Fortune's Legacy (8 page)

“Come on, Kyra. Almost there.”

His words washed over her, promising rest, warmth. And she knew in that moment that she would have followed him anywhere.

When they finally reached the postage-stamp-size front porch, Garrett pounded on the door while Kyra leaned heavily against the wall. The rough logs bit into her back, but she barely felt them. It was as though her whole body had been shot through with Novocain.

No lights shone through the snow-frosted glass and no sound came from within. There was no answer to Garrett's pounding on the door as they stood huddled together, while snow and wind surrounded them with icy arms.

He tried the knob. It turned, and Garrett opened the door to a cold, dark room that looked like a little slice
of heaven to Kyra. Pulling her in after him, he closed the door, and instantly the howling wind was reduced to a whine.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle and focused on standing upright.

Garrett hit a light switch and, when nothing happened, said, “Power must be out.”

She almost laughed. “Of course.”

“Come on, sit down.” He drew her to a sofa and pushed her onto it, then went around the room, feeling his way in the dark.

Finally, she heard the scratch of a match, and a tiny flame erupted, blazing in the shadows like a bonfire.

“No power, but there're plenty of candles.” In a couple of seconds, he had five of them lit, staggering across the fireplace mantel in a jagged line of light.

“Whoever lives here left the fire ready to start. You'll be warm in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she said, despite her chattering teeth. She felt cold right down to her bones and promised herself she'd never curse a hot Texas summer again. “That'd be really good.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back on the overstuffed cushions. Nothing had ever felt quite so wonderful. She was still freezing, still felt the cold like knives stabbing at her legs. But she was out of the wind, out of the snow.

That was a start.

From behind her closed lids, she saw light flicker, and she learned the comforting crackle of flames.

She felt herself dissolving into the old sofa and knew
she didn't have the energy to move again. She'd just sit right here, she thought. Until spring thaw. But wasn't it already spring?

Supposed to be, she thought, frowning as her muscles went lax and limp.

“No you don't,” Garrett said. “No going to sleep until you're defrosted.”

He grabbed her hands and pulled her from the couch, despite her efforts at shoving him away.

“Tired,” she murmured. “Leave me alone.”

“Not yet,” he said, and before she could protest again, he swung her up in his arms and carried her closer to the flames leaping in the hearth.

“Put me down, damn it,” she whispered, and hardly noticed that her orders weren't carrying a lot of weight.

“I am,” he said, sinking down on his knees on a thick, braided rug. “Right here.”

“Damn it, Garrett, back off,” she said, even as the heat reached out for her. Instinctively, she turned toward the flames. Pins and needles prickled along her skin as her body temperature slowly started to rise.

“You're freezing, Kyra,” Garrett stated flatly. “We've got to get you warm again.”

She paid no attention to him. She was much too busy trying to soak in as much heat as she could. She welcomed the uncomfortable stinging on her skin because she knew it meant she was thawing out.

Garrett, meanwhile, stripped off his own coat, then went to work on her. “What're you doing?” she yelped, and tried to fend off his hands.

“I'm getting you out of those wet clothes.”

“Like hell!” She scooted backward, slapping at his hands, pushing at him, and still, in her numbed condition, losing the battle.

In a few minutes, he not only had her out of her coat, but stripped down to her underwear. She should have been mortified; instead she was furious.

“Get away from me, you jerk,” she snapped, and tried to grab back her shirt to hold in front of her.

“I'm not looking to get lucky here, Kyra.” His voice was clipped and just as furious as hers. “I'm trying to keep you from getting frostbite.”

Great. A man finally sees her in her brand-new matching, red lace bra and panties, and it's only because he's trying to play doctor. Yes, she was icy-cold right down to her bones. But she'd have preferred keeping her wet clothes on than to be undressed and ignored by Garrett Wolff.

“By stripping me in a freezing cabin? Good thinking, Einstein.”

“God, you're a pain in the ass,” he muttered, and pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing a blanket off the back of the closest chair, he wrapped it around her, and through the fabric briskly rubbed her arms and back, trying to speed up her circulation.

“
I'm
a pain in the ass?” she countered, refusing to admit, even to herself, how good it felt to have him rubbing the iciness out of her skin. “
I'm
not the one pushing
you
around.”

“I'm not the one acting like a spoiled infant when someone's trying to help her.”

“Infant?” She slapped his hands away, shoved at his chest, then drew her knees up and wrapped the blanket around her as tightly as she could. Pointless as it was now to try for dignity, she gave it a shot, anyway. “I wonder how you'd like it.”

