Baby, It's Cold Outside (18 page)

Tamara swallowed but didn’t have it in her to deny him. She should have. She should have said no. Called a halt to this insanity. Tell him she’d changed her mind. Been older and wiser, for crying out loud. But there was something about being cocooned in this cozy, snowed-in cabin that was liberating. Her pulse beat a little faster, her breath came a little thicker, and she realized it had been a long time since a man had made her feel like throwing caution to the wind.

She heard some scraping and rustling nearby and despite the warmth surrounding her, goose bumps puckered her skin and beaded her nipples as the tension cranked up another notch.

She sensed him in front of her then and she opened her eyes as he called, “Aloha, Tamara.” He was standing before her, a lei of fake frangipanis in one hand, a large shell in the other. He sat beside her, placing the lei over her head. “Welcome to Hawaii.”

Tamara blinked. He was so close. His jaw was right there, glowing golden in the firelight. His mouth curving into a slow, sexy smile. “It’s…minus eleven outside,” she said, but the protest was token only.

“Shh,” he said as he raised the shell to her ear. “I found this on the beach in Hawaii years ago. We went every year for a family vacation. Close your eyes and listen. You can hear the swish of the ocean at Waikiki.”

Tamara was powerless to resist as her eyelids fluttered closed. The roar of the fire and the tap of her pulse at her temples hushed as the rhythm of the ocean and the sway of palm trees filled her head. She smiled and when she opened her eyes their gazes locked.

“Did you hear it?” he asked.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, caught up in his gaze, as blue as an island sky. Then she became aware of the cool press of the shell against her cheek and she shifted back “Yes.”

He brought the shell up to his ear and shut his eyes. “I can hear my childhood. Georgia and I learning to surf, learning how to make leis at a roadside tourist trap, my parents holding hands as they walked down the beach. ”

When he opened them again they flashed over her like a famous Hawaiian breaker, and she too caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been before two tours to Afghanistan had made him a man. “I’ve never been,” she said.

“It’s where I used to go,” he said. “In my head. To stay sane over there. Picture the beach and the sunsets. Picture myself living there, lazing in a hammock all day.”

Tamara felt every cell in her body cease functioning at the admission. How awful must it have been? The things he must have seen. Long months spent away from family and all he held dear in a hostile land where no one could be trusted. No wonder a Hawaiian hammock had been his happy place. “Did it help?”

He half shrugged, half smiled. “Sometimes.”

She half smiled back. “Good.”

For a long moment their gazes meshed and neither of them moved or said a word. Tamara was relieved when he sat back and reached for the remote. “To help create a Hawaiian theme I’ve enlisted a little help,” he said. The opening credits to
Blue Hawaii
filled the screen. “My mother is an Elvis fanatic.”

Tamara laughed as cheesy hula music filled the cabin. It felt good to break the tension. Hell, it felt good to breathe again. Luke joined her. “Pretty good eighth date, huh?” he asked. “Not many guys would take you on an island holiday without you putting out first.”

Tamara smiled as she looked at him. “
Mind-blowing
,” she said. “You did good.”

“Of course I could also throw in a tropical massage to really set the mood.”

Tamara’s belly tightened at the low suggestion. She didn’t even want to think about what kind of mood would be set if she agreed to that kind of intimacy. Alone in the cabin. His hands on her. Touching. Rubbing. Kneading.

Definitely not tropical. More like incendiary.

“I think Elvis is enough.” Her voice had turned husky at the mere suggestion of physical contact, and she cleared it.

He shrugged. “Okay…the offer’s there if you change your mind.”

Tamara dragged her gaze away from the temptation she saw in his and hoped like hell she wouldn’t change her mind in the next five hours.

After Blue Hawaii ended, they spent a couple hours eating more Pop-Tarts, channel surfing through the celebrations around the world, and watching the reports from Times Square, trying to spot Georgia in the crowd. Just before eleven, their luck ran out and they lost power. It wasn’t surprising. Luke had been fretting it would go out sooner or later given the couple of flickers they’d already had during the course of the evening and the way the wind was really howling again.

