Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance)

by McSparren, Carolyn

  Vic stood under the shelter of the porch and tossed her keys to one of the young men in ski jackets. They had all pulled their hoods up against the driving sleet. “Botheration! Look at this,” she said.

  The truck slid around the curve of the driveway and slid to a shuddering halt at the foot of the porch stairs. “Get in, I’ll drive,” Jamey said.

  “You sober?”

  “As a judge.”

  The trees were already shimmering under a coat of ice. The road in front of Connaway’s house still remained relatively clear, but Jamey felt the car shimmy slightly as they drove over a small bridge. He slowed and concentrated on his driving. As the windshield wipers thocked, he said, “I’ll check the horse blankets when we get home. They’re going to need all the warmth they can get tonight.”

  “Mm.”

  They drove in silence. Jamey wondered how soon Vic would begin to lay into him for his near attack on their host. He didn’t plan on starting the discussion if he could avoid it. They passed a car that had slipped off the road into the median. A man stood beside it with a phone to his ear, and waved them on.

  “You certainly had a good time,” she said at last. He knew that tone. He suspected male children were born knowing that tone.

  “My feet will never be the same.”

  “Really? I had no idea you were such a good dancer.”

  “I kept trying to dance with you. Where did you run off to?”

  “You seemed well taken care of in every way. I circulated. I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  “How sweet.”

  Uh-oh.

  He needed all his skill to keep from skidding. If this kept up, by morning there’d be a couple of inches of ice on every surface. Ahead of him he saw already heavily coated branches leaning dangerously close to the top of the truck. This sort of thing didn’t happen in Oban. Plenty of snow, plenty of rain and fog, but he’d never seen ice like this before. He felt the car skid and took his foot off the gas. He’d have to drive the curved road to ValleyCrest without touching his brakes. He slipped the truck into four-wheel drive.

  Vic apparently realized the seriousness of the situation. She didn’t say another word until they turned into the ValleyCrest gate. “Thank God,” she whispered.

  He wanted to give her one of his “Jamey won’t let you get hurt, lass” statements, but he suspected it would cause more trouble than he could handle at the moment. He knew Vic must be annoyed because he’d insulted Vach, but he also thought she was more than a little jealous. And that lifted his heart.

  As he turned in front of the barn, he glanced at his gloved hand on the wheel. The hell with it. Maybe it was time he learned to make love with one hand tied behind his back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Srr IN THE CAR. I’ll check the horses,” Jamey said.

  “In that suit?”

  “You’re not doing it in that dress, Vic, and definitely not in high heels. I won’t be a minute.”

  Vic watched him walk carefully into the barn. The sleet was growing heavier by the minute. Now that the engine wasn’t running, she could hear the crack and pop of the trees as they moved inside their cocoons of ice. If this continued, there’d be trees down before morning. Trees and power lines and telephone lines and every other kind of line down, as well.

  Had she replaced the propane cylinders in the camping lanterns she kept for these emergencies? Did the flashlights have new batteries? She wasn’t sure.

  There was plenty of feed, plenty of hay. The horses wouldn’t miss a meal. The water buckets were heated, so the horses would have water, but in the morning they’d have to give each horse a warm bran mash to keep tummies happy. And they’d have to be walked or turned loose in the covered arena a few at a time.

  There was dog food and cat food and lots of wood for the fireplace stacked beside the garage. The animals would be fine.

  As for the humans things were more problematic. People might find themselves eating some very strange combinations. Visits to the grocery store were always being bumped for more important tasks.

  At least the contractors wouldn’t show up to work on Mike and Liz’s house. They seemed to use every excuse to avoid working.

  She moved restively. Jamey was taking a long time. Surely he’d come get her, high heels or no, if there were something wrong.

  He did look handsome tonight in a suit! She’d worn her highest heels because she wanted to be taller than he was. Some kind of a gesture of independence.

  And those women had descended on him like cats fighting over a particularly tasty morsel of food. So far as she could tell, he’d handled himself like a perfect gentleman. So why was she so irritated at him? She was the one who’d eluded him, not the other way around.

  She’d enjoyed having him walk in on Vach’s weekend proposition. Showed that some other male wanted her. And Vach was both rich and attractive. But these days there was only one man she wanted to be with. Even mucking out stalls took on a glow when Jamey worked beside her.

  Their relationship wouldn’t go any farther of course. She couldn’t allow it, and he, too, seemed unwilling to take the next step. There was definitely one heck of a physical attraction between them—more like high-voltage electrical current. When he touched her, she felt as though she’d stepped onto one of those electrical grids that made your hair stand on end.

  But there was more than that. She’d never known a man who could draw her anxieties away as though he were draining poison from her system.

  It was as if he carried a little circle of ease around with him. Once she stepped inside that circle, she was encompassed in the same aura that kept the stallion from screaming his head off. Sometimes when her muscles ached from too much work and her mind ached from too many contractors, too many clients, too many lessons, she felt as though she wanted to snuggle against him like a kitten beside a warm fire.

