The Heart of a Hero (18 page)

Both his hands went to her backside with a definite male growl, and Julia had a moment’s worry that she may have just tugged a tiger’s tail when he twisted enough to lay on his back, then started directing her movements. As fast as she’d left, that sex-starved madwoman returned, and Julia braced her hands on his chest and threw her head back on a moan. “Oh God,
yes
,” she cried out. “That’s the spot. Don’t stop.”

His answering grunt was accompanied by a slight bucking, and Julia cried out again as she slid one hand down between them, moistened her fingers, then locked her eyes on his. “Come for me, Nicholas,” she pleaded raggedly, lifting her fingers to her own mouth and suckling. She closed her eyes on another moan of pleasure as she straightened, running her hand down her throat as she brought her other hand up and cupped her breasts, even as she took over the rhythm again. “Damn, that feels good.”

She felt the tension humming through his straining muscles as he suddenly stilled, his hands on her hips holding her tightly against him as he gave a groan of pleasure. Julia locked her eyes on his, feeling his release in every cell in her body before she collapsed forward, trembling against the rise and fall of his chest as they both gulped in ragged breaths.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” she said in a panting shiver. “That was wonderful. Am . . . am I too heavy for you?” she asked, although she didn’t make any effort to move despite feeling more alive than she had in forever—even as she wondered if she couldn’t get away with
one
more one-night stand in the near future.

His answer was a half grunt, half snort as he stirred, just before Julia felt his shirt settle over her. He had to tuck her arms in its sleeves because she really wasn’t up to doing it herself, then smooth it down over her backside before folding his arms around her and releasing what she hoped was a sigh of contentment.

Because
she
certainly was content to simply lie here feeling safe and cherished and desirable in his big strong arms as his heart pounded against hers. That is, until the breeze blew up her sweat-dampened legs and made her shiver again, which made Nicholas sigh again. He slowly sat up, lifting her as effortlessly as if she weighed no more than one of his cats, then turned her so she was sitting across his thighs. “I’ll light a fire in the hearth,” he said, ducking to look her in the eyes as he threaded his fingers through her hair to brush it off her face. There was just barely enough light for Julia to see his smile. “You go on inside, and I’ll bring your clothes,” he added, nodding toward . . . something.

Julia looked in the direction of his nod to see her jeans lying on the glass deck just a few feet away—one of her socks peeking out of one of the legs dangling over the edge—the breeze every so often causing them to slide closer to falling off. She looked around and saw one of her sneakers near the window and one about ten feet down the deck toward the side porch, her balled-up jacket and fleece and blouse also only inches away from taking flight. She saw her panties but not her bra, and hoped it was inside her balled-up jacket and fleece.

She was wearing Nicholas’s shirt and, remembering he’d been barefoot, she wasn’t expecting to see his boots, but . . . “Um, where are your pants?” she asked, leaning over slightly to peer down through the glass deck, only to quickly lean back into the safety of his embrace.

He chuckled. “Probably halfway to the fiord.”

Julia blinked up at him, caught him running his tongue over his lower lip, and immediately felt her cheeks heat up. Had she really stuck her sex-dampened fingers in his mouth? Really?

No, it had been that madwoman inhabiting her body; the one who exploded the moment she got kissed and who cussed like the town slut all through sex.

Yeah, that woman.

“Okay then,” Julia said, gathering his shirt closed and standing up and pressing against the window while holding down its shirttails against the breeze. She started to bend over to pick up her nearest sneaker—being careful not to look at Nicholas because he was still naked and she really didn’t want that madwoman to attack him again—but straightened when he snatched it away before she could reach it.

“I’ll get your clothes,” he said, a bit of a dangerous edge back in his voice.

“Thank you,” Julia said brightly, making sure not to look down as she walked to the set of sliding doors in the middle of the wall of windows, slid one open, and stepped inside. She continued walking through the darkened living room, past the kitchen area, then down the hall to the bathroom. She softly closed the door and locked it—which was a tad difficult because for some reason her hands were shaking—then felt for the light switch and turned it on.

She didn’t gasp because she was expecting the wild woman in the mirror, but she did frown as she gathered up her tangled hair. Was her alter ego pulling the elastic off her braid every time she had wild passionate sex, or was Nicholas the culprit? She looked up at the ceiling when she heard footsteps overhead, then dropped her gaze back to the mirror as she held the huge shirt closed—only to pull the collar away from her neck with a gasp. Holy Hades, he’d left his mark on her.

