December Heat (4 page)

“I’ll
get you that water,” she said and left his room.

She
had never seen Jake like this, but then, she’d only met him a few times. Jake had always been so sure of himself, a bit of a smart alec she’d long ago decided, that she’d taken him at surface value.

Right
from their first meeting, the tension remained between them, along with her awareness of him as a virile, sexy man. She knew the awkwardness she felt at the memory of that kiss projected itself as cool distance. No wonder she came across as a snob. Though Jake’s opinion of her had hurt deeply, she now felt more at ease with him, bonded by shared grief and recovery.

She
poured a glass from the filtered water in the fridge and went back to Jake’s room. He was out of bed and had pulled on his jeans. His chest was bare and she couldn’t help but notice the tautness of his trim silhouette in the moonlight. She swallowed. What kind of a situation was she getting herself into? She was beginning to feel things she shouldn’t be feeling.

“Thanks,”
he said as she moved forward and handed him the glass. He gulped down the water before putting the tumbler on the dresser. “It’s a beautiful night. So calm and quiet.”

“I...I
hadn’t noticed,” she replied, moving beside him to look out the window, trying to imagine what it would be like to hear the terrifying sounds of battle so close to home in the dead of night. “I suppose I take these things for granted.”

The
tops of the tallest eucalyptus trees were bathed in moonlight. The bush looked like some eerie magical vision, not the hot, dry lonely place it could be in the burning heat of the sun.

“Jake,”
she angled her body so she faced him slightly. “Do you have those dreams often?”

She
sensed his body tense and he didn’t answer immediately. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked.

“Not
for a while,” he said. “I think the news about Mark brought it all back to me...the futility of war, the pain and terrible suffering. Images of strained and unhappy faces of the people, the ones who suffer the most, never leave you. And the children who see their families torn apart, sometimes literally, right in front of their eyes. How do they get over that?”

He
closed his eyes as if to shut out the images, or will them to go away. “I’ve been out of circulation for a while, held prisoner by a rebel group. We were doing a documentary in the area and were given free reign, to a certain extent, though with an armed escort for protection, but then the balance of power in the rebel group changed. The local government, hopeless at best, applied more pressure, and things heated up. Everything moved so fast we didn’t have a chance to get out and were taken hostage.”

His
eyes opened and he turned to look at her.

“Oh,
Jake...I didn’t know.” She was shocked, and hadn’t suspected he was harboring so much anguish inside him. “What happened?” Nicolette felt compelled to ask, for his sake as well as her own, but she was almost afraid of what he might tell her. She steeled herself.

He
continued to hold her gaze. “Some of the armed escorts were killed, others ran off to hide in the hills. A couple more were captured along with the rest of us. Though we were allowed to continue with the project, there were restrictions on what we could and couldn’t film. And we were held under guard the whole time, never sure if we’d live another hour most of the time. The rebels toyed with us just for their own amusement.” He took a deep breath, recounting of the events taking its toll on him.

“Each
day, while the crew were escorted to the place of filming, one of us would be kept at the camp, providing the day’s entertainment for the rebels if they had nothing better to do. Most of us got beaten daily, just for the heck of it, and the one left behind was usually put through a pretty grueling time during the crew’s absence. One of the guys didn’t make it.”

When
he spoke again, his voice became a raspy whisper. “I kept thinking of Mark, how he would have thrived on the adrenaline and the fear. He and I had been through so much together. Thinking of seeing him again helped get me through. I wanted to tell him so much, talk about what it was like. In my mind I’d have conversations with him, explaining what we were going through.”

“Mark
would have wished he was there with you,” she said, her voice quiet. “No matter the risk.” Mark should never have given up his career, but it was all very well to know that in hindsight. She felt a small tug on her heart. Mark would always have a place there, and rightly so, no matter what the future or the past held.

