Turn Up the Heat

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “If that tranny comes in, you call me,” Shane said, giving Grady his best and-I-mean-it look.

  Grady’s belly laugh rumbled while he ignored Shane in favor of his much prettier companion. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. Take good care of him, now. He ain’t seen a day off in over a year, so he might not know what to do with himself.”

  Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up. “Over a year? Seriously?”

  Shane shifted uncomfortably and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops with a shrug. It wasn’t his fault there had been stuff to do all that time. Jeez.

  Grady’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I’m tellin’ his secrets, now. Go on. Have fun. And thanks again for dinner.” He jutted his salt-and-pepper chin toward the fridge.

  “You’re welcome. Next time I can add some dessert if you want,” Bellamy volunteered, eyes sparkling as she studied him in the wash of bright sunlight pouring in through the windows.

  Grady grinned. “Now you’re talkin’.”

  Shane chuckled and walked Bellamy to the side door. Figured Grady would be all over the sweets. Maybe Bellamy could come up with a jelly bean pie or something. That’d be right up Grady’s alley.

  “Okay, well, call me if you need anything,” Shane said, meeting the old man’s eyes over his shoulder.

  “Bye now.” Grady shooed them toward the door with the arch of an eyebrow. Something sparked in his eyes, and Shane paused for half a step. It hit him quick, like a sucker punch.

  Approval, he thought. He likes her.

  Guess that made two of them.

  Bellamy stood with her hands on her hips and her bottom lip between her teeth, thoroughly dissatisfied.

  “They’re still not quite right,” she said, shaking her head at the ancient belly of the oven. Two pairs of disbelieving eyes met her worry head-on, both clearly intending to show it the door.

  “Are you kidding? These are the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had,” Jackson mumbled through a mouth full of crumbs as he reached for his glass of milk.

  Shane nodded in agreement, putting his elbows on the tiny kitchen table. “Gotta go with the big man on this one. These cookies are out of bounds.” He reached down to grab another one from the plate between him and his friend, polishing it off in a single bite.

  Bellamy exhaled. She really wanted to get these cookies just right. Shane had said they were Grady’s favorite, and although she couldn’t quite put her finger on anything concrete, there was something about the man that was just so endearing. Familiar, almost.

  Not being able to pinpoint it had been bugging her all day.

  She tipped her head, putting the thought aside for now. “You wouldn’t say these cookies are good just to humor me, would you?”

  “Yes, I would,” Shane replied, rendering Bellamy speechless. Jackson gave a low are you stupid? whistle, and Bellamy’s hand went right to her hip. “But,” Shane scrambled to continue before she could protest or hit him or take his cookies away, “I wouldn’t eat a dozen of them just to humor you. They really are good, babe.”

  Bellamy’s cheeks flushed. Shane had eaten at least ten cookies. “Okay, fine. I still think they need more brown sugar,” she said, calculating the ratios in her head.

  “Perfectionist,” Shane teased.

  He had to be kidding, right? “Pot. Kettle. Helllloooo?”

  Well, that shut him up.

  Jackson laughed. “Well, y’all, I’m going to roll out of here. And I do mean that literally.” He rubbed a hand over his midsection, and Bellamy fought back the urge to snicker. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on him, but whatever floated his boat. Leave it to a man to cram down over a dozen cookies with no fat repercussions.

  “Thanks again for letting me come over and test out the cookies,” Jackson said, tipping his blond crew cut in her direction. “They really are awesome.”

  “Thanks for being my guinea pig.” She stood on her tiptoes to hug him good-bye, and after a hiccup of surprise, he enveloped her in a bear hug right back.

  “Anytime. And I really do mean that, especially if you get some urge to go the oatmeal raisin route.”

  When Shane had said Jackson was cool, he’d known what the hell he was talking about. They’d only spent a couple of hours hanging out in Shane’s cabin, but Bellamy had felt instant affection for the guy. It wasn’t every day you met a man whose pro-wrestler-esque veneer covered up genuine down home charm.

