Turn Up the Heat

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Bellamy, your room at the resort is nice. This bottle of wine”—he paused to free the cork from the bottle with a flick of his wrist, the muted pop serving as a soft punctuation mark to emphasize his point—“is nice. I don’t think I’d put my cabin in the same category. But it keeps me dry and warm, so really, I can’t complain.” His eyes gleamed over a half smile as he reached up to open one of the three cupboards in the kitchen.

  “You really are a skip-the-pleasantries kind of guy, huh?” she said, rooting through a drawer for a knife.

  “What gave it away?” Shane poured the wine into two juice glasses and handed one to her. “Sorry about the glasses. It’s this or nothing.”

  She held hers up and clinked it against his. “This is great, thanks. You want to make yourself useful? I could use a hand.” Bellamy was in her element, the ingredients already spinning around in her head, whispering about how they should be put together. She eyed the sweet potatoes and apples, mentally trying to work in how she wanted them to go with the pork chops still nestled in the bag. Thank God she’d grabbed fresh rosemary and some olive oil in case Shane hadn’t been kidding about having the barest kitchen in town. Yeah, this would work out just fine. She looked up at Shane, realizing he hadn’t answered her question, or even moved since she’d started scrubbing the potatoes at the sink. “What?” she asked. He had the funniest look on his face, and hell if she could place it. “Do you hate sweet potatoes or something?” Oh, shit. He’d seen her put them in the cart, but still. Maybe he just wanted to be polite or something. She should’ve asked.

  “No, they’re my favorite.”

  “Oh. You just had a look on your face, that’s all. Are you sure they’re okay? I don’t have to put them in.” Eh, that was only sort of true. The dish would be kind of weird without them, but she could figure something out.

  “Are you always this comfortable when you cook?” Shane’s expression shifted but didn’t change all the way, fluctuating into something sensual as he hooked his thumb through the belt loop of his jeans and leaned into the counter, facing her.

  Heat shot through Bellamy’s body and pooled between her hips, reaching down into her core with fiery twinges she had no hope of ignoring. “I, um . . .” Focus. Focus. Focusfocusfocusfocus on the food. “Yes.”

  Shane kept his eyes on hers as he moved so close she could feel the warmth rolling off of his body. He snaked an arm around her waist, and she drew in a sharp breath at his touch.

  “You don’t have any idea, do you?”

  If she’d had any damned willpower to speak of, she’d have reminded him that she was supposed to be making dinner. But he was sliding her turtleneck away from her ear with fiery suggestion, sipping on the skin of her neck with such sweet little nibbles that her knees threatened to go on strike. Never mind what the rest of her wanted to do.

  “Have any . . . oh, God, that feels really good,” Bellamy sighed, tilting her head to give him better access to her now-bare neck. Would it be bad form to just whip her shirt off in the kitchen? “Have any idea of what?”

  “How happy you look around food, even in my shoe box of a kitchen.” He traced his tongue around the outer curve of her ear, following with the edge of his teeth.

  “We’re never going to eat,” she murmured in the world’s weakest protest. Those pork chops had looked good, too.

  “Oh yes we are,” Shane said, pulling back to give her a suggestive grin.

  She couldn’t help it. She broke out laughing. “Shane!”

  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up, laughing with her. “But you do, you know.” He took a step back from her, and she felt a pang of disappointment mixed in with the rush of anticipation of what she was in for later as he washed his hands and reached for the knife and the sweet potatoes.

  “What, look happy around food?” She got to work taking the pork chops out so she could season them.

  Shane nodded. “Everything about you changes a little when you look at it. How do you want me to cut these?” he asked, motioning to the counter.

  “Chopped would be perfect. They’re kind of a pain, so be careful.” Bellamy tilted her head at the pork chops and got to work.

  He chuckled. “You say chopped like it means something other than ‘cut in half.’ You want to be more specific for those of us who are culinarily challenged?”

  The edges of Bellamy’s lips curved into a smile. “Sorry. Pieces about this big, give or take.” She held up her fingers about two inches apart.

  “Now we’re talkin’.” He started to wash the sweet potatoes, laid back as ever next to her in the kitchen. “So, can I ask you a personal question?”

  Bellamy thought of what they’d just been doing and fought off the urge to giggle. If Shane wanted to get personal, she was all for it. “Sure.”

  “Why are you really afraid to go to culinary school?”

  Her head snapped up. “I’m not.”

  He slipped a dubious glance at her, but didn’t argue. “I’m just asking because it’s obvious, even to a gearhead like me, that you’d be great at it. It doesn’t make any sense to skip out on what you’re really made for unless you’ve got a damned good reason. Especially when it’s right in front of you.”

  Bellamy hedged, starting to chop the apples with the knife he passed her way. “I was thinking maybe I could go into management for a catering company or a restaurant or something,” she admitted. She’d done a casual Internet search after she’d gotten off the phone with the head of HR at the bank and found that she was pretty well qualified to do both of those things, although she’d need to really do her homework about the industry to make it work.

  “Yeah, but that’s only half the brass ring. Are you really going to be able to watch chefs do their job while you do yours in a power suit on the sidelines?”