Jake
raised his head to look at her. The hurt, lost look on his face worked its way into another special place in her heart. She felt as if he’d lost so much more than she had. She rested her hand on his arm. It was warm and strong, the sheer power beneath her fingertips causing a little kick inside her.

“I’m
sorry, Jake,” she said, not sure what the sympathy was for, whether for delivering news of Mark’s death or for what Jake had been through. She reached up to touch his face, but found her palm rested against his cheek instead. His own hand held it in place.

“It’s
good to be back home,” he whispered, his gaze wandering over her. “You look a bit like an angel in the moonlight in that get-up.” A slight smile teased at his lips.

It
was then she gave some thought to what she had on, since she hadn’t bothered to grab her robe in her hurry to get to him.

Nervous,
Nicolette smiled back. She felt a bit like an angel, a trembling angel, in the long, thin white cotton nightdress. She hoped Jake couldn’t tell in the moonlight that she was naked beneath its folds.

He
brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them as they curled around his hand. Her stomach dipped.

“You’re
trembling,” he said.

“I
thought it was you,” she lied, pleased with her off-the-cuff response.

“You’re
enough to make any man tremble,” he said. “Even big strong ones. Mark was a lucky guy.” He lowered his head and his lips brushed hers.

“Thank
you for coming to my rescue,” he said, his mouth just a breath away from hers. “You are truly an angel in disguise.”

And
he barely-there kissed her again, but this time his lips lingered a fraction longer.

Nicolette
felt tempted to kiss him back, but before she could act on her reckless thoughts, he eased her away.

“You’d
better go back to your room and get some sleep,” he said. “Before I decide I need further tending.” A curious mixture of relief and disappointment curled around her heart.

“Goodnight
Jake,” she said quickly and made good her escape, thankful he hadn’t allowed her to make a fool of herself.

Her
breath came far too fast as she headed for her room, almost running to get there. Her heart beat ten to the dozen, her fingers touching her lips where his had barely brushed against hers.

Had
she made a mistake inviting Jake to stay?

Chapter Four

Naked,
Jake stared at his reflection in Nic’s bathroom mirror. Mark had often called her Nic. Jake thought it suited her. He lifted the razor to his jaw and began to scrape away the shaving foam that covered the lower half of his face.

It
had been a long time since he’d given thought to how personal sharing a bathroom with a woman could be. He felt as if he’d intruded on Nic’s personal space. And of course, he had. Her feminine touch evident everywhere in the spacious bathroom drew his interest. From the soft thick rose-colored bath towels to the collection of various shaped and shaded bottles of bubble bath, fragrant lotions, and bright bowls of colorful soaps.

Jake
rinsed off the razor and placed it on the small shelf beside the vanity unit. He hoped Nic didn’t mind his razor and men’s toiletries sharing space with her makeup. Stepping under the shower, he found a selection of fruit scented soaps and bottles of green apple shampoo and conditioner resting in the shower caddy. The stems of a couple of pastel shaded razors poked out from between the bottles. He added his own scented pine shampoo and tube of shower gel. There was something intimate about his toiletries sharing the same space as Nic’s that gave his gut a curious kick.

He
toweled himself dry, dressed in shorts and a loose shirt and ambled into the small, though well-appointed, kitchen. He found her singing softly as she moved to the beat of the music coming from the radio on a corner shelf above the bench.

He’d
heard the song so many times on the drive here he was thoroughly sick of it by the end of the journey. But Nic’s version, together with the movement of her body, put the song in a whole new light for him.

She
stopped singing the moment she realized he was watching her.

“Don’t
stop on my account.”

Nicolette
cast him a quick smile as she leaned over and switched off the radio with a floury finger. She continued to knead the pastry on the kitchen bench drawing Jake’s attention to the deft movements of her fine, delicate hands.

“Did
you enjoy your shower?” She brushed her hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of flour dusting her lovely face. He couldn’t help but compare her to the woman he’d kissed that night at the party—all cool calm and sophistication. Though he preferred this image of her, either way, there was something indefinable about her that turned him on.