  He ran out of the barn, shoved the door shut behind him and raced through the sleet to the truck. She had the door open for him before he reached it.

  “Thanks, love,” he said as he tumbled in. “Bloody hell! What a night.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” He backed the truck out carefully and drove at a steady pace up the hill to the front of the house. “If we leave this truck sitting out, we’ll have a hell of a coating of ice on it tomorrow.”

  “Unfortunately the garage is impassable. Still full of boxes. Maybe I can take tomorrow to do some unpacking. Get a few books on shelves.”

  “Happy to help.” He stopped the truck and switched off the engine. “Here, wait until I’ve got the front door open and don’t run up the steps. You’ll break that beautiful neck.”

  They waited on the porch while the dogs took care of their evening run—quickly.

  “How about some hot cocoa?” Jamey said. “I make a mean cup.”

  “Sounds good.” She slipped her high heels off her feet at the front door and massaged her insteps. “Lord, I do hate dressing up.”

  “You should do it more often. You’ve a lovely body for a dress.” He dropped his suit jacket on the nearest chair, pulled his tie off, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and headed for the kitchen.

  She followed him with her eyes. He said the most astounding things so casually—calling her love and telling her she had a lovely body. He obviously had no idea how his words affected her.

  He knew where everything was—the cocoa, sugar, milk. He moved around her kitchen as though it was his own. She stood across the living room in the semidarkness and watched him in the light as though he were on a stage. His forearms were smooth and muscular, and the fingers of his left hand were supple. The black kid glove on his right jarred her each time he used it to measure the sugar or stir the saucepan.

  He whistled that strange tune under his breath again. The melody twined around her body and suffused her with the same sort of exhilaration she got from too much champagne. He didn’t even seem to be a
ware of her, and yet every fiber of her was aware of him.

  He turned from the stove, poured two mugs of cocoa, then raised his eyes and smiled at her. “Here, love, just the thing to warm you up on a cold night.” He held the mug out to her. His face seemed to swim in the steam that rose from it. She was afraid that if she took even one step toward him, all her reserve would shatter and she’d rush into his arms.

  She squared her shoulders and walked across the floor in her stocking feet.

  “With me in shoes and you in bare feet, I top you by a good inch or two,” he said cheerfully. The first indication that he’d noticed her high heels.

  He laughed when he saw her blush. “It didn’t bother me. I loved having such a great beauty on my arm. My manhood’s not tied up in my height—or lack of it.”

  She had no idea what to reply. She simply stood across the table from him and sipped her chocolate. “This is good,” she said lamely.

  “Put it down, lass.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  “Put it down, anyway.” He set his cup down and moved around the table until he stood within arm’s length of her. “Put it down and come to me. It’s time.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. You know what I mean. We’ve circled the issue like a couple of jewel thieves carefully ignoring the Hope diamond. The diamond’s there whether we acknowledge it or not.”

  “What issue?”

  “The issue that I want you badly, so badly I am in severe danger of losing my few wits. And you want me, though you’re terrified to admit it even to yourself.” He gently took the cup from her and caressed her hands.

  “Jamey—”

  “You trusted me enough to ride a horse for me. Can you not trust me enough to make love?”

  She pulled her hands away. “I don’t think I’m much good at making love.”

  “Ah, but I am.” He sighed and held up his right hand. “Or I was once upon a time. Why do you think I haven’t crept down the stairs the last few nights and climbed into your bed? It’s because of this...this foul thing. I couldn’t bear to touch you with it. But tonight, somehow I’ll make do with other parts of my anatomy, if you’ll have me.”

  She stared at him openmouthed, then reached for his right hand, held his wrist, slowly, gently, peeled the black kid away and dropped the glove on the table. Then she raised his scarred fingers to her lips. She held his palm against her cheek and closed her eyes. “I can think of a million reasons we shouldn’t make love, but this is not one of them.”

  “Ah, lass,” he said, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck. “There’s a million reasons against and only one reason for. We both want it. That’s enough. You smell like champagne and camellias. I want to drown in the scent of you.”

  “This is crazy.”

  His lips traced the pulse that raced in her throat. “Not so crazy as lying apart on a cold night like this.” He kissed her eyelids and ran his fingers gently down her spine till she shivered in his arms.

  “It’s been a long time. I’ll disappoint you and embarrass myself.”

  He stopped instantly and stepped back. “We’re not in a contest here, Victoria. Nobody’s giving out grades. You don’t have to please me.” He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face so that he could kiss her gently. “We’ve got the whole long night ahead of us. For once in your life let someone else do the pleasuring. I won’t rush you. I want to savor every moment.”

  She hunched her shoulders, backed out of his arms and turned away from him. “I’m no shivering virgin. I know what you’re asking. What you want.”

  “What you want?”

  “All right. Yes.” She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “So why am I so scared?”

  She thought he’d come to her, take her in his arms, kiss her until she lost the desire to resist him. Instead, he stayed where he was. “I’m asking you to strip off your soul’s armor, love,” he said sadly. “A soul without armor can be wounded.”

  “Will you wound me, then?”