His features tightened and his mouth flattened into a grim slash of determination. “I'm sure I wouldn't. But just maybe I'd try to remember that whoever was ordering me around was trying to help.”

Okay, maybe she was overreacting a little. But come on. What woman wouldn't have fought him on that? He'd stripped her down like she was a cranky two-year-old! The fact that she wasn't nearly as cold as she had been didn't really matter. Sure, he'd helped. But it was the
way
he'd helped she was taking issue with.

“You're thinking.”

“Is that against the rules?” she snapped.

“Not if it keeps you quiet,” he told her.

“Nice. Very nice.” Then her eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing now?”

“I'm getting me warm again.” He stood up, undid his shirt buttons and tossed the soaking fabric to one side. Then, while Kyra watched, he stepped out of his shoes, took off his socks and pulled his slacks down and off.

She couldn't stop looking at him.

It had been like opening a badly wrapped present to find something fabulous inside.

His chest was broad and tanned, with a sprinkling of curly blond hair drifting down across his flat, muscled
abdomen to disappear beneath the waistband of his dark blue boxers.

He was built like a cover model, and Kyra hoped to God she wasn't drooling.

Grabbing another blanket from the end of the sofa, Garrett wrapped it around his shoulders, then sat down in front of the fire beside her. Glancing at her, he asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head as she tried to ignore the flutter of something hot and twitchy deep within. “Nothing at all.”

“Good,” he said flatly, his tone all-business. Then reaching out, he grabbed her frozen feet and pulled them onto his lap.

“Hey!”

His big hands closed around her ankles and she felt heat pool beneath her skin.

“Shut up, Kyra.”

Muttering under his breath, he rubbed first one foot, then the other, stroking, kneading, using his strong fingers to rub away the last of the cold. His hands were warm, his touch gentle, despite the fury still crouched inside him.

As her body relaxed and her brain went limp, Kyra willingly shut up and allowed herself simply to feel.

D
idn't seem to matter how icy her skin was, Garrett felt on fire just by touching her.

He shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. She was leaning back against the stone hearth, the fire right behind her, gilding her in a halo of heat and light. His mouth went dry and his pulse quickened until the racing of his own blood was nearly deafening.

Shifting his gaze to the flames themselves, he tried not to think about what she'd looked like when he'd stripped her out of her business clothes. Pale, creamy flesh, red lace bra and panties, long legs and sleek lines, curves and tempting valleys. His heartbeat thundered in his chest and he told himself to get a grip. They weren't in this cabin on some lost-weekend getaway.

They'd been stranded in a storm.

Now they were trapped together.

Two people who otherwise wouldn't have willingly spent more than an hour in each other's company.

Besides all that, she worked for him.

What he was feeling was completely inappropriate.

And totally overwhelming.

Every inch of his body was on full alert. Restraining the urge to keep from sliding his hands up her legs, over her hips, to cup her breasts was taking every last ounce of his near-legendary willpower.

Who would have guessed that Kyra Fortune was hiding red lace underwear beneath her woman-in-charge power suits? And how would he ever be able to sit across from her in a meeting again without wondering what other delights she was hiding?

“That really feels good.”

Her voice was a purr of satisfaction and did something to him that he really didn't want to think about.

He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice brisk, businesslike. “Looks like you don't have to worry about frostbite, anyway.”

“Lucky me.” Edging away from the hearth, she stretched out on the rug. But she kept her feet in his lap, lifting them into his hands.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lucky.”

“The fire feels great.”

“Seems to be plenty of firewood here,” he said, struggling to keep his brain focused away from the fact that her feet were now rubbing against a part of his body that
didn't require any more encouragement. “Once you're warmed up, I'll go check. There's probably more in back.”

“What about you?”

He risked a quick glance at her, saw her eyes fixed on his face. “What about me?”

She propped herself up on her elbows, tipped her head to one side and watched him. “You're making sure I'm all warmed up. But you were out in the snow, too.”

“Trust me,” he said tightly. “I'm plenty warm.”

“Really?”

Speculation rang in her tone and Garrett figured it was time to stop the massage. Things were getting a little too intimate here, in the firelit darkness. “I'm fine, Kyra.” He set her feet down on the rug, then stood up and looked around the cabin.

Shadows filled the corners of the room, but the candles and fire provided enough light to let him see that the place was well taken care of. Probably some city dweller's weekend retreat. Thank God it was here. Otherwise, they'd have been screwed.

