Come Fly with Me (8 page)

“I'll say.”

Mark looked crestfallen. “Didn't you like it at all? I thought maybe once you got the hang of it...”

“I haven't gotten the hang of it, remember? Not unless you're supposed to sit in the snow with your legs all tangled up with your skis.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised again and Lindsay felt a tiny little quiver of guilt. Here was a successful, handsome, rugged, virile man who seemed to want more than anything to please her, to share his special world with her, and she was behaving like an ungrateful wretch. Her mother would have a heart attack if she knew. She'd tell Lindsay that from now on she deserved whatever she met while flying in coach.

She tried to think of something positive to say just for her mother's sake, if nothing else. Words failed her.

“It really wasn't so bad,” she offered finally. Even she recognized that it was a weak compliment at best, so she tried to put a little
more enthusiasm into it. “It was...white out there. Very white. I like white a lot.”

In fact, she thought to herself, she'd never seen so much white in her life outside of a medical thriller she'd watched being filmed in a hospital laundry last year. This white definitely had been better than that.

She sniffed, then sneezed. And sneezed again, harder. Her baleful glance at Mark was filled with blame.

“Good Lord, don't go catching a cold on me,” he murmured, moving close enough to help her off with her snow-covered jacket. His gaze met hers and caught. “Then I'll never prove to you how wonderful this place is.”

Lindsay didn't think he could ever prove that to her, if he provided a sauna and let her stay in it twenty-four hours a day. Still, there was something to be said for being in the same room with him. She felt as if she was getting warmer by the second. She also seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty breathing and she knew it was far too soon for pneumonia to have set in. It must have something to do with the fact that his very masculine hands were just beneath her chin,
which seemed instinctively to want to nestle in their warmth. Before she could give in to that crazy urge, he was slowly unzipping her jacket in an oddly intimate, provocative gesture that warmed her right down to her toes. It was definitely better than brandy, more intoxicating and infinitely more exciting.

“I'll run your bath right away,” he offered huskily, his hands lingering at her waist. It was an innocent enough offer, but Lindsay had a feeling that with very little encouragement he would be in that bath with her and, as appealing as it was,
that
would not be a good idea. Men and women who took baths together did not just get clean.

She took a deep breath, sneezed again and waved him away. “I can run my own bath.”

A slow grin turned up the corners of his very inviting mouth. “Lordy, you're independent,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, then relented, dropping his hands from her waist. “Okay, if it'll make you happy, you're on your own. I'll build the fire up a bit and start on dinner. You'll find towels and things in the bathroom cupboard. If you can't find something, just give a yell.”

Among the “things” Lindsay found in the
cupboard was a wide assortment of bubble bath. Pretending that she didn't give a darn why it was there, she selected one that was lilac scented and spilled it in the water that gushed from the faucet in a satisfyingly steamy stream.

Stripping off the damp layers of clothes that had only barely kept her from freezing to death, she stepped into the oversized tub and sank down in hot, soothing water and bubbles up to her chin.

“Ahh,” she sighed gratefully. Now this was her idea of the perfect way to end the day. If only she had a glass of wine and a book, she'd be in heaven. She leaned back and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she glanced toward the ceiling and blinked. Unless she was losing her mind, there was a star twinkling up there. Had she frozen to death after all and gone to heaven? She tried closing, then opening her eyes again. More stars glittered back at her from a darkening sky. With a sort of dazed astonishment, she realized that Mark had a slanting skylight in his bathroom! And, as she had somehow known it would be, this tub was definitely big enough for two. The sensuality inherent in the
architectural design of the room intrigued her and set off odd little tingling sensations, which crept slowly along her spine and settled low in her abdomen.

What a wonderful, romantic, sexy idea, she thought dreamily. She wondered if it had been his, then hated the possibility that it might not have been.

Lindsay Tabor! she thought in wonder. You are jealous! It was a first and she wasn't a bit pleased about it. She was actually envious of some unseen, unnamed and possibly nonexistent woman. She picked up a bar of soap and a washcloth and scrubbed until her skin turned bright pink, as if that might wash away the unwanted emotion. It didn't, though it got her very clean.

“Are you awake in there?” Mark's voice filtered through the door and, recalling his unceremonious entrance into her hotel room in the morning, Lindsay clutched the washcloth over rosy-tipped breasts that were still tingling from her overzealous washing.

“Of course, I'm awake.”

“Just checking. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“I'll be right there,” she promised, pushing
aside her jealousy along with the remaining bubbles and climbing out of the tub to envelop herself in a huge towel that had been hanging over a heated rack. It felt wonderful, but she didn't linger to enjoy the sensation. Quickly she dried herself and pulled on her preferred lacy bikini pants and bra. Immediately she felt more feminine and wondered fleetingly if that was such a hot idea. Mark already had her hormones operating in overdrive. She added the new jeans and thick, multicolored sweater in rust tones that flattered her coloring. Her short hair had curled into an auburn halo around her head and her cheeks were flushed. She decided to forego makeup, except for a bit of pale coral lipstick and a quick flick of mascara.

When she walked back into the living room, Mark's eyes brightened appreciatively and he walked toward her until they were standing toe-to-toe. That seemed to be his favorite position for carrying on a conversation. She wondered idly if he was nearsighted or if he was pointedly trying to be intimidating. If it was the latter, she'd have to tell him sometime that it was a very successful technique. He scared the daylights out of her with his
sensuality, his romantic, poetic way with words and his outspoken admission of his attraction to her. Those fleeting, instinctive feelings that had stirred to life in the airport were crystallizing into very real, very tempting emotions with every additional minute she spent around him.

Her eyes focused square in the middle of his all-too-alluring chest. Hesitantly, she tilted her head until she was gazing up at his face. It disconcertingly appeared almost as flushed as she knew hers was.

