Stranded with the Groom Page 9
He studied her face for a long moment—long enough that she felt a blush begin to burn her cheeks. And then he said flatly, “I’ve got no condoms. I don’t suppose you do?”
“Uh. No. Sorry.” She looked down, not embarrassed, exactly, but definitely feeling in over her head.
He put a finger under her chin and made her look at him again. “It’s something that has to be considered.”
“Oh, I know. You’re right. I just…well, we could be careful, couldn’t we?”
He swore under his breath. “I keep telling myself the same thing. But I don’t feel all that damn careful, and that’s the hard truth. Once I get my arms around you, caution flies right out the door.”
“I could…be cautious for us.” Even as she suggested it, she knew that wouldn’t work. When he kissed her, words like careful and caution vanished from her vocabulary.
He gave her a rueful smile. “No doubt about it. Time to go out and check on that mean mare.”
The snow stopped around seven. They were sitting at the table eating applesauce and more of the never-ending sandwiches, when Katie looked across at the light in the Lockwood’s window and realized there was no curtain of white obscuring it.
Justin noticed, too. “Tomorrow we can probably start digging out.”
“Hey, the phone may even be working soon.” She’d checked it just a half an hour before. “And if the snow doesn’t start in heavy again, the plow should get to us by tomorrow sometime.”
“And we’ll be free.”
They stared at each other across the expanse of the tabletop. “Free…” She repeated the word softly. And somehow, she couldn’t keep from sounding forlorn.
She looked out the window again, at that golden light from the house across the museum yard.
No question that stale sandwiches, wearing other people’s ill-fitting cast-off clothes, and sponge baths at the sink in the ladies’ room got old very fast. She’d be grateful for a shower, something different to eat, her own clothes to wear. And more than any of those minor inconveniences, it would be a huge relief to know that everyone she cared about had come through the unexpected blizzard safe and sound.
But still. They had made themselves a private little world here, in the center of the storm. She would miss it—miss just the two of them, all alone. Talking through the night. Kissing. Laughing together. And kissing some more….
She would miss it a lot.
Would she see Justin again, once they were out of here?
She frowned. Well, of course she would. Really, she didn’t need to even ask herself the question.
They had a…connection, something special going on between them. She felt it in her bones. This was different from anything she’d known before. Even after what had happened with Ted Anders and Jackson Tully, she had no doubts about Justin.
None at all.
He spoke then. “For someone who’s probably going to be out of this place tomorrow, you’re looking pretty glum.”
She turned from the golden light across the way to meet his waiting eyes. “I want to see you again, when this is over. Do you want to see me?” She was proud, of the steadiness of her voice, that she’d put her own intention right out there, hadn’t waited for him to make the first move, handing him all the power and then hoping he’d give her a call.
Oh, yes. Katie Fenton, a cliché no more.
“I do want to see you again. I want that very much.”
Her heart leaped—and then something in his eyes spoke to her. Something…not right. “But?”
He blinked. “No buts. I want to see you when we get out of here.”
And I will. She thought the words he didn’t say.
The silence stretched out. Painful. Empty. She wanted to demand, And will you? But somehow, that seemed one step too far. He should say it of his own accord, or not at all.
She wanted him. She cared for him. She had no doubt that he wanted and cared for her.
Would it go any further than that?
That secret something behind his eyes was telling her no. “Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Is there…something else you want to say to me?”
Justin looked at the incredible woman across from him and never wanted to look away.
His chest felt tight—as if something strong and relentless was squeezing it. His gut twisted.
The urge was there, in his clenched gut and his tight chest—an urge almost too powerful to deny.
To tell her everything. To throw over his carefully constructed plans.
To lay it all out for her: what Caleb really was to him and how he meant to make the older man pay for the cruel things he’d done.
To hit her with the whole truth: how from the first night fate threw them together, he’d felt the heat between them and decided to make use of it, to toss her into the mix. How he’d purposely set out to take advantage of the situation, and of her.
It was crazy, even to think he might open his mouth and…
No.
He wasn’t going to blow it. He’d waited too long to get to the man who’d ruined his mother’s hope and happiness. He had to remember….
All of it. The times she didn’t come home until he was sick with fear and worry. The nights she was home, when he’d wake and have that strange, lost feeling and come out of his room to find her at the kitchen table or curled up on the couch, her eyes swollen and red from crying, the end of her cigarette glowing like a burning eye in the dark.
He had to remember….
The suicide attempts. The never-ending new starts that always went wrong. Caleb’s name on her lips like an unanswered prayer the day that she died….
Of lung cancer. She never would give up those damn cigarettes until the last few months of her life. And by then it was too late. Lung cancer got her—but Caleb Douglas killed her as sure as if he’d put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.
Caleb Douglas broke her heart and she never did find a way to mend it again. Justin, just a kid, had been powerless to help her.