He stoked the fire until it glowed a little brighter, like it belonged in the pages of a romance novel. Tamara felt her hormones flare in response as she became aware they were very, very alone. Marking time. Waiting for a ball to drop in a place that might as well have been a million miles away.

“What shall we do now?” she asked, casting around for something, anything, to fill the time. She wasn’t ready to kiss him yet—that wasn’t their deal even if he had gone above and beyond transporting her to a tropical island for their eighth date—and she didn’t want him to suggest that the power going out was another act of God. A sign.

“Well, there’s always that massage…”

She folded her arms. “Not going to happen, Sergeant.”

He shoved his hands on his hips. “Strip poker?”

Tamara sucked in a breath as her pulse gave a wild leap. But his laughing eyes set her mind at ease. “Very funny.”

“You think I jest?” he murmured. “We used to play strip poker
all
the time when I was in college. It’s perfect for this kind of weather.”

Tamara decided the only way to handle him was to treat him like a naughty toddler and not indulge him. “Nice try. What else did you play?”

He quirked an eyebrow, and it emphasized his beautiful cheekbones and that sexy cleft. Desire burst like Pop Rocks down deep and low. “Strip Scrabble?”

She had to admit, he did deadpan better than anyone she knew. She crossed her arms across her chest because that’s what she would have done for one of her gorgeous little students who was trying to put one over on her. Also, it hid her nipples. Despite the warmth enveloping her in a big warm hug, they were reacting scandalously to his charm and the slow inexorable loom of the kiss. And she didn’t have layers on her side this time.

“There is no such thing.”

“Sure there is.” He strode to the old-fashioned chest situated under the window beside the front door. “I’ll teach you. It’s super easy.”

She watched the back view while he searched through the chest—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and tight buns. He may have been clothed, but she already had him naked in her head.
How was one kiss ever going to be enough?

“Ah-hah!” he announced, turning and waving the box in the air. “Strip Scrabble.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He looked so eager, so sure she was just going to give in to what he wanted because he was cute and no doubt used to getting his own way. “Looks like regular old Scrabble to me.”

“It’s just a rules variation.”

Such a gross understatement delivered with such unfaltering charm caused things to flutter inside that had no business with fluttering. “No thanks. But I
will
play regular Scrabble with you.” He opened his mouth as if to protest and she gave him her stern teacher face. “Take it or leave it.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Having seen him in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, Tamara was pretty damn sure she knew exactly what she was missing. But she had to keep this on track. “Afraid I’ll beat you fully clothed?”

“Beat me? Ha! I am a champion Scrabble player.”

“I’m a teacher,” she countered. “Words are my thing.”

“Trust me,” he said, hunkering down on the rug that covered the wooden floorboards in front of the fire and removing the lid of the box. “You’ll be taking your clothes off just to distract me.”

The oxygen in Tamara’s lungs thickened at the wicked visual. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said, smiling sweetly despite the riot happening in her erogenous zones.

He handed her a plastic letter stand, oozing confidence and testosterone from every pore. Tamara inhaled it and actually felt dizzy. “We’ll see,” he murmured.

And midnight suddenly couldn’t come fast enough.

The game got under way, but it was really Luke who was distracted and his score suffered. Her toenails were painted a pearly pink and she kept wiggling them as she studied her letters. And no matter how clothed she was in her black skinny jeans and gray turtleneck, it was her thermal underwear and the faint outline of her nipples that he kept imagining.

In less than an hour he was going to be kissing that mouth and little else mattered.

Ten minutes in and she was whooping his ass—ahead by thirty-eight points. Then she placed the word
sheikh
on a triple-word score with the
k
falling on a double-letter score. She lifted that cute little face of hers and shot him an impudent smile. “That’s sixty-three points,” she said. “In case you’re having difficulty adding as well.”

Okay. He was officially turned on.
More
turned on.

He shook his head and laughed. She thought she had him on the ropes and while she could have him any damn where she pleased, he wasn’t just going to throw in the towel. Time for a lesson in Jackson determination.
Time to play dirty.

