heart beating strong against hers.
She was feeling close to him. Dangerously close. Not just physically, but emotionally. And she needed, wanted it. Could she handle it?
Could he?
Then, as if reading her mind, he released her and leaned away. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just needed to hold you for a minute.”
“Tell me, Darian,” she said softly.
He turned toward the fire. Blaire watched his profile as he worked out the words he wanted to say. The expressions racing across his face ran the gamut of emotion.
“Have you ever seen anyone die?” he whispered, his gaze still fixed on the fire.
Blaire felt a jolt of panic grip her. “No.”
He waited for a length of time and then continued, his voice low and broken. “Have you ever held someone in your hands, felt the breath fade out of them, their life slip away—knowing that there was nothing you could do about it? Knowing that you were responsible for it?”
Oh no. Blaire watched his face freeze hard as he stared into the fire.
He looked hard at her. “Have you?” he urged.
Blaire shook her head. “No.”
He swallowed and then looked back to the fire. “Well, I have.”
Blaire grasped his hand, gently weaving her fingers with his. “Talk to me.”
He turned on her then, his face contorted in pain. Ripping his hand from her grasp, he lunged away and stood. “You don’t want to know about it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do.” She stood and faced him.
He stared at her for a moment longer and then broke away, raking his fingers through his hair. He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“You’re running away again, Darian. Or you’re fighting the urge, at least.”
He stopped directly in front of her. “I’m not.”
She grasped his arm. “You are.” Her voice was calm. “Darian, you are.” Her free hand grasped his other arm. His muscles grew tense and she sensed his urgency at bolting away from her. But he didn’t. He fought it—and he didn’t. “Sit down. Tell me about it.”
He collapsed, crumpled to the floor at Blaire’s feet, his head falling into his hands. Blaire followed, and sat before him.
“Tell me,” she repeated softly, laying her hands over his on each side of his face.
He took a deep breath. His face rose. The pain he was feeling was evident.
“I killed my son.”
Ohmigod. She stopped breathing. Knew she had because it was like someone punched her in the stomach and all the breath in her had exited in a painful force, leaving her lungs burning. His eyes played over her face and Blaire knew he could see the horror there. Stunned, she forced herself to speak, her voice soft, but quivery. “What do you mean, you killed your son?”
Breathing heavily, he continued. “I killed him.” His eyes closed and Blaire saw a lone tear roll down his cheek and be absorbed into his beard. Then his head lowered and he sobbed. “I killed him.”
Before she knew it, she was holding him. She, with her tiny body, wrapped her small arms around his hulky frame, soothed and comforted him. His head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. When he had quieted, when he had lifted his head and sat up straight in front of her, and after she had brushed his tears away with
her fingertips, she inquired of him just once more.
“You have to tell me, Darian. Tell me what happened.”
He began without hesitation. “I married Angelina seven years ago. Fell completely in love with her while on a quick trip to Texas to see an acquaintance about a job. I didn’t get the job, but I got her. We married after only a few weeks. I took her back to Ohio where I was living at the time, found another job, then we had Nicky.” He looked at her then. “But you knew about Nicky and Angelina.”
Blaire shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Not really. I found their pictures in a box in your cabinet back there. I’m sorry, I was looking for…”
He shook his head and gripped her hands tighter. “Doesn’t matter. So you don’t know?”
Blaire shook her head. “No, Darian,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened. Tell me what happened to Nicky.”
Stone-faced, he stared back at her. “I told you.”
“No,” Blaire returned. “I don’t believe you killed your son.”
“Same as.”
Tension began a slow release over her shoulders. “What happened?”
Darian blurted it out in one deep breath, the words tumbling out one after the other until the story was all told. “When Nicky was three years old he drowned in our backyard swimming pool. He was under the water too long, I couldn’t save him. I tried, Blaire, I tried. But he wouldn’t breathe, he was turning blue, and I held him. I held him and I administered CPR, emergency breathing, everything I knew how to do. I couldn’t save him. My son died in my arms and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.”
“You didn’t kill him, Darian.”
He stood and began pacing again. “Yes! Yes I did. Don’t you see? I was an EMT, trained to keep people alive. And I couldn’t even keep my own son alive. I panicked, Blaire. I panicked. I couldn’t save him. I put the damn pool in the backyard, even though Angelina was frightened of it because of Nicky. I caused his death. She didn’t want to put it in, I did. I assured her Nicky was safe. I was so all-fire sure and cocky that I could keep my family safe. That I could keep them out of harm’s way. Well, I couldn’t. I lost Nicky. I lost Angelina too.”
“Angelina?”
Darian stopped pacing and pinned her to the floor with his gaze. “Yes, Angelina too. She walked out on me. Said she couldn’t live with a murderer. I let her go back to Texas. Haven’t heard from her since. Hell, I could hardly live with myself, I wasn’t going to force her to be miserable right alongside me if she didn’t want to. Besides, I wasn’t much comfort for her anyway.”
Blaire let the words settle around them for a moment. “So that’s when you came here?”
He nodded. “Four years ago. And I haven’t spoken to anyone about it since.” He lowered his gaze to the floor and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Blaire. I didn’t mean to let all that rage out on you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have burdened you with all that.”
“I asked you to.” Blaire smiled and stepped closer to him. “Are you okay?” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
He tugged her close and shook his head against her shoulder. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever get over it. I don’t think I can.”
“It’s not your fault, Darian.” His arms tensed in her arms. “You will never forget it, Darian,” she whispered near his ear, “but you’ve got to do something to lessen the pain. And I’m not sure holing yourself up in this cabin is the answer.”