  “Ouch,” she said, frowning at him. “I’m not sure I like the whole skip-the-pleasantries thing when it comes to stuff like this.”

  “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve got this crossroads in front of you. What would it hurt to try culinary school?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but Shane cut her off with a smoldering quirk of his lips, putting a hand on her arm that sent a little thrill of contact all the way up to her shoulder. “And I’m not buying that line about how it might wreck it for you. You’re not going to hate it, darlin’. That much is crystal clear.”

  Bellamy wanted nothing more in that moment than to tell him that he’d known her for only four days, thank you very much. He couldn’t possibly give her sound advice on something as big or impulsive as a sudden career change.

  Except that, goddamn him and his sexy little smile, he saw right through her. And he was right.

  “There’s a little more to it than that.” She kept working on dinner, and the fact that she was in Shane’s kitchen, making a casual meal just like she would at home, went a long way toward chilling her out. “I know it sounds stupid, because I’m twenty-seven, but what my parents think is kind of a big deal to me, and I don’t think they’d approve.”

  Shane’s movements jerked to a halt, freezing him to the spot where he stood next to her. Well, who could blame him for thinking it was weird? Most adults didn’t really worry about what their parents thought about their career, unless they were doing something deranged or illegal.

  Bellamy bit her lip, then figured she’d opened the bag, so she might as well let the cat prance right on out. “My parents have owned their own realty business since I was a little girl. They started it from the ground up, just the two of them.” She prepared the food while she spoke, and Shane stepped out of her way, just giving her space to move and talk.

  “So when other girls were dressing their Barbies in ball gowns, mine was bossing Ken around in board meetings. I always thought I’d be this powerful executive, because running a business looked so exciting and cool, and for my parents, it was. I don’t mean that there weren’t difficult times, because they both worked their fingers to the bone for
what they built. But they love every second of it. And I know it’ll disappoint them that I don’t, so this is hard for me.”

  A muscle ticked in Shane’s jaw as he stood, stock still, next to her at the counter. Wow, she knew it wasn’t light conversation, but he looked like someone just ran over his dog. She should’ve just kept her trap shut.

  “In the end, you’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you. I just thought you should know how it looks from the outside, that’s all,” he said, his voice tight.

  Confusion tumbled in Bellamy’s brain before finally, something clicked into place. His expression wasn’t about her at all. “You feel like talking about it?”

  Shane’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing to the food in front of them. “There isn’t really anything to talk about.” He shrugged and took a sip of his wine. The tension that had masked his face just moments earlier was gone as if it had never existed, leaving Bellamy to wonder if she was projecting her anxiety out into the world and poor Shane had just gotten caught in her web of weird neuroses.

  “Oh. Well, sorry for laying all of this on you. Like I said, I know it’s kind of weird.” She reached deep into the bottom cupboard for a sheet pan that looked like it had doubled as a snow sled. More than once. Bent and wavy was better than nothing, she supposed.

  “It’s not weird.” Shane’s glance took in the cookie sheet. “Hey, I have one of those?” His nod was akin to a big, fat who knew?

  Bellamy laughed, the strain of a couple of minutes ago swept under the rug that was her issues. “You think you’re surprised now, wait’ll you see what you can actually do with one of these babies,” she cracked, spinning it around.

  His laughter joined hers, and the sound of it warmed her, not just with its sexual heat, but with something else, something even more provocative.

  She felt right, like she wanted to be here with him, just like this, indefinitely.

  Ooookay, just because she was playing Suzie Homemaker in the guy’s kitchen was no reason to go thinking she was falling for him or anything. They’d known each other for less than a full week, and while the chemistry between them would put most science experiments to shame, it would be silly to believe that raw attraction was the same thing as, well, a straight shot to the L-word.

  “So, tell me about Pine Mountain,” she said, in an effort to move her mind from the land of the utterly ridiculous.

  Shane’s dark brows popped, as if it was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

  Which made two of them.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

  Bellamy shrugged, focusing on the food in front of her. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

  And that was how they spent the evening, with her as happy as a clam in his kitchen and him telling her about all of the intricacies of Pine Mountain. She got a little giggly over the wine, which turned out just fine, because Shane came dangerously close to gushing about the food, to the point that she actually blushed at the praise. Who would have thought that pork chops with a pomegranate reduction sauce could bring a tough guy like Shane to his knees?

  A tough guy who, at that very moment, was looking at her with some seriously seductive eyes, like he wanted to have her for dessert.

  “It gets kind of chilly in here at night. Why don’t I make a fire?”

  Too late, Bellamy thought, trying like hell to ignore the tingle that was vibrating through her like the waves of a sexed-up tuning fork. “That sounds great,” she said, trying to convince herself that it was the wine making her want to sit down.

  Sit down, tackle Shane to the ground and have her way with him . . . what was the difference, really?

  Bellamy tucked her legs beneath her as she perched on the recliner, since it was the only place in the room to sit other than the tiny breakfast table where they’d just eaten. Wow, despite its age, the chair was really comfortable.