“I can’t believe,” he said as he laid his five tiles against the
k,
“you haven’t been
kissed,”
he emphasized as the tiles spelled out the word,
“
in a whole year.”

Her gaze flew to his. The triumphant sparkle had disappeared as her eyes went all smoky—simmering with a heat that he figured had precious little to do with the fire.

“Oh they’ve
tried,
” she murmured as she dragged her attention back to her stand and he watched as she used his
d
to make the word.

He grinned. “I
bet
they have.” He used the
t
from
tried
and scored cool double points on the
b.

“Hey,” she protested. “No three-letter words. They limit the possibilities on the board.”

Luke tutted. “That’s a shame, there are so many
great
three-letter words,” he smiled. “Like...
sex
and...
yes
,” he suggested. “What about four-letter words? Are they allowed? I know a few really good four-letter ones, too.”

She shook her head. “I’ll just
bet
you do.” Then she sighed and he could see the conflict turning her gaze from smoky to stormy. “I have an f word,” she murmured. “Don’t
flirt
,” she lay the tiles down using the
i
in
tried
, “with me.” She crossed her arms. “I warn you, I obviously have no standards at the moment.”

He grinned. “Ah,
easy
,” he teased. “Another great four-letter word.”

She looked insulted for a moment but then she smiled, a sparkle coming back into her eyes as she leveled a playful punch on his shoulder. Which wouldn’t have been too cataclysmic had she withdrawn her hand right away and not looked at his shoulder like she might like to lick it. But her fingers lingered, and even through his shirt he could feel her touch right down to muscles deep inside his belly. They pulled at invisible strings that led directly to his groin.

He drew in a ragged breath as time seemed to stop. His dick, still on army time, stood instantly to attention. He was thankful for the overhang of his T-shirt because his track pants sure as hell hid nothing. Then she dragged her hand away and the moment passed, but things had definitely shifted and he couldn’t help thinking they’d turned in his favor.

Tamara struggled to keep the game clean as the clock above the mantelpiece marched toward midnight, but it was difficult when her opponent seemed to find a suggestive word on his stand every round.

Come, breast, touch
, and
moan
were all on the board taunting her. When
talk
and
dirty
followed each other in quick succession, she glanced at him sharply and the sudden smolder in his gaze seemed to have leaped directly from the fire. Her throat was parched and she pulled at the material around her neck as the air around her grew thick and sludgy. Thank goodness she’d shed the lei before they’d begun.

“Hot?” he asked, and she wasn’t fooled by the innocent inquiry.

Tamara slapped an
n
next to an
o
on the board and glared at him as she said, “
No
.”

“Hey, two letters.” There was a smile in his eyes and he looked so damn sexy she wanted to grab his face and lay one right on his mouth, midnight be damned. “That’s no way to build a board.”

Tamara didn’t care. She was hot. Very hot. So help her, she wanted to strip all her clothes off, and the glint in his eyes told her he knew it.

“I’m still open to strip Scrabble if you want to lose a couple of layers. Or that massage. You seem a little tense.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your turn.”

Tamara was grateful when he returned his frank gaze to his letters. He seemed to stare for an age at his tiles and she started to get nervous at what exactly was running through his head. Then he lifted those blue eyes and speared her with a look she was fast coming to recognize as trouble. Her pulse rate trebled as the seconds ticked by.

“Luke?” she prompted. The words felt tight and rough in her Cheeto-dry throat.

“My turn?” he murmured. “Okay.” Then in one swift move he whipped his T-shirt up and over his head.

Tamara stared at him flabbergasted. “Luke,” she squeaked.

“My letters were crap,” he said innocently as he ditched them and plucked new ones from the pool. “It was my penalty. Plus…” He paused. “I was hot.”

Oh Jesus, was he ever
.

The mature, responsible thing to do would have been to tell him to get dressed immediately, but firelight on acres of broad, tanned chest was too damn distracting and Tamara’s eyes demanded she take full advantage. Her fingers itched to join them.