Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance) (9 page)

“
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 sorry, 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 nos
trils 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. H
er 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.”

“
I must say that I prefer the author’s earlier fiction rather than her poetry. What do you think?” He leaned closer.

“
I prefer the poetry.” Her nose buried deeper between the pages.

“
Oh, but her early short stories about Ireland are quite a riot, don’t you think?”

Blaire turned another page, ignoring him.
“Actually I prefer the later works.”

“
Such as?”

She lowered the book and glared at him.
“Such as why don’t you leave me the hell alone.”

Darian jerked back.
The bed creaked. “Sure I’ll let you get back to Phillips.”

“
Phillips?”

He towered over her
. She moved the book back up to her face.

“
Yeah,” he said. Taking the book from her, he closed it, and shoved the front cover in front of her face. “
Effective Speaking
by Arthur Edward Phillips. A classic. Doesn’t hold a candle to the poetry though, does it?”

Blaire jerked the book out of his hand.
“Give me that.”

He pulled it away.

Blaire scrambled to her knees and grasped the book. When she did, he jerked again. She held on tighter, with two hands now, until he pulled her up off the bed. Blaire tugged back. He pulled once again. And then finally, her gaze locked with his, her teeth gritted, she took a deep breath and with all her strength jerked on the book once more.