Heart of Winter (8 page)

He started to deny it, and then he saw the gentle compassion in Nicole's green eyes. “Yes.”

“Give it time,” she said. “And we needn't rush back to Chicago,” she added with a faint grin.

“Even if that means watching Winthrop do a job on your nerves?” he probed. “Because he's wearing them down, isn't he?”

“I bother him,” she said, then looked up at Gerald. “He bothers me, too.”

“Good. You both need a little shaking up,” he said with a smile. He got to his feet, grimacing. “I need some more buttermilk.”

“And your tablets,” she added.

“And my tablets. But you're good medicine, Nicky.”

She smiled. “Thank you. And thanks for the party, too. It was a nice thought.”

“I hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, I think I will,” she said. She was already thinking about breezing down the staircase in a billowy white gown, dragging a black mink coat behind her, dripping diamonds so that Winthrop would fall at her feet. Of course, she didn't have a white gown or a black mink or any diamonds. It would be the gray jersey dress and he'd be too out of humor about the whole thing to notice if she waltzed down the staircase stark naked. She sighed and went back to the typewriter.

 

The night of the party, Nicole dressed carefully in the hated gray jersey and did her face with a minimum of makeup. The band, a very good country and western one, was already in full swing when she went to answer the door with Gerald.

Winthrop came in behind Sadie, glaring at Nicole and Gerald with coal dark eyes. He was wearing a white shirt with dark slacks and a leather jacket, a creamy dress Stetson atop his neatly combed straight hair. He and Nicky had barely spoken in recent days. He'd commented that a party was just what he needed the night before his group of Eastern hunters arrived—which they were scheduled to do that Saturday. But Gerald had made soothing noises to the big man and he'd calmed down.

But only temporarily. His eyes were already promising retribution on Nicky's poor head.

“Good evening, Winthrop,” she drawled softly as Gerald led Sadie off to the punch bowl, since she was the last to arrive and there were no more guests to receive.

“Good evening, Miss White,” he replied. His dark eyes ran down her body like exploring hands, slow and very thorough. “I gather that you only brought one dress with you?”

“I didn't think I'd need more than one,” she explained quietly. Her pale green eyes swept over his dark face and she felt tingles of pleasure from just looking at him. “It isn't too drab, is it?”

“You know you look lovely in anything you wear,” he said suavely. He took off his Stetson, settled it on the hat rack, then hung up his jacket.

Watching the muscles ripple under the white shirt he wore with a blue patterned tie, Nicole wanted to stand in his arms and feel him holding her. It was a hunger that bordered on obsession. She moved closer to him as the band swung into a slow dance tune.

“I want to dance,” she said quietly, aware of the guests watching them. Nobody was dancing yet; everybody seemed to be waiting for someone else to get things started.

He stared her down. “I don't dance anymore,” he said coolly. “I can't. My leg won't hold me up under sudden turns and dips.”

“It would if you danced slowly,” she said. She moved even closer, her perfume floating up into his nostrils, her warmth teasing, seductive. “Hold me, Winthrop,” she whispered, laying both palms slowly, hesitantly, flat down over the hard muscles of his chest.

He shuddered a little, and his chiseled lips parted. “I won't, damn it,” he bit off.

She laid her head against his shoulder. “You want to,” she whispered, “and I want to. Everybody's watching.” Her own forwardness was beginning to embarrass her, but the need to be held by him was so strong that she fought down the urge to give in.

“No!” he bit off.

He started to turn, but she blocked his path. Everyone stopped talking, and she held her breath while he decided.

With a glance behind them and a muffled curse, he pulled her into his hard embrace and began to move very carefully to the slow rhythm of the music.

Gerald and Sadie watched the tall man's slow, hesitant movements with quiet smiles, amazed that Nicole had been able to manage such a small miracle. Winthrop was giving in, at least for the moment. His dark face was threatening, but he was holding her with such tenderness that it was almost tangible despite his temper.

Nicky savored her small victory, closing her eyes in wonder. Dancing with him was as sweet as she'd imagined it would be. He might hate her for it, but right now it seemed worth every expected bit of pain. He was tall and strong and warm, and he smelled of spice and soap. The lean, sure hand that held her made her feel safe and protected. She sighed with pure delight.

He felt that soft yielding and was furious at her for making a spectacle of him, for drawing everyone's eyes to his disability. Damn her, what was she trying to do to him?

He gave in with ill-concealed irritation and drew her slowly against him, one lean hand possessing hers. He began to move to the rhythm, a little clumsily at first, but quickly with more and more confidence. She melted into him, then, careful not to knock him off balance, she smiled against his shoulder.

“There,” she mumbled happily, “I knew you could.”

“I could wring your neck,” he said, forcing himself to smile at her while all around them other people were finally joining them on the dance floor.

“It's your house,” she reminded him. “The host is supposed to open the dancing. There are rules about that kind of thing.”

“I can't dance with this leg,” he said through his teeth.

“You're doing it, aren't you?” She drew back a little and looked up into his darkly glittering eyes. “But if you're sure you can't do it, then why don't you fall on the floor or something?”

“Lady,” he breathed through his teeth, “you're brave in company.”

“If we were alone, what would you do to me?” she asked with open curiosity, her green eyes wide and twinkling.

The look in them softened him, just a little. She was a handful, but her heart was in the right place. She wouldn't let him feel sorry for himself, or slide into thinking he had to give up living because he had a bum leg. And until now, he hadn't even realized how much he'd used that leg to keep him away from people. It had become his excuse for being a recluse, his excuse for avoiding involvement.