And now he was holding her clothes hostage, Julia realized with a steadying breath as she slowly looked around the bathroom. Well, except for the one really sexy wool sock she was still wearing. She opened the double doors to find a linen closet with a sum total of one towel and facecloth—only to realize they were identical to the towels she restocked in the resort cottages. She opened the door on the washer-dryer combo stacked beside the shelves, hoping he might have left clothes in the dryer, only to find more towels and a plush bathrobe that was also identical to the ones in her cottages.

She closed the dryer with a snort and turned to the window, wishing she could disappear into the woods again—in the opposite direction he’d expect her to go this time—but she really wasn’t up to explaining to Trisha why she was returning from her walk wearing only a really oversize men’s shirt and one sock.

Julia stilled when the window she was quietly opening stopped after only a few inches, and lifted her gaze to the top of the sash with another frown. She reached up to touch the narrow piece of scrap wood to find it nailed into the track just above the sash, then looked over and saw an identical slat on the other side. She backed away, staring at the sticks that allowed the window to open only six inches, undecided if she was very disturbed or really quite amazed that Nicholas had—Wait; did nailing his sash closed mean he’d been expecting her to crawl out his bathroom window again?

Because that would mean he’d been
expecting
them to have sex again.

Julia plopped down on the toilet and hid her face in her hands. She’d certainly lived up to his expectations, hadn’t she? Heck,
she
had sought
him
out this time; not to thank him for what he’d done for Reggie today, apparently, but to have wild passionate sex with him again.

“Everything okay in there?” the devil himself said from the other side of the door.

Julia bolted upright. “Just peachy,” she snapped.

He hesitated, and she wasn’t sure but she thought she heard him softly chuckle as he walked away. She hid her face in her hands again with a groan. Now what was she supposed to do? Go out there and sit in front of the fire in his hearth and . . . chat?

About what? When they were going to have sex again?

Or about the sex they’d had tonight—specifically why she hadn’t
come
for him?

Julia stood up and glared at the window. She might be skinny, but she wasn’t that skinny. She grabbed the washcloth out of the linen closet, filled the vanity sink with hot water, and plucked what was left of the obviously once tree-shaped balsam soap out of the china dish embossed with the Nova Mare emblem.

Okay then, maybe now would be a good time to let Mr. Magnet know she was wise to his little habit of helping himself to anything that caught his eye—including the new director of special events, apparently.

Chapter Fifteen

Nicholas set out two unopened bottles of beer, then rearranged the large pillows on the fourth-century Persian rug he’d rolled out only this afternoon—fortuitously, it now seemed—in front of the hearth. He added a log to the crackling fire, walked over and flipped on the wall switch that gently flooded the granite ledge under the floor with light, then looked around to see if there was anything else he needed to enhance the scene.

Well, other than the lovely lady.

Hearing the water running in the bathroom sink, Nicholas stretched out on the rug and reclined back on one of the colorful pillows, absently scratching his bare chest where he distinctly remembered lovely feminine claws digging into him—only to sit up when he heard the cat door open.

“Psst,” he whispered, making Sol stop in midstep as the cat silently exited the cupboard. He pointed outside. “This is not a spectator sport, so scram.”

Being a very wise cat, Solomon silently reversed direction, his paw curling to pull the door closed behind him. Nicholas waited several heartbeats before softly growling, “All the way out,” then grinned when he heard the exterior door close with a soft thud.

He reclined back on the pillow and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the pine ceiling being illuminated by the lights beneath the floor as he wondered yet again about Julia’s reluctance to find her woman’s pleasure—twice now. Thinking she may have been overwhelmed by his size last night, he’d reversed their positions tonight in hopes she’d feel more in control. He grinned, remembering she certainly
had
taken control, again with glorious abandon. But then he frowned as he remembered how he’d once again realized she had no intention of even seeking fulfillment, instead artlessly trying to entice him into moving on without her. And guessing it hadn’t exactly been the time to discuss the matter, he had once again conceded to her wishes.

But they had plenty of time now, he thought as he looked over at her clothes stacked in the far corner of the living room. Well, he hadn’t found her bra—not that he knew why she bothered with one. He recalled Duncan telling him, during a camping expedition they’d taken together to lay out a carriage path along the fiord last spring, how the highlander had had a woman move in with him one bra and panty at a time before he’d met and married Peg. Nicholas softly chuckled, figuring he could have Julia moved in here in about a week if he hiked down the cliff tomorrow and found her missing bra, then tucked it in his bureau next to the one he’d picked up off the floor of the event planner’s cottage last night.