He wasn’t powerless anymore.
And damned if he was giving up now.
He was set on a course and it was a just course. What he would do was perfectly legal; he had the power now—power Caleb himself had put in his hands—and he would use it.
In the end, if all went according to plan, there would be big profits for everyone. Including Caleb.
That was the beauty of it. Everybody would win.
At least in terms of the bottom line.
He only wished…
Wished.
It was a word for fools, for helpless little boys who spent too much time alone, for boys with no fathers, whose mothers too seldom came home….
He wasn’t a little boy anymore.
And he wasn’t going to spew his guts to anyone—not even to sweet Katie Fenton who was turning out to be a hell of a lot more woman than he’d ever bargained for.
Those amber eyes were still waiting.
He couldn’t stand the disappointment he saw in them. “I want to see you when we get out of here, Katie. I want to see you and I will.”
And I will.
Now, where the hell had that come from?
He’d been so careful. He’d never actually lied to her.
Not until now.
But then again, he did want to see her again.
Though he knew damn well he shouldn’t, he wanted to keep on seeing her. He wanted…
A whole hell of a lot more with her than he was ever going to get.
He shouldn’t have lied. But the words were out now. No calling them back. In future, he’d just have to keep a closer watch on his tongue.
He silently vowed he would do just that as she watched him with worried eyes.
Chapter Eight
Katie opened her eyes to the sight of the shadowed rafters overhead.
For a second or two, with the soft mist of sleep still fogging her mind, she wondered where she was.
She couldn’t see the face of it from the bed. Plus, it wasn’t wound and always read ten-fifteen.
And what did it matter, anyway, what time it was? She and Justin weren’t going anywhere until the snowplow finally showed up. They could sleep all day and stay up all night. There was no schedule, just whatever suited them.
Justin…
What was going on with him?
There had been a certain…reserve—a new distance between them, since dinnertime, when she told him she wanted to see him after they got out of here and asked him if he wanted to see her.
He’d definitely withdrawn from her after that. From then on, when she spoke, he gave her single-sentence replies. When she looked at him, his gaze would slide away. Also, it had seemed to her that he was careful to avoid touching her. He kept his distance emotionally—and physically, too.
All evening she’d told herself to let it be. The guy didn’t have to be hanging on her every word every minute of the day. Maybe he just wanted a little time to himself. In such close quarters, there was no easy way for him to claim some private space.
But in her heart, she knew it wasn’t about lack of privacy. It was about them seeing each other after they got out of here.
It hurt a lot, to admit it to herself, but she was beginning to think she’d gotten things all wrong. She’d read more into this thing between them than was actually there.
Oh, not in terms of herself. She knew how she felt. It was real and strong and…maybe it was love.
Or something very close to it—something that could be love, given the time and space to grow.
But just because she was feeling something didn’t automatically mean he had to feel it in return.
She’d gone to bed, however long ago that had been, ahead of him. And she’d lain here waiting for him.
He’d yet to come in when she finally fell asleep.
Was he even here now?
She sat up.
Across the room, the too-short, too-narrow cot lay empty, the star quilt smooth and undisturbed, the flat little pillow without a wrinkle.
He hadn’t even come to bed.
Quietly, carefully—as if there was someone in the empty room she might disturb should she make a sound—she lay back down.
And popped right back up again.
No. This was wrong. If he didn’t want to get anything going with her, well, that was his prerogative and she would learn to accept it.
But she wasn’t going to just lie here, worrying. And what about tomorrow? What about whatever time they had left here until the plow came? If she spent that time tiptoeing around him, keeping her head down and her mouth shut, well, wouldn’t that be just like the woman she’d told herself she wasn’t going to be anymore? Wouldn’t that be like Katie, the cliché?
She needed to clear the air between them.
How, exactly, to do that, she wasn’t quite sure. But it certainly wouldn’t get done with her lying here in bed agonizing over what had gone wrong and him off somewhere in another room doing whatever the heck he was doing.
She shoved the covers back and slid her stocking feet to the floor.
“Justin.”
He turned from his own dark reflection in the window to find Katie standing in the doorway to the central room, wearing her wrinkled red pajamas and a pair of fat wool socks, blinking against the bright overhead kitchen light.
A slow warmth spread through him, just to see her standing there. It was that feeling of well-being and contented relief a man gets when he comes in from the cold and finds a cheery fire waiting—that feeling multiplied about a thousand times.
Damn, she looked good, all squinty-eyed with a sleep mark on her soft cheek and her dark hair a tangled halo all around her sweet face. Had there ever been a woman so outright adorable? Not in his experience, and that had been varied, if not especially meaningful.
She stuck out a hand in the direction of the book that lay open on the table in front of him. “Still on chapter three, I’ll bet.”