His fingers edged between hers and caressed them as he turned her with amazing flexibility. He smiled then, the cold anger in his eyes melting into reluctant pleasure.

“You danced before the accident, didn't you?” she asked, smiling. “You loved it, too. You're very good, despite that leg. You move with such grace for a big man.”

“And what would you have done, Pollyanna, if I'd gone down on the floor with the first turn?” he asked.

“Oh, I'd have made sure I went down with you,” she said matter-of-factly, “so that everyone would have thought I tripped you.”

He felt his heart start pounding. Something stirred in him that he hadn't felt since his youth, something young and daring and utterly reckless. He pulled her against him and stood there for one long minute, fighting the urge to kiss her in front of everyone. He liked the way her body melted into his when he drew her close, he liked the faint trembling of her legs against his. She was his the minute he touched her, and he especially liked that. His eyes narrowed as he remembered the feel of her soft mouth, the exquisite pleasure it gave him to kiss her. She'd been engaged once, she'd told him. He felt a sudden heat of unreasonable jealousy. What had the man been like? Why had he jilted her? Was there some secret in her past that she was afraid to share with him?

“Are we doing statue imitations?” she asked breathlessly.

His lips pursed. “I'm trying to decide whether to kiss you.”

“Not in front of all these people, for heaven's sake,” she burst out.

“These people—or Gerald?” he asked softly.

Her eyebrows went straight up with surprise. “Well, come to think of it, I'm not sure how he'd react to it,” she had to admit. Gerald hadn't said anything about her interest in Winthrop, and she didn't think he'd fire her over it. But, then again, she wasn't sure….

Winthrop sighed, and drew her back against him. “Never mind, daffodil. Just dance.”

“Why did you call me that?”

He smiled against her temple. “There's nothing more full of hope than a daffodil. It comes before the last snow is gone, fluffing up yellow and pretty and optimistic in the middle of all that freezing white. It takes a lot to kill a daffodil. They're glorious.”

Tears stung her eyes. He could call her daffodil forever, if he liked. She snuggled closer. “What a nice compliment,” she said.

“I meant it.”

“I know. You're not the kind of man who spouts insincere flattery.”

“Perceptive of you, Miss White.”

“You bet, Mr. Christopher.”

He was quiet then, circling the floor lazily with her soft weight against him, feeling his head whirl with delicious sensations. His leg was beginning to throb from the unfamiliar strain, but he'd have fallen on the floor before he'd have given in to it now. He didn't want to let go of her. He wanted to pull her closer, and bend his head and take her soft mouth fully under his….

All too soon the music stopped, and Gerald was there, waiting.

“My turn,” he grinned. “Sorry, big brother.”

Winthrop stared at his brother for a long minute, searching the younger man's eyes curiously. And for just a minute, he thought about refusing. Then he came to his senses. She was just a woman, for God's sake, and women were treacherous. He wasn't going to fight with his brother. If Gerald wanted her, he could have her, Winthrop thought angrily. He smiled, but there was no humor in it. He nodded with a mocking smile at Nicole and then walked slowly away to the punch bowl, pausing to talk to some of the other men on the way.

“You angel,” Gerald said, hugging her. “At first I thought he was going to breathe fire at you.”

“So did I, but I bluffed him out. Doesn't he dance beautifully?” she murmured dreamily, staring past Gerald at Winthrop.

“Indeed he does, with the right partner.” He whirled her around. “You've brought him back to life. I'd given up hope that he was ever going to put things into perspective. You're very good for him.”

“Where's Sadie?” she asked.

“Phoning Mary to make sure Mrs. Todd is all right.” He slowed down a little. “I wish I could decide what to do about it.”

“Why don't you do what you want to and solve all your problems when the time comes? You can't cross a bridge until it's in front of you.”

“Where did you learn so much?” he asked curiously. “You're not at all what you seem.”

“I've had plenty of practice,” was all she'd admit. And then that dance, too, was over, and she went from partner to partner for the rest of the evening.

Winthrop didn't dance with her again, but she felt his gaze on her wherever she went. Her eyes were on him just as much, when she thought he wasn't looking. He was so good to look at. Dressing up suited him. Even in a simple white cotton shirt and dressy tie, he looked elegant. It made him seem darker than ever, more sensuous. She wasn't even surprised to discover that she loved him. That seemed as natural as breathing.

All too soon, the guests were leaving. Nicole had the crazy idea of being alone with Winthrop while Gerald took Sadie home. But he looked in her direction with an expression on his face that chilled her to the bone. It was as if he hated her, and perhaps he did for what she'd done to him. Dragging him onto the dance floor in front of all the neighbors might not have been the way to his heart, she realized. And because she was confused and a little hurt by his coldness, she asked if she could ride with Gerald and Sadie. They took one look at her face and agreed without protest.

When they got to Sadie's house, Mrs. Todd was asleep, and Mary was watching a gory horror film on television. It was just ending and Mary sat with a big bowl of popcorn on her ample lap, refusing to budge until the last drop of blood was spilled.

“Good movie,” she enthused, walking out with Nicole while Sadie and Gerald said a lingering good-night indoors. “You like horror films?” she asked.

“I like vampire movies,” Nicole said. “But I like science fiction better.”

“You and Winthrop,” she shook her head. “Those films are noisy. Too noisy. I like quiet movies.”

“With screaming and lots of victims,” Nicole chided.

Mary stared at her, stone-faced. “Beats all those noisy machines.”

Nicole laughed delightfully. “I guess so. How did Mrs. Todd do tonight?”

“Done fine. We had pudding. I like pudding.”