“Feel better?” he inquired softly.

“Much,” she said, the word barely squeaking out over vocal chords that seemed to be going into early retirement.

“You look terrific,” he said huskily, as his head lowered to bring his lips dangerously close to her ear. “Umm. And you smell wonderful, too.”

The whisper of breath that flickered along her neck heated her in a way that no blazing fire could have. His hands were resting on her waist again in a light caress that somehow seemed more binding than a tighter embrace would have been. She could take a single step back and be away from that touch and she
knew it. Instead, she stayed right where she was, her heart thundering in anticipation, her gaze locked with his in a searching, penetrating duel that yielded no answers, only raised more questions. Dangerous questions.

“Dinner's going to get cold,” he said at last, his voice a husky, reluctant whisper.

“Dinner?” she repeated blankly.

He grinned at her, breaking the tension of the moment, and teased, “You'll remember all about it after we start.”

Once she'd sat down at a candlelit table to steak, baked potatoes, salad and a Beaujolais-Villages Nouveau wine, Lindsay realized that she was starved. But as the wonderfully simple meal filled her, something far more interesting happened. She began to forget all about the snow outside. She even began to forget why she was in Boulder in the first place. Slowly but surely, she fell even further under the spell of Mark Channing's considerable charms.

He was an admirable host, witty and intelligent and obviously drawn to her, though she still couldn't quite figure out why he had been so intent on this virtual kidnapping. She wasn't sure if it even mattered anymore. She
was here now and, in the strangest way, she felt she belonged here. It was a sensation that puzzled and fascinated her. It probably should have terrified her, but she refused to examine it that closely. For the moment it was enough that she felt warm and mellow and desirable.

When they'd finished eating, she started to help clean up, but Mark waved her toward the sofa. “That can wait. Let's go sit by the fire.”

They sank down side by side on the comfortable sofa with its dark-toned, overstuffed cushions. Shadow lifted his head slightly, noted their presence and moved a little closer, his head resting on Mark's boot.

“You know something, Lindsay Tabor?” Mark said softly, his fingers playing in the curls that edged her face, brushing all too casually against skin that seemed to burn with a fever of growing desire.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“You've never told me a thing about yourself. All last night you kept turning the conversation back to me. Now I want to know about you.”

“There's not much to tell. Morrie gave you a pretty accurate summary.”

Mark chuckled. “I don't think so. At least,
that's not the Lindsay Tabor I've seen in the last twenty-four hours. Oh, you're stubborn and scrappy and bright all right, but you're funny and warm—”

“Now,” she retorted dryly.

“I wasn't talking about the temperature.” His fingers gently caressed the silky skin of her neck and the flames grew hotter deep inside her. “Why do you find it so difficult to admit you might be a caring, tender woman underneath that businesslike facade?”

“It's not a facade,” she protested.

“Okay. Bad choice of words. But you're much more than a tough-minded lawyer. You're a woman,” he said, his voice growing soft, weaving a magical spell. “A lovely, intriguing woman...” His lips hovered a mere hairsbreadth from hers. “A woman whom I want very, very much.”

Firelight made his dark eyes sparkle with dazzling lights and Lindsay wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the desire she could read in those eyes. The coil of tension inside her was winding tighter and tighter until she thought she would explode with an unfamiliar longing. A tender touch, a persistent
caress, a passionate kiss and she would be lost.

But those were emotions, demanding physical needs, drawing her to him. Intellectually, she knew it would be a dreadful mistake to give in to them. Not only did she have business to conduct with this man, she also had no intention of cluttering up her life with a serious involvement. And any involvement with Mark Channing would be serious, at least for her. He had reached some previously untouched part of her from the moment they'd met in the airport. His gentle, romantic words and warmly appreciative gazes had made her all too susceptible to possibilities and dreams she'd never before considered for her life.

It was odd how all that snow had managed to build a layer of ice around her heart again, only to have it melt beneath the blazing fire that danced beguilingly in Mark's eyes. The man clearly had more tricks up his sleeve and he seemed to have a psychologist's knack for unlocking long-buried thoughts.

Suddenly she was remembering those long-ago days when she'd had a complete family, a mother and a father who loved her and who
filled the house with laughter and good times. Then she was remembering how awful it had been when it ended so abruptly. She never wanted to feel that kind of loss and anguish again.

“Hey, where'd you go?” Mark asked gently, wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized was rolling down her cheek.

Unable to speak through the unreleased sobs that choked her, she shook her head.

“I'm a good listener. Maybe it would do you good to talk about it,” he suggested.

He waited, but for the longest time she still said nothing. “I can't,” she finally said miserably. “Besides, it was a long time ago and it doesn't matter anymore.”

“How can you say that, when it still makes you cry?”

She tilted her chin stubbornly. “Because I won't let it matter anymore.”

He gathered her into his arms then and held her tightly, banishing the past and making her aware of only the present. Lindsay instantly felt incredibly safe and protected, as she hadn't felt in many years, until last night when Mark had performed the simple act of taking her hand in his and holding it until his
strength had seemed to flow into her. How could a man she barely knew have such a reassuring impact on her? How could he know her needs so well? No one had ever seemed to suspect that she needed anything more than her own inner strength before. No one had ever sensed the vulnerability she fought so intensely to hide.

But although she was beginning to feel better, warm and cherished as though nothing could ever harm her again, Mark was still responding to her pain. There was so much compassion in his gaze. He seemed to understand her even though she hadn't revealed a thing.

“I wish it were that easy.” he said simply.

“It has to be.”

“No,” he said tenderly, shaking his head and Lindsay realized he was speaking from his own experience. “It never is. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”

“I wish I could,” she said and meant it. She knew intuitively that if anyone would empathize with her, Mark would, but she didn't understand her feelings clearly enough to express them.