He lifted his head to look into her eyes, a dead serious expression on his face. “I don’t think I’ll ever in my life know what the best thing is for me, because I’m never again going to put myself in the position to know.”
****
The cabin was so still. The only thing Blaire heard was her own breathing, and that of Darian’s as he lay before the fire. As Blaire lay alone, naked, in the huge bed, thoughts of the morning’s incident, when Darian fell over her and pressed her body into the mattress, raced through her head. Since everything else had crowded her thoughts throughout the remainder of the day—the turkey, the dinner, Darian’s heartfelt confession of what had happened to Nicky—she hadn’t really had time to absorb it. Suddenly though, every feeling, every sensation that raced over her body this morning, and as Darian held her this evening, came back to her with an abrupt realization. She had wanted him, more than she ever wanted any man. She was growing to care for him, love him even, maybe. And that notion in itself, was a unique revelation. For she’d never wanted, or loved, any man before.
But she had wanted Darian. And she still did.
The sensation of warmth he’d stoked within her just at the feel of his heavy body draped over hers had kindled the flames within her that had never been lit. And as his lips brushed across hers with a passion she’d never experienced before, the flames licked higher. When he touched her breast, brief though it was, she thought she would explode from spontaneous combustion.
But when he jerked his body away, he’d left her cold and helpless and hurting. Emotionally hurting. And what had he said? I can give you one night, maybe two.
Well, maybe that was enough.
Blaire rolled over and perched her upper body on one elbow and looked a few feet in front of the foot of the bed where Darian lay by the fireplace. His back was to her, but she could see his form draped with the blankets, the top of his massive shoulders peeking out from the quilt, the streaks of gray running though his hair sparkling in the firelight. And she knew—knew that it had all come down to this final moment.
Do I go to him? Or do I let him come to me?
Blaire stared at his back. It had to be his choice.
Her whisper broke the silence. “You never asked me, Darian, if just one night, or two, was okay with me.”
She saw his back tense. After a long moment’s pause, in the same hushed voice as Blaire’s, he returned, “Is it?”
It only took her another second to answer. “Yes.”
He rose then, without a second’s hesitation, as if he would change his mind if he faltered; flinging the quilts off his body as he did, and came to her. As he stood beside the bed, Blaire felt her heart pound out a primeval rhythm so alien, but yet so familiar. The muted glow of the firelight bounced across the shadows and planes of his nude body, illuminating the man in perfection. When he threw back the quilts covering her, slid between them, then pulled her into his arms next to that body, she knew that he was indeed perfect.
Blaire trembled as he reached out and cupped her face in the palm of his large hand. The cabin was dark, but the fireplace added the perfect glow around them. They could see each other’s faces, and the expressions that lied therein, kind of like a mystical halo surrounding them both. And she could see on his face that he was as physically, and perhaps emotionally, aroused as she.
Blaire felt his hand trail down the length of her, settling over one hip, pulling her closer into his body. The hard length of him seared against her as his hand covered her derriere and urged her even closer.
His lips were inches from hers. “You are so tiny.”
A twinge of panic raced through Blaire. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Darian smiled. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“But,” Blaire returned as her gaze played over his face, “I know I’m not…very…um, well endowed, so to speak.”
She felt Darian’s hand snake up her waist and cup her breast. Then she watched as his head fell to her breast and he placed his lips over her already erect nipple and sucked. Her eyes closed and she felt as though her entire world slipping away. When he separated his mouth from her breast and brought his face up next to hers, Blaire opened her eyes to look at him.
“To me, you’re perfect.”
Blaire felt her eyes misting over.
“You understand what’s happening here, don’t you?” he whispered.
Did he know? Could he tell she was a virgin already? “I’m not
a school child, Darian.”
He chuckled low and soft and then brushed his lips across hers. “No, that’s not what I meant. I can’t offer you more than tonight, or perhaps the few nights you’ll be here.”
Looking into his eyes, Blaire saw only the shadow of the beast. “I understand perfectly.”
He nuzzled his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder and sighed. “I just hope I do,” he whispered ever so softly.
“Wha…?”
****
He wouldn’t let her respond. He didn’t want to think about it now. Didn’t want her to think about it.
Darian covered her body with his. Threading his fingers through her short wisps of hair, he gazed into her face and her eyes for only a second, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and took of her—drank of her nectar, dipping his tongue in and out like a bee sucking up pollen. He felt her arms around him, holding him to her—felt her moving beneath him as she met each jab of his tongue, parry for thrust.
She moaned, and Darian grew harder, the proof of his sexuality grinding into the junction of her thigh and pelvis. He pushed up and just looked at her.
The muted light from the fireplace flickered over her passion-filled face and danced across her pink-flushed breasts. Her chest heaved and her eyes, searching his, played over him. Then he lunged again, his head at her breast, her fingers threading through his hair holding him close to her.
Sliding his body down hers, he raked his tongue and beard along her peaked nipples and lavishly suckled and then dropped lower to her tiny waist, spanning it with his hands, holding her there for him as his lips snaked lower, kissing, licking.
Blaire murmured his name, soft as a feather on her lips.
When his mouth reached her inner thigh, Blaire started, and he cooed to her and massaged her thighs with his hands until she relaxed and opened her body to him. As he watched her face, her eyes closed as she seemed to melt into the pillow, her fingers still kneading his shoulders.
She was dewy soft. And as his lips trailed to the place most moist—the place he sought—his tongue captured her and Blaire arched into his mouth.
Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance) Page 8