  “So, um, do you want to watch TV or something?” Bellamy’s eyes flitted over the darkened screen before settling on Shane. He stacked a handful of logs in the stove and lit the fire as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

  “I only get a couple of channels, and the reception’s not the best.” Shane’s eyes were back on her, sending that whoa, Nelly feeling right into her gut again. He had something on his mind, all right, and it wasn’t the Tuesday night lineup on ABC.

  “Oh, right.” She peeked up at him. He was kneeling down, next to the fireplace, but his eyes were fully on hers. Want mingled with need and moved through her, replacing her blood and breath.

  “What are you thinking about?” Shane asked, his voice a perfect balance of genuine curiosity and suggestive huskiness.

  “Me?” Bellamy felt her cheeks flush as soon as the word was out. No. The other babbling blonde in the room, you dumbass.

  Shane’s laugh was a low, sexy rumble. “Yeah, you. You’ve got a look on your face.”

  “What kind of look?” Maybe if she stalled, she could come up with something non-embarrassing to say.

  He raised a delicious brow. “You looked like you wanted to come over here.”

  Holy hell. Now he was a mind reader, too. She’d better get it together, otherwise she was going to be reduced to a great, big puddle of wine and hormones, right there in his only chair.

  “Okay.” All it took was three steps before she was next to him, sitting cross-legged in front of the woodstove. The fire crackled, filling the room with intimate warmth. “This is nice.” Bellamy gestured to the stove. “Although if I’d known, I’d have bought marshmallows.”

  “Do you always think about food?” Shane picked up her hand and curved it over his, pausing to kiss the top of each of her fingers. Ohhh, mixing sweet with sinful like that was downright criminal.

  “No.” She hesitated when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, the doubt on his face clear.

  “Not always. But a lot,” she admitted.

  His lips parted in a smile that she felt in every inch of her body. “Then we can do the marshmallows next time.” He grazed his fingers up her arm, toward her shoulder, and she felt powerless to resist how electrifying the simple touch felt, even through her shirt.

  “Oh, that’s good,” she murmured, letting her eyes fall closed.

  Shane leaned in nearer, his lips so close to her ear that she had to fight back a sigh. “You must really like marshmallows.”

  She squeezed her eyes even tighter, torn between a laugh and the sigh that was still fighting for escape. “No, I meant . . .”

  Shane feathered his lips over her neck, and the sigh won out.

  “I meant you.” Her eyes fluttered open just in time to see him tense before her, and for a second she thought she’d said something wrong. But then Shane pulled back so she could see his face, his eyes black and round with desire, and her breath caught in her throat. Everything about him, from the woodsy, masculine way he smelled to the feel of his rough hands on the softest parts of her filled her up and tangled in her mind, mingling inextricably with all that had been there before in a way that she was certain could never be undone.

  And she wanted it that way.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” His voice sent tiny quakes through her insides that only intensified as he hovered over her ear again. Bellamy shook her head, unable to find the words to answer, and Shane’s breath heated her skin as he continued. “How every time I see you, I can’t think of anything other than how good you taste?” Shane dipped his mouth to her neck again, and she felt a soft moan slip from her lips. Bellamy wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in. If she didn’t have him right now, she was going to explode, plain and simple.

  But he resisted. “Uh-uh. No more floors, no more backseats of cars.” He sent a look over her that positively sizzled on her skin. “I want to make love to you in bed, like you deserve.”

  Something hot and wicked snapped in Bellamy’s veins, and it screamed with raw satisfaction as she curled her fin
gers around his shirt to push him onto his back.

  “I like the floor,” she breathed, swinging a leg over him to settle in his lap. The feel of his arousal, hard and ready and oh so snug against her, derailed any chance she had at rational thought. She bent down, greedy for his kiss, but when he arched up into her hips, she stopped over his lips to bite back a groan. The split second was all the leverage he needed to make her insides go liquid. Again.

  “Nice try. But you’re not getting what you want. Not this time,” Shane amended, reaching his arms under hers to scoop them back to sitting. In one swift move, his legs were beneath him, carrying them both to his room. Bellamy was getting exactly what she wanted.

  And she wanted it forever.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Shane couldn’t breathe or think or see. The only thing he knew as he carried Bellamy to his bedroom was that he wanted to have her until the sun rose. He wanted to watch her eyes fly open, glittering bright green like summer grass under sunrise, as she unraveled beneath him. He wanted to bring her to the sweet edge between aching need and lusty release so many times that she forgot her name. He wanted to follow her there with reckless abandon, lose himself in the smell of her hair and the salt of her skin.

  He wanted her to stay.

  Bellamy squeezed her legs around his waist, and the wicked friction of her hips over his jeans almost made him walk into the doorjamb. Holy shit, every time she came out with one of those breathy little sighs, it damn near killed him. She buried her face in his shoulder, lining his neck with kisses hot enough to make him question his sanity.

  “Bellamy,” he ground out, loving the exquisite feel of her name in his mouth. There was something so passionate about her, so unguarded and real, that he didn’t even want to let her go to lay her down. They tumbled onto his halfway-made bed, and Shane relished the tight fit of her body under his in the midst of the rumpled comforter.