“I'm going to check for more firewood. Why don't you look around, see if you can find a phone that works or something?”

“Okay.” She rose slowly, stiffly, gathering the edges of her blanket around her like a shield.

But it was no use. He'd already seen what she was hiding. The images were burned into his brain. Turning from those thoughts, he walked away from her while he still could.

The hiss and crackle of the flames was a soft coun
terpoint to the storm raging outside. He walked through the small kitchen, ignoring the cold that reached for him. Cold was better. Cold would help him restrain the impulses raging within.

Snow clouded the glass panes on the top half of the kitchen door. Bracing himself, he opened the door far enough to be able to see onto the back porch. As he'd hoped, there was enough stacked firewood to keep them warm for days if need be.

But God, he thought, as he clenched his teeth against the stinging snow that slapped at him. How was he supposed to keep his hands off Kyra when all he wanted was to bury himself inside her?

He welcomed the frigid air and the swirling snow he'd tried to escape just an hour ago. Right now the fires blazing inside him were more dangerous than the cold.

He wanted her.

More than he could remember ever wanting anything before.

Garrett shut the door and leaned his forehead against the icy glass. It didn't help. The kind of fires burning inside him wouldn't be quenched by snow or ice.

This kind of flame would consume him.

 

Kyra wore her blanket like a toga, with one end tossed across her shoulder. She'd found some clothes in the tiny bedroom off the main room, but she just couldn't bring herself to raid her benefactors' closet as well as their kitchen. So she'd make do until her clothes were dry enough to wear again.

It was clearly too late to worry about modesty, anyway. Garrett Wolff had already seen her in her underwear. She cringed just thinking about it, and tried to tell herself that at least she'd been wearing her new bra and panties.

Oh yeah. That was the good side.

How would she ever face him again at work? How would she be able to sit across from him in a meeting, and not remember that he'd given her one of the best foot rubs she'd ever had?

Oh, this just got more and more confusing all the time.

Dragging her mind away from the thoughts that were making her nuts, she focused instead on the lack of clothing and what she could do about it. For the moment, nothing.

But she had a suitcase filled with clothes back in the car they'd had to abandon. The storm couldn't last forever, she assured herself as she glanced out the kitchen window to the wall of white beyond the glass. Sooner or later it would stop and they could go back to the vehicle and retrieve the rest of their things. For now she'd use the blanket and be grateful.

Glancing down at the pot of soup bubbling on the propane stove, she gave thanks that they'd been able to get the darn thing lit. She'd camped a few times as a kid, but she'd never really gotten the hang of cooking over an open fire.

“Smells good.”

She jumped, startled, and looked up at Garrett as he came into the candlelit kitchen. “You scared me.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Forget I was here?”

Not likely, she thought. All she'd been thinking about
for the last thirty minutes was how good his hands had felt on her skin. She kept imagining how those hands would feel on the rest of her, sliding up her body, tweaking, stroking, rubbing.

She cleared her throat and blanked her mind—at least temporarily.

“The pantry's pretty well stocked,” she said, ladling the soup into two earthenware bowls she'd found in a cupboard. “There's enough food here to last us a month.”

“Hopefully, we won't be here that long.”

“I hear that,” she murmured, picking up the bowls and carrying them to the small table set up under the windows.

“Thanks,” he said, picking up a spoon and digging in. Between mouthfuls, he said, “When my clothes are dry, I'll go out back and see if there's a generator.”

She studied him for a long moment in contemplative silence.

Finally, he looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It's just that I never would have figured you for the Daniel Boone type.”

“I'm not saying I'm going out to hunt a bear and drag the carcass home.”

“I know, it's just—” She broke off and ate a spoonful of the hot soup. She knew she was stalling, but couldn't seem to help it. It was hard to explain to a man—especially your boss—that you were seeing him in a whole new light. And that you found him attractive.

As the soup's heat spread through her, she said, “I only thought—”

“That I was born in a three-piece suit?”

“Not born exactly, but…yeah.”

“Wrong.”

He shrugged, and mesmerized, Kyra watched the play of muscles in his shoulders. When he spoke again, she had to force herself to pay attention.

“I grew up outside Longview. Little town.”

She nodded. “I know where Longview is.”

He smiled briefly. “We lived on about twenty acres. My folks worked hard, but there weren't a lot of…extras. We learned how to do without or to make our own.”

“Your own what?”

“Whatever we needed.”

“Like?”

He sighed and took another bite of soup. “Why so interested?”