Assuming she ever came out of the bathroom. He used a bare toe to scratch his leg through the jeans he’d gone upstairs to put on, worried they wouldn’t have
any
discussion if she came out and found him still naked. He probably should also broach the subject of contraception, seeing how they hadn’t talked about it
before
they’d stormed each other’s castles—twice now. But last night all he’d really been looking for was a little kissing and maybe some exploratory touching, whereas tonight the lady had once again surprised him by seeking him out on her own. And considering he was a healthy, hot-blooded male, he hadn’t even considered defending himself against a full-out passionate attack.

Yes, poor Julia; she wasn’t having much success ignoring their mutual attraction, and it appeared she still couldn’t decide how to deal with the problem. He wondered if she’d even comment on finding his bathroom window nailed halfway closed. He sat up again when he heard the door open, and made sure to hide his grin when Julia came striding down the hall looking as if she were primed for battle, wearing one wool sock and his bathrobe that all but swallowed her up.

She stopped suddenly and blinked down at the glass floor that began at the kitchen island. “Oh, wow,” she whispered, stepping out over the lighted ledge and slowly turning around. “It’s beautiful.” She looked up, beaming him an equally beautiful smile even as she shook her head. “Okay, I get it now. But aren’t you afraid the house will shake loose during an aftershock and go sliding down the mountain with you in it?”

He shrugged. “Even an earthquake like the one three years ago wouldn’t shake the house loose, as it’s anchored by over a dozen steel rods the size of my arm running deep into the ledge.” He patted the rug beside him. “Come sit down, Julia.”

Her smile disappeared and she looked around again, her gaze stopping on her clothes sitting over gently illuminated air that dissipated into nothingness. She looked back at him. “Um, I should probably head home.” She smiled again. “Before security is forced to evict four teenagers and five cats partying like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Bastet will chaperone them,” he said, patting the rug again.

“Bastet?” she repeated, not moving.

“The bronze spotted lady named after the Egyptian cat goddess.” He reached over and grabbed the two bottles of beer, then held one out to her. “The evening’s still young, and I thought we might have a . . . conversation,” he said, lowering his hand when she glanced at her clothes again.

She looked back at him, and Nicholas watched her add another knot to the belt on the robe as she pulled in a deep breath and finally walked over and sat down—at the far side of the rug, he couldn’t help but notice. She then stretched out her hand for the beer, making him have to lean over to give it to her after he twisted off the top.

She took a long guzzle and then glanced around his home again before giving him a rather direct look. “You do know there’s a small warehouse of furniture under the third hotel segment, don’t you, and that Norman probably wouldn’t even notice if a couch and dining table happened to . . . go missing? In fact, when I was there getting an end table for one of my cottages, I saw boxes full of tumblers and wineglasses.” She smiled rather smugly. “Maybe you should blackmail those two paintball-happy idiots into helping you
help yourself
to enough stuff to furnish your new home.”

Nicholas also took a long guzzle of beer. Yes, he definitely liked an abrasive woman who was determined to keep fighting even after the castle had been captured. “Thanks for the idea. Maybe I’ll have Tom stay late Monday night and help me help myself. I’ll tell him breaking into the facility director’s warehouse and lugging off furniture without being caught is part of his training.”

That wiped away her smugness.

He shook his head. “I had several pieces of furniture custom-made that should be delivered next week, but my mother suggested I let my wife pick out the dinnerware and kitchen furnishings,” he said—only to jerk upright when Julia suddenly scrambled to her feet.

“Your wife,” she whispered as she backed away, her face having gone deathly pale. “You’re married?” But then she flushed deep red. “You jerk! You’re
married
!”

Nicholas jumped up when he realized she was about to hurl her beer at him and grabbed the bottle with one hand and snagged her around the waist with the other. “There is no wife,” he said with a laugh, having to lift her off her feet when she tried to punch and kick him at the same time. He lugged her back to the hearth and sat down, set the beer out of her reach, then tucked her beneath him and tossed a leg over hers to pin her down. He brushed her riot of curls off her scowling face. “Much to my mother’s dismay,” he said gently, “I’m not married.” He grinned. “Yet.”

Her eyes widened. “Does that mean you’re
looking
?”

He nodded.

She started struggling again, forcing Nicholas to capture her fist when she took another swing. “Then what are you doing messing around with me?
Practicing?
”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head beside hers with a heavy sigh. “Please tell me you don’t really believe that,” he muttered into the pillow. He lifted his head to glare down at her. “I’m trying to
court
you.”