  “You’re on.” She grinned, waving as Jackson slid into his jacket.

  “See ya, dude,” he said to Shane, jerking his head in parting as he headed out the door.

  “Jackson’s sweet,” Bellamy said, nibbling the edge of a cookie. Okay, they were pretty good, brown sugar notwithstanding. She took another bite.

  Shane laughed, pushing back from the table. “Yeah, he’s just sweet enough to get away with not doing any dishes,” he pointed out, gesturing to the kitchen.

  It hadn’t been easy to make those cookies on one warped cookie sheet, and the aftermath clearly showed in the tiny space. Bellamy had managed to get flour and sugar all over the narrow counter, not to mention using every kitchen utensil Shane owned. All three of them. Thank God she’d snapped up some plastic measuring cups at Joe’s, but still. They added to the mess.

  “Yeah, that’s my fault.” Bellamy chewed her lip and turned toward the sink, but Shane’s playful smirk stopped her in her tracks.

  “Where I come from, if you cook, you don’t clean.” He edged past her to snap up a dish towel, starting to swipe it over the flour-scattered countertop.

  “And where I come from, we clean up our messes. Draw?”

  His smirk lingered, weaving its way through her with sexy heat. “Draw.”

  Bellamy ran a sink full of hot, soapy water and started to scrub the sheet pan, and he whistled softly as he scrubbed the counter clean. It felt all too good to be standing there in the kitchen with Shane, even doing something as simple as everyday chores.

  God, she didn’t want to leave.

  “Thanks for showing me around Pine Mountain today. It’s really beautiful up here.”

  “I’m glad you finally got to have one of Lou’s burgers,” Shane said, stacking the dirty dishes he’d collected next to the sink.

  Bellamy’s stomach groaned in pleasure at the memory. “The man knows his way around the grill, I’ll tell you that.” Even the fries had been perfect—not too thick or greasy, just perfect for dipping. She rinsed the cookie sheet, brain still stuck on her fantastic lunch.

  “Yeah, well it’s a good thing we took that hike afterward, otherwise I’d have been in a food coma all damned day.” Shane laughed. “The loop behind the cabin is nicer than the cleared trails by the resort, but with all the snow still on the ground, we’d never have made it.” He took the cookie sheet Bellamy passed his way and began to dry it.

  She smiled into the sink, continuing to wash the dishes while Shane dried. “The Ridge was still my favorite part, though.” They’d both been surprised to see that the path to Carrington Ridge had been cleared, probably by some locals wanting to see the sunrise over the snowy mountains. Wrapped in blankets and passing a Thermos of coffee back and forth, Bellamy and Shane had sat in the bed of the truck and enjoyed the gorgeous view, talking and laughing until their fingers were numb. Every minute had felt seamless and perfect, and it just hammered home Bellamy’s completely unrealistic desire to stay right where she was.

  “Yeah, me too. Not a whole lot of people get to see the mountain the way you did today.” Shane slid open the lone kitchen drawer, its occupants giving a metallic clank as he tossed in one of their freshly cleaned friends.

  “I just hope I can return the favor next weekend. You’ve probably seen all the touristy stuff in Philly, though,” she replied, thinking out loud. Shane didn’t really seem like the Liberty Bell kind of guy anyhow.

  He stiffened, then shifted his weight as if he didn’t want her to notice. “Yeah.”

  Bellamy’s heartbeat stuttered in her chest.
The air around her felt thicker somehow, but she hauled in a breath of it anyway. “Shane, what’s going on?” Damn it, she really needed to get a handle on her lack of brain-to-mouth filter, but something just wasn’t right here and she didn’t think she could ignore it anymore.

  “You’re woefully behind on your dishwashing, that’s what.” He cocked his dark head and gave her a smile that would seduce the panties off a schoolmarm.

  Something twisted deep in her rib cage, telling her not to bite, but the heat between her thighs begged her to shut up. So he had some mysterious aversion to the city. It’s not like that was a shocker—he’d told her about it days ago. Plus, he’d said he would come see her regardless, and Shane wouldn’t lie to her. Pushing him to talk about it would only sour their evening, and it was one of the last ones they had left together, for now anyway.