He glanced down at the book in question, then back up at her, an ironic smile twisting his lips. “Page sixty-seven, to be exact.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. Her soft mouth was pursed tight. “Look. Mind if I sit down?”
The set of her mouth, the determined look in her eyes, her defensive posture—they all told him more than he wanted to know.
No doubt about it. Katie had questions.
Which meant he would have to try to answer them honestly, but without ever telling her the whole truth.
Things got ugly when a man had too much to hide. He probably should have known that when he started this whole charade. Hell. He had known it. And he’d been willing to live with the ugliness.
Then.
He gave her an elaborately casual shrug and closed the book. “Sure. Take a seat.”
She marched over, yanked out the chair opposite him, and plunked herself down into it, unwrapping her arms from around herself and folding her hands in her lap.
“Okay…” He drew the word out, eyeing her sideways. “What’s up?”
She craned around to get a look at the kitchen clock. When she faced him again, she replied, “Well, you are. It’s three-fifteen in the morning and you’re just sitting here, staring out the window.”
He lounged back in his chair, displaying an ease he didn’t feel. “And this is a problem for you?”
“No. No, of course not.” She huffed out a frustrated-sounding breath. “You can sit here all night if you want. What’s bothering me is…” She ran out of steam, sucked in another big breath, and started again. “Look. I spent most of last night staying out of your way, and you spent most of it avoiding looking, talking or getting too close to me. I just, well, I’d like that to stop and I came out here to ask you what I could do to make that happen.”
Her distress was palpable. He hated to see her so miserable, and he hated worst of all that he was the cause of her unhappiness.
But what the hell did he have to tell her?
Half-truths.
And when half-truths failed him, outright lies.
He wanted out of this—out of this damned museum, away from the reality that he was using her.
He didn’t want to use her anymore. It had been a bad idea from the first and he wanted to walk away from it.
But there was no walking away now. The damage was done. She cared for him. When it all went down, she would be hurt, and hurt bad. There was no getting away from that now.
Even if he gave up his original plan to see that Caleb Douglas paid—which he wasn’t about to do—he would still end up hurting her. It was simply too late to walk away and leave her untouched.
Untouched.
An interesting word choice given the plain fact that all he wanted to do was reach out.
And touch…
“Justin,” she prompted, when he went too long without answering her. “Did you hear one thing I said to you?” A deep frown creased her brow.
He resisted the powerful urge to rise, to go to her, to smooth that frown away. “I heard you. Every word. Go on.”
“Ahem. Well. The truth is I know very well why I stayed out of your way—because it seemed to me that you were avoiding me. Were you?”
“Yeah.” What else was there to say? “I was.”
“Why?”
Why? He should have known that one was coming. What to say now? How to weasel out of this one…
And then, out of nowhere, the exact right words seemed to well up of their own accord. “Because I want you. Because I want to be with you. And because it scares the hell out of me, that I do—and how much I do.”
The words took form and
he let them out and…
Damned if they weren’t the absolute truth. More truth than he wanted to face himself, let alone share with her.
But he had shared them.
What did that mean?
Where was he headed with this?
Hell if he even knew.
Her soft face had gone softer still, all the worried tension melting out of it. Her eyes shone and her pursed-up mouth had relaxed to its usual sweet fullness. “Oh, Justin…” She lifted a hand from her lap and stretched it across the table to him. “Come on. Take a chance. Take a chance on me.”
And before he could think twice, he was leaning toward her, reaching right back. Their hands met and heat shot up his arm, broke into a million swift, burning arrows that splintered off in all directions, hitting every nerve in his body at once.
All he could say was one word: her name. “Katie.”
And then, as one, they stood. They stepped around the barrier of the table and there was a moment—painful and electric—when he almost managed to make himself let go, almost stepped back, almost told her, Katie, I can’t. Can’t touch you, can’t hold you…
But the pull was too strong. It wouldn’t be denied.
He gathered her in and she landed against him, soft and warm and so willing, smelling of shampoo and sweetness, naked beneath the fuzzy red flannel.
“Katie.” He buried his face in her fragrant hair. “Katie.”
She nuzzled his chest, pressed her lips there, sent a warm, thrilling breath through the wool of the old sweater. The warmth spread, borne on that breath, a caress of hope and life itself. He held her tighter.
And she turned her head, pressing her mouth to his neck, a velvety pressure. Her lips opened slightly. He felt the wet brush of her tongue.
He groaned deep in his throat and an answering sound came from her, a soft, heated, purring sound. It vibrated through him, that sound, right down to the core of him.
He felt himself harden in an instant, and he did what he had to do, what he longed to do, sliding his hands down, over the tempting swell of her hips and under, tucking her into him, making her feel him, feel his need and his hunger.
She gasped, the sound purely female, speaking better than any words could of her eagerness, of her complete surrender.