“Humor me.” She said it lightly, but Kyra
was
interested. More so than she would have thought. The man was a mystery. A thoroughly modern businessman, yet he knew his way around log cabins, generators and fireplaces.

“Not all that fascinating, I'm afraid.” He shrugged again, as if distancing himself from the story he told. “My parents are from Sweden. We moved here when I was four. They bought some land outside Longview and grew vegetables they used to sell at farmers' markets.”

He made it sound like nothing, but Kyra's mind drew a different picture. An immigrant family, working hard to make a life for their child. Funny, but she'd always assumed that he'd lived a privileged life. She wasn't sure
why exactly. Maybe it was because that three-piece suit fit him so well.

But he obviously wanted to keep this light, so she asked, “And are you a good farmer?”

“No,” he admitted with a smile that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “My parents could grow a crop on cement, but I didn't get the farmer gene.” He finished up his soup, then sat back, the blanket he wore sliding down to pool around his waist. “I worked with them, saved what I could and put myself through college.”

She imagined him as he must have been—young and handsome, filled with dreams that his parents probably hadn't understood. She wondered if they'd approved of him or if they wondered how they'd raised a man so different from them. She wondered if he was happy in his three-piece suit or if he ever wished his life were different.

And she wondered why she was wondering.

“What're your parents doing now?” she asked, more to keep her mind from straying down tangents than anything else.

“Still farming,” he said with a slight frown. “I tried to buy them a place in Florida, let them relax a little, but neither of them is interested in retiring.”

“At least you tried.”

“They're stubborn.”

“Okay,
that
gene you got.”

He laughed shortly. “Look who's talking.”

She smiled. “I admit I'm a little…tenacious sometimes.”

“Like a pit bull.”

“Thank you, that was lovely.”

“Didn't say it was a bad thing.”

Outside, the wind howled and spat snow at the windowpanes, hard enough to make them shudder in their frames. Out there, the world was white and cold.

Inside, the heat began to build.

There was an intimacy between them that probably would never have happened back in Red Rock. But here, trapped in a tiny cabin in the middle of a storm, they were forced to meet each other on common ground. It was as though the cabin was in a world separate from everything else. As if somehow the two of them were the only people in existence.

Kyra smiled to herself. Just two people in their underwear, trying to survive.

Shaking her head to erase the image, she told herself that the intimacy level they were reaching was just short of dangerous. Better to end it now, before things got even stranger.

She jumped to her feet and looked down at him. “I cooked, so you get to clean up.”

He nodded. “Sounds fair.”

Backing away from him, she said, “I'm going to take a hot bath.” Then she stopped. “At least, I think I am. Is there hot water?”

He stood up, too, hitched his blanket into place, picked up the soup bowls and stopped. Kyra took a careful step back. He looked way too good.

In the candlelight, his tanned, sculpted chest seemed
as if it had been carved in burnished copper. His features appeared harder, sharper than usual, and the air between them seemed to hum and crackle with anticipation. With hunger.

Kyra swallowed hard.

Garrett Wolff was her boss.

More, he was the boss who was probably getting ready to fire her.

There was just no way that sleeping with him could be construed as a good idea.

Her knees went a little wobbly at the thought and she instantly locked them into place.

“The stove's propane,” Garrett was saying as he walked closer. “My guess is the hot water heater is, too.”

“Okay,” she said, backing up another step as he drew nearer. “Good, then. I'll, um…just go and…”

“Take a bath.”

“Right!” She pointed her index finger at him and smiled, as if he were a contestant on a game show and had just come up with the answer that would win him a million bucks.

“While you do that, I'll bring in more firewood and wash the dishes.” He walked past her toward the sink, and Kyra blew out a breath as he passed. Apparently, she was the only one feeling a little too itchy for comfort.

Gathering what dignity she could, while wrapped in a brightly colored woven blanket, she lifted her chin and left the room on legs that still felt pretty shaky.

But damned if she'd let
him
know how he was affecting her.

 

“Cold?”

“Nope,” she said, and inched closer to the fire, cradling a glass of the red wine he'd found in the kitchen.

Garrett watched her covertly. Firelight danced on her skin, in her hair, giving her an almost ethereal beauty. She looked like some pagan goddess awaiting her worshipers. As soon as he thought it, he knew he'd line right up for his share of worshipping.

Hell, he wanted his hands on her again. He wanted to feel that soft, smooth skin beneath his palms. Wanted to take his time as he explored every curve and line. Wanted to bury himself inside her until nothing could tear them apart.