  “I guess I am,” she finally agreed, letting her hands slip into the water.

  Shane moved behind her, the combination of his heat and his touch making her forget about the sink full of kitchenware in need of washing.

  Bellamy sighed and leaned into him, her back against his lean, strong chest. “Dishes,” she said weakly, but Shane just chuckled in her ear.

  “Leave ’em.” He slid his hands over the front of her hips from behind, fingers biting into her as he curled them over the denim. A moan shuddered from her as he pressed his arousal to her body, pinning her without force against the sink.

  “If you insist,” she murmured in a throaty whisper, thrusting the cradle of her hips back into his erection. With one swift move, Shane swung her around so they were face-to-face. Bellamy arched forward to close the slight space between them, but the reverent look on Shane’s face stopped her before they could touch.

  “God, every part of you is just exquisite,” he breathed, his eyes prickling her skin as they moved over her, as palpable as a touch. He leaned in just enough to dance his tongue over the shell of her ear with hot suggestion, and she shook her head against his ministrations.

  “But you are,” Shane whispered, sliding his fingers through her hair. “Your hair looks perfect when it’s lying over your pillow in the early sunlight.” He traced his way down her neck with both hands, letting his mouth follow their lead, and Bellamy couldn’t resist the raw urge to curve up under his touch and let his words fill her as he spoke them.

  “Your skin tastes like honey, right here.” He paused to kiss her, lightly scraping his lips over hers with excruciating heat, then dipped his tongue to the spot where her shoulder met her collarbone. “And here, you’re even sweeter.”

  Shane lowered the flat of his hands to her hips, sliding them under her thin sweater. Bellamy had no choice but to suck in a breath at the contact of his skin on hers, heat sparking right to the center of her hips before burning a path to her core.

  “Shane, please.” Her thoughts were so disjointed from wanting him that her plea short-circuited with the desire that created it, but Shane heard her all the same.

  “Oh, I’ve barely just begun,” he assured her, stroking the sides of her body with sure, even touches as he lifted her sweater over her head. Her nipples pebbled and strained against the lace of her bra, screaming to be touched. When he parted his hands over her breasts to balance their weight in his palms, an unfettered groan worked its way from Bellamy’s chest to her lips.

  “Don’t you see how beautiful you are?” He cupped her breasts over the fabric, making her clamp down on her lip to hold back a whimper. “Here,” he whispered, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “And here,” Shane continued, and Bellamy’s bones threatened to melt right inside the heat of her body. Never in her life had she wanted anyone or anything with so much white-hot intensity, so much pure, uncut desire, and she couldn’t wait another second to have it.

  “Shane, please,” she begged, her voice thready with want. “Please take me to bed. I want you so much.” She drank in every nuance of him as he stood before her in the low light of the kitchen, the contrast of his skin against the richness of the amber walls of the cabin making them seem to glow.

  “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” he protested in a drawl that rippled up her spine. “The sweetest thing about you is right here.” He paused over her slamming heart, pressing his palm over it with care. “And here.” His hands moved to cradle her face as if she were a treasure. “Because your openness is so unbridled. Your honesty makes you beautiful.” He paused again, this time to let his eyes give her a message that even his words couldn’t.

  He meant every word, not just as pillow talk, but as the simple truth. He meant it.

  Bellamy couldn’t do anything other than look into the emotion banked in Shane’s dark eyes. The truth on his face made tears prick her eyes, unbidden and hot.

  “Please,” she whispered, afraid to utter anything other than the one word, lest the tears start pouring out and the words racing through her mind follow.

  As he led her to his bedroom, over the threshold and over the edge of want and need and reason, Shane made love to her like she was the only woman on earth, and Bellamy knew. Just like she knew she needed air to breathe and food to eat and somewhere to sleep at night, she needed Shane Griffin. It was as simple as the rightness in his words and the look in his eyes when he saw her, and somehow, even though they lived in separate worlds, being with Shane made perfect sense.