She stilled again, all the blood draining from her face as her jaw slackened. But then she suddenly exploded, her flailing elbow jabbing him hard enough to make him grunt as she somehow managed to slip out from under him. Only instead of running, the woman grabbed one of the pillows, then threw herself on top of the pillow on top of his face as
she
held
him
down—but only because he was trying so hard not to laugh that he wasn’t fighting her.

“Are you insane?” he heard from the other side of the pillow, sounding like she was also fighting laughter. “Or so desperate that you—oh!” she yelped when he slid his hands under the robe and grasped her bare bottom.

Nicholas gave another grunt, jackknifing to protect his groin when she scrambled off him, and just barely managed to catch the hem of her robe as she twirled away. He grinned up at her flushed face and slowly pulled her toward him.

She burst out laughing and hurled herself at him again, and Nicholas wrapped his arms around her when the lovely lady landed with her nose inches from his and suddenly sobered. “Nicholas,” she whispered huskily, “you’re barking up the wrong tree, because I’m never getting married again. Not ever.”

“Why?”

She blinked, her jaw going slack again. “Because I don’t want to,” she snapped.

He pulled her head down beside his with another heavy sigh.

“Try courting Wanda Beckman. She definitely wants to get married again.”

Nicholas involuntarily shuddered.

“What part of ‘I don’t date’ didn’t you understand the other night?”

“The part where you exploded in my arms not twenty minutes later.”

She lifted her head. “Please don’t take it personally, because it really has nothing to do with you.” She patted his cheek and straightened to sit straddling him, smiling sadly as she pushed her hair back over her shoulders. “It’s just that I’d like to think I’m intelligent enough not to make the same mistake twice.”

“And if you became pregnant last night or just now?” he asked—only to jackknife again when she pushed off him and ran across the room before he could snag her robe.

“If I am,” she said tightly, sweeping up her clothes and heading down the hall, “I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Nicholas waited until he heard the bathroom door close, then scrubbed his face in his hands with a curse. Wonderful; he’d taken another two steps forward tonight and
ten
back. What was the woman’s problem?

It obviously had something to do with her ex-husband, but had the bastard hurt Julia badly enough to
never
want to get married again? Despite what she’d told Trisha in the church about it only being teenage lust, could Julia truly have loved her husband and felt her heart was irrevocably broken? Or had something else happened between them that had stolen her confidence in . . . what? Marriage itself? Or her ability to hold on to a man, as her father had claimed?

The lies her ex-husband had spread around town before he’d left—with his new wife—didn’t bother her, as Nicholas had decided that night in the church that Julia considered her tarnished reputation nothing more than a nuisance. And she certainly didn’t fear men in general, and definitely not him in particular, judging by her seemingly eager willingness to openly spar with him, almost as if she needed a good rousing battle to burn off some of that overload of energy she had.

Nicholas got to his feet and stood staring toward the bathroom, trying to reconcile Julia’s obvious enjoyment of sex with her reluctance to enter a relationship that would provide her with all the lovemaking she could handle. He walked to the outside door and picked up his boots, then went back to the hearth and sat down, pulled out the socks he’d stuffed in the boots, and dressed his feet. He finished tying the laces, then rested his arms on his knees and stared down at the illuminated ledge. No, if he had to take an educated guess, he believed Julia’s reluctance to remarry—or even enter into a relationship—had something to do with the act of making love itself.

Why did she explode so passionately at his touch, yet brush off his attempts to bring her to fulfillment? He had some experience with women who were shy, simply uninterested, and even frigid, but he’d never known one who turned to molten lava in his hands only to then balk at taking her pleasure. And that made him wonder if it might be a control issue, with Julia being afraid to give a man that kind of power. Or, considering how quickly
she
lost control, maybe she was merely determined to hold on to that final piece of herself.

Nicholas stood up when he heard the bathroom door open and walked across the room to get the shirt he’d brought downstairs off the banister, shrugging it on and buttoning it up as he intercepted Julia walking to the side door. He put on his jacket without bothering to tuck in his shirttails, followed her outside, and fell into step beside the silent woman as she headed out the driveway.

But once they reached the road and started toward the resort, he felt Julia slowly inching closer until her arm brushed against his. He gently clasped her hand, relieved and immensely pleased when her fingers closed around his. Not wanting to break the mood, Nicholas continued on in companionable silence, the low-hanging half-moon doing little to light their way as it winked in and out of the clouds.