“Yeah,
thanks, I did. What are you making?”

“Pie.
It’s an experiment.”

Judging
by the lightness in her voice Jake suspected she was baiting him. He tried to focus on the pie rather than his body’s reaction to her. She was Mark’s widow and he shouldn’t be attracted to her. Even though Nic was available, it didn’t seem right. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come to grips with Mark’s unexpected death. His stomach knotted every time he thought about it.

“Do
you plan on eating it all yourself?”

“If
you’re asking if it’s for dinner, Jake, it is.”

Jake’s
gaze focused on the movement of her mouth, the temptation to kiss her almost too strong for him to ignore. With an effort, he forced himself to regroup before he did something that would earn him a second slap on the cheek.

“Just
help yourself to coffee if you want. It’s freshly made.”

Glad
to have something to distract him from Nicolette’s very feminine charms, Jake moved over to the coffee maker on the bench, helped himself to a cup from the cupboard and began to pour the coffee. “Want some?”

“No
thanks, not right now.” She gave him another fleeting smile. One that claimed his heart. More and more he found himself drawn to Nic. To ignore what was happening to him invited trouble, and he knew it. But what else could he do? Certainly not follow through on his instincts. At this moment, his emotions were just as vulnerable as Nic’s, and to act on the urging of his hormones could get them both into serious trouble.

“What’s
this in the bowl?” He looked at the red and white mixture that had a distinctive fishy though flavorsome aroma. “It looks very...er, interesting.”

“It
doesn’t look the best, does it?”

“Well.
No, it doesn’t. But I didn’t like to say so.” He smiled back at her. “So what is it?” Picking up the bowl, he tentatively sniffed the contents.

She
looked a little uncertain, perhaps a shade embarrassed. “Don’t asked me what it’s called. I forget, and I’m not sure I remember all the ingredients.”

“Oh
man, I thought you were joking when you said it was an experiment.” He returned the bowl to the bench.

Her
warm hazel gaze flicked to him for a moment before moving back to her task. An impish smile curved her deliciously tempting mouth. “It’s a mixture of diced fresh fish, herbs and spices, some seasoned Hungarian sausage from the deli, a dash of this and a bit of that.”

She
looked at him as if assessing his reaction. He hoped his very private and intimate thoughts of her weren’t etched in his face. “It’s not the fish from the river, if that’s what you’re thinking. Magenta visited the markets and came by earlier. I saw the recipe demonstrated on a cooking show a while ago and I’ve been waiting for the right moment to try it. I don’t think the type of sausage is quite right, but it will have to do.”

He
watched her spoon the mixture onto the flattened pastry, then cover it with another sheet, pressing and marking the edges together. The deft movement of her fingers on the dough took him to a different kitchen. Another time. Another place. Another woman. He’d liked to watch Natalie cook. It gave him a sense of home, of belonging, of being loved. But this woman wasn’t Natalie. And he’d never imagined his sister’s fingers playing over his skin the way he imagined Nic’s caresses on his bare chest.

What
those fine delicate fingers could do if he allowed them free reign over his body. A surge of heat rushed through him and Jake knew it was pointless suggesting its cause was the coffee.

“There,”
she said, admiring her handiwork, her words tugging him from his amorous daydream. “Cooking experiments are always more fun when I’ve lined up a victim to sample the end result.”

She
raised her gaze to his. For a moment, he thought he saw sadness reflected in her eyes and he wished he could eradicate the torment from her life. “It’s a welcome change to have someone to cook for again.” A tiny smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. “Are you willing to be my victim, Jake?”

Babe,
any time. Didn’t she know she could do what she liked with him, to him? How could he resist those melting hazel eyes? At this moment, he’d be her willing victim for anything she wanted to do to him, anything intimate, he clarified. He tried to take control of his wayward thoughts and push them to the back of his mind. It would do him no good entertaining such thoughts about Mark’s widow. Mark would come back from the grave and haunt him.