  Because she was in love with him.

  Shane smoothed his hand along one of Bellamy’s curls, catching its softness between the pads of his fingers and the pillowcase. Christ, she was gorgeous with that glow on her face, almost angelic under the sliver of moonlight passing through the curtains.

  “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, inhaling the crisp scent of her for just a moment before pulling back. Her big green eyes focused in on him, unwavering, as they lay side by side in the shadows.

  “I’m not really that tired.” She didn’t say anything else, just captured his eyes with hers and held on tight.

  She gets you. And she deserves to know the truth.

  The explanation rattled around in Shane’s head, stark and serious, and although none of the words sounded right, he’d held them in for far too long to keep them buried now. Not when there was a chance Bellamy would understand.

  “Shane?”

  The way her whisper shaped his name perked through his blood, and he brought his eyes back to hers. “Hey.” The word arrived on a slight tremble, and he opened his mouth to just let the rest out; to tell her that as much as he didn’t want to be away from her, he couldn’t possibly come to the city to see her; to ask her to come back to Pine Mountain instead . . .

  The shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table made him jump out of his skin.

  “What the hell?” he blurted, the curse edged in anger. He propped himself up on an elbow to squint at the clock. It was barely ten P.M., but still. “No one ever freaking calls me,” he said, fumbling for the phone in the near-dark. Whoever it was had pretty crappy timing, and was about to get an earful for it.

  “Maybe Jackson left something.” Bellamy sat up while the phone let out another ring that grated his nerves like sandpaper on silk.

  Finally, Shane connected with the damned thing and snatched it from the cradle to press it to his ear.

  “Hello?” If this was a wrong number, so help him . . .

  “Shane? Jesus, Shane! Get your ass to the garage right fucking now.” Jackson’s words were as garbled as they were panicked.

  Shane sat up in bed, fear bolting through every inch of him. “Jax? What the hell, buddy?” He barely registered Bellamy’s hand on his back, sudden, cold fear coming off her in waves.

  “The garage! Hurry up. I think they just got here!”

  Shane could hear voices, indistinct but clipped and serious, muffled in the background. “Who? What the fuck is going on, Jackson?” Dread gripped Shane all the way to his bones, and he jammed his legs through his jeans without feeling a thin
g.

  “Paramedics. Grady had another heart attack, and you need to get down here now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shane never took the main road any faster than was necessary, mainly because the forty-foot drop-off made it just plain stupid. Plus, the ride between his cabin and the garage took less than ten minutes to cover.

  Under the muted moonlight, with his old F150 protesting like mad, Shane made it there in five, barely stopping to throw the thing into Park before flinging himself out the driver’s side door. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Bellamy through the windshield, presumably grabbing the keys from the still-running truck, but he didn’t stop. He ran toward the garage, dizzy from the eerie red glow of the ambulance lights that pulsed over the building and the sickening whoosh of his own blood in his ears.

  Shane barged through the side door and tried to focus, but there were so many things in the garage that didn’t belong there, he couldn’t process any of them, much less make himself speak. Bellamy’s Miata was up on the lift, transmission parts littering the floor like scattered toys. The cordless phone lay, sunny-side up, in the midst of them, and the display glowed green as if it was still on. Jackson stood stock-still in the doorway of the office, his face grave and his cell phone locked in his grip. People Shane had never seen before raced around in front of him, crouching down and shouting things that made no sense.

  “Pulse is thready! BP is one-oh-six over seventy.”

  “Sir, can you hear me?”

  A grunted response from the floor shattered the disconnect between Shane’s brain and everything around him, and all at once, everything crashed from slow-motion to real-time in an unforgiving snap.

  “Grady!” Shane lunged toward the office, where two paramedics huddled over Grady’s limp form, their movements sharp and efficient.

  This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening.

  Jackson jerked to attention. “Damn, that was fast!” He cut the distance between himself and Shane in only a few brisk strides.