  “I may wound you deeply. Not because I want to. You may wound me, as well.” He held out his scarred hand to her. “Do you dare to risk it?”

  “Your eyes to my eyes?”

  “Your hand to my hand.”

  She stretched out her hand and wound her fingers through his.

  He closed his eyes and let out his breath. “Come on, then.” He led her to her bedroom, stepped inside and fumbled for the light switch.

  “Jamey, don’t. I haven’t undressed before a man in a very long time.”

  “All right, love, for now.” He turned and slid his arms around her waist. “I’ve touched a fair amount of you already. I know how beautiful you are.” He chuckled softly and sent shivers up her spine. “Besides, what man could resist the only naked lady in the room?”

  For all her words, she felt just like a virgin again—seventeen, uncertain of what was expected of her. She’d only slept with one boy before Frank, who had hardly been the world’s greatest lover even when he was young and she was still capable of bearing him children. After her accident, he seemed to lose interest except on rare occasions. Since his death there’d been no one.

  How could she take her panty hose off without looking stupid, particularly since she was wearing a pair of white cotton panties under them? The panties would show through and look ridiculous. She didn’t wear lacy bras and thong panties.

  And she had her own scars from the half-dozen operations to pin her pelvis back together. If she was actually going to commit this folly, then she definitely needed to do it in the dark.

  These thoughts flashed through her mind so quickly that Jamey had barely begun to kiss her again, leaning her against the bedroom wall while his body pressed against her.

  The moment his tongue sought hers, she responded, and conscious thought began to fade, supplanted by instinct, desire and simple need.

  She did want him, wanted to touch his beautiful body, caress him, learn once more what it meant to be female, to feel a man’s strong hands on her, smell the musky scent of his sweat, feel his erection against her belly and know that she was already wet and throbbing, aching to feel the weight of him above her, within her.

  His fingers—she no longer knew nor cared which hand—stroked her breast through the soft wool fabric of her dress and her thin bra. Waves of pleasure shot through her as his thumbs moved back and forth across her swollen nipples. She dug her fingers into the muscles along his spine and slid down his hips to press him against her. He was already aroused and moved against her in a rhythm that she answered instinctively.

  He devoured her mouth, and his hand dropped to pull her dress up, then slid under it and up her thigh. She moaned.

  “Too fast?” he whispered against her mouth.

  “No!”

  She tried to reach the zipper at the back of her dress, but he forestalled her. He pulled her with him away from the wall, pulled the zipper down, slid her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor between them. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and buried her face in his shoulder.

  He lay back on the bed with her on top of him. She felt his fingers unhook her bra, pull it off. She leaned on her hands on either side of him while he caressed her breasts, ran his tongue across her nipples and forced gasps from her. Then he rolled her beneath him and his fingers found the waistband of her panty hose. It no longer mattered how they came off so long as they did—quickly. His lips slid down her rib cage. As he slid her panties down her stomach, his lips followed, finding the newly naked skin the moment it was exposed.

  And how exposed! As though he’d flayed her alive, leaving a network of nerve endings no longer shielded by flesh.

  She reached for the buttons of his shirt, but he got there first and simply tore the shirt open and shrugged out of it.

  Even in the moonlit darkness she could see
that the scars on his right arm did not stop at wrist or forearm, but went all the way to his shoulder. She raised her head and traced the cicatrices with her tongue, while her free hand slid down to find his belt buckle and stroke the bulge below.

  She was rewarded with a gasp. He pulled away from her for a moment, stripped off his shoes and socks, then both trousers and underwear in one motion.

  The muscles of his body stood out in relief as though they’d been carved by some ancient Greek. There was no hair on him except for a dark pelvic triangle.

  She reached to encircle him, caress him, stroke the length of him as he knelt above her. Her legs were already spread, and she was swollen and aching for him.

  She thought that if he didn’t take her right that instant, she’d die.

  His fingers caressed her, slipped into her and then she felt him slide down her body until his fingers were replaced with his tongue.

  She cried out. No man had ever done that to her before. Whatever consciousness remaining to her exploded. Waves of pleasure battered her.

  She locked her fingers in Jamey’s hair and tried to remember how to breathe. The first shivers of orgasm pulsed and grew.

  She’d never experienced a feeling this intense, this cataclysmic. It seemed to crest, recede and crest again. As the final wave ebbed, he raised his body, entered her and drove her on an even higher wave.

  Sensory overload blew the circuits that kept the barriers to her psyche in working order. From this moment on, whatever happened between them, wherever he wound up, if he left in the morning or stayed a lifetime, there would never be, could never be, another mate for her.

  WELL, HE’D DONE IT Now, hadn’t he? Bloody hell. At his age he should have been able to control his libido better. But after Vic took his scarred hand and held it to her cheek, any hope he had of retreating was gone. Not that he’d been willing to retreat before that. He’d started it, after all. He’d known the moment she took her coat off at the party that he couldn’t endure one more miserably lonely night without her.

  The confrontation with Vach Connaway had been the last straw. He’d been one step from open warfare in defense of his woman—a woman who at that point was not, in any sense of the word, his.