With
difficulty he dragged his mind back to what he knew she really meant.

Her
teasing cloaked him and he couldn’t help but get caught up in the light-heartedness. It had been months since he’d been able to joke about anything, and he sensed perhaps Nic experienced a similar situation. He would do anything within reason to erase the sadness in her heart.

“Well,
I’m so glad you chose me,” he said, helping himself to another mouthful of coffee. “You can do what you like with me.” Hell, that didn’t come out quite the way he’d intended, though it was actually closer to what was on his mind.

Guilt
jabbed at him when he realized the delicate blush in her cheeks had nothing to do with her cooking activities.

“You’re
my first victim in a while. I used to experiment on Mark.” She continued to look at him, her inner sadness haunting her eyes. “And no, I didn’t poison him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I
wasn’t going to suggest it.” At the mention of Mark, the light-heartedness shrank back into a corner of his thoughts. It seemed that Mark’s ghost hovered over them, watching, waiting...perhaps judging. Jake couldn’t say for sure and quickly dismissed the unpalatable idea.

“You
can think it though, can’t you, without actually voicing your thoughts?”

She
sounded offended.

He
put down his coffee and moved behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, gently urging her around to face him. Too late, he realized he shouldn’t have touched her. The warmth of her body felt so alive against his hands.

A
spot of white flour rested on the tip of her nose. There was a smear of it on her forehead, and a light dusting on her cheeks.

“Would
you rather I didn’t stay?” A rather reckless question, considering he didn’t want to leave. Already he’d begun to feel right at home here, settling in better than he’d expected once he’d accepted Mark was gone and he’d be sharing only with Nic.

But
he wasn’t going to stay where he wasn’t wanted.

Given
the way his hormones reacted to her, perhaps leaving would be the smartest thing to do. But since when had he been smart where a woman was involved? Usually only when it came to moving on to the next one. And he would move on. Quite soon.

However,
he’d be more than happy to stay a little bit longer...if she let him.

“What
brought that on?” She looked concerned, puzzled. A touch upset perhaps.

He
shrugged, mesmerized by the floured tip of her dainty nose. He felt tempted to lick away the white powdery substance. “I thought maybe you feel I’m intruding on your privacy—that you’d rather be alone.”

“Don’t
be silly,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay...as long as you like.”

Jake
detected a slight tremor in her voice. “You’re sure about that?”

She
smiled up at him. Such a warm open smile that he knew she meant what she said.

His
gaze locked with hers, making him aware of the shiver of excitement that coursed through his own body. Unable to resist, he raised a hand and brushed her hair back from her face, smoothing away the dusting of flour, touching the tip of her nose with the tip of his finger.

Breathing
in a whiff of the green apple fragrance of her hair, Jake lowered his gaze to her mouth. He felt her body tense beneath his touch, aware too of the increase in the rhythm of her breath, the tip of her tongue as it darted to moisten her lips.

“Nic...”
he murmured, his stomach tightening at the touch of her small hand on his chest.

“I...I’d
better get back to my pie.” Her husky whisper wound round him like a silken thread, cocooning him.

“Must
you?” His breath teased at the soft tendrils of hair resting against her cheek. Indecision clouded her face. His baser needs hoped she’d let go, do what she wanted, rather than what she felt she should.

“Yes.
I must, Jake. We both know this would be a mistake.”

His
emotions tied in knots, Jake let her go, studying her for a moment or two before reaching for his coffee. “Whatever you want.”

He
knew she was right. He owed it to Mark to keep his distance. Owed it to himself and to Nic too, not to complicate matters. He doubted she was ready for any kind of involvement at this point in her life. And he certainly wasn’t one to want involvement at all. That could lead to commitment and commitment was something he didn’t want. Didn’t need. Life was too full for that.

But
not wanting commitment didn’t stop him from wanting her.