Rising Heat (43 page)

My hands braced on her shoulders, I threw my head back and groaned loudly as I climaxed into her hand, my world growing even darker around the edges. My passion spent, I stopped moving and placed one hand over hers. She relinquished her grip on my cock but didn’t pull away from me. Neither of us said anything for several moments.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I said softly. I stepped away from her and then walked naked toward the bathroom under the stairs. Without turning on the light, I reached for the towel rack, pulled the hand towel off, and then returned to the living room. She was gone. I glanced down, saw that the bathrobe that had dropped from her shoulders only minutes before at the base of the stairs was also gone.

I wasn’t sure if I should go upstairs after her, then decided to give her space. Maybe she was just as surprised as me by the power and the passion of what just occurred between us. There was no doubt we shared and enjoyed a unique physical chemistry. I had no feelings of guilt, no sense that I had seduced her, nothing that convinced me that I had anything to be sorry for. While I didn’t think I’d taken advantage of her, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d indulged in a lack of judgment, to say the very least.

I stood at the base of the stairs for several moments, then wiped myself off. I strode toward the fireplace and tossed the hand towel onto the glowing embers of the fire. My thoughts troubled, my emotions racing from one thought to the next, I began to pull on my clothes.

Common sense returned with the effect of a splash of cold water. What the hell had gotten into me? She was a journalist! What was to stop her from… no, I didn’t want to think that about her. I didn’t want to think I had taken advantage of her, seduced her, or used her any more than she had me. We had enjoyed each other’s company. Nothing more and nothing less.

Nevertheless, I felt mired in a disturbing, if satisfying predicament.

Misty

O
Lord, O Lord, O Lord!

I quickly raced up the stairs, ignoring my protesting muscles, the heaviness between my legs, the still tingling sensations behind my nipples. What had I done? More importantly, what had I allowed Blake to do? For crying out loud, I’d only just met him and I had let him… oh God, that tongue!

I had acted like a slut, but I wasn’t one — nothing could be further from the truth. What would Blake think of me? How could I face him again? Had he seduced me or had it been the other way around? Were we equally to blame? It had just… happened. Still, it wasn’t very professional on either of our parts, but there was no going back to undo it. I would remember those moments forever. The dull glow of the embers, the warmth of the room, of his hands, his cock… every sensation, every touch, every sound that had rumbled from deep in his chest was permanently implanted in my memory.

As I stepped into my room, quietly closed the door and leaned against it, I had to ask myself a question. Did I regret it? Physically, no. Emotionally, I wasn’t sure. I should. I should feel damned embarrassed, guilty, or the very least chagrined. But as I slowly walked toward the bed, I realized I didn’t feel any of those things. It’d been a wonderful moment that we both shared.

I didn’t understand why I was so attracted to him, and certainly couldn’t understand why he felt such an attraction to me. Not that I was putting myself down or anything. I was happy with myself, confident, to a degree, and felt that I had just as much to offer a man as any woman.

Except for my weight.

Except for my birthmark.

I shook my head, trying to shake those thoughts away.

They wouldn’t go.

Blake Masters? Really? He was way out of my league… wasn’t he? Then again, why should any man be considered out of my league? I had a lot to offer, not only sexually, but emotionally and mentally.

Stepping into the bathroom, I washed the evidence of our encounter down the sink, then quickly splashed water my face. As I climbed into bed, I realized I’d forgotten to get the glass of water I’d gone down to get in the first place. I had been startled to hear Blake’s voice coming from the couch when I reached the bottom of the stairs. Why hadn’t he gone up to bed? I scoffed. What did I know about his sleeping habits? Maybe he slept in a chair or on a sofa all the time.

I wondered what he was thinking right this moment. Was he kicking himself, regretting what we had done, or could he be going to the other extreme, crushing on me? I snickered at my thought as I climbed between the sheets, my body still humming with the memory of his lovemaking.

No, not lovemaking. We hadn’t made love. We’d had sex… oral sex. That’s all it was. Sex. An interlude, consensual, both needing something from each other.

No regrets and no promises. I couldn’t go back and undo it and I wasn’t going to kick myself endlessly for my temporary lapse in judgment. I would just have to make sure that it didn’t happen again and would trust that he would do the same. After all, as soon as this interview was over, we would both be going our separate ways. As far as I was concerned, the interview could already be over. I would find out what he had to say in the morning. Either he allowed me to ask the questions I needed to ask or there was no point in pursuing this interview any further.

Especially now. After those moments on the sofa.

Cuddled under the covers, I stared up into the darkness, my memory going back over every move, every sound, and every sensation. I knew that I would never tell anyone, not even Melanie, what Blake and I had done. For one, it was nobody’s business, and for two, I didn’t need anyone giving me the third degree or asking for a blow-by-blow. I grimaced at my choice of words.

No, this was something that I would keep to myself, close to my heart. Things like this just didn’t happen to me. I rolled over, faced the wall, and then resolved that I would make no apologies, and I hoped that Blake didn’t either. I didn’t want him to be sorry for what he — we — had done. It happened, and we would move on.

I would just have to wait and see what happened tomorrow. Either I would continue his inspections with him, or I would find myself on my way back to San Francisco. Regardless of either decision, I wouldn’t take it personally. I had no aspirations, expectations, or goals when it came to Blake Masters. I had a job to do, and I would do my best to complete my assignment. When I returned to San Francisco, I would likely never see him again.

The problem would be purging him from my memory.

*

As I headed downstairs the following morning, I got a definite whiff of bacon and coffee, and eggs. My heart fluttered nervously in my chest. I would
not
be embarrassed. I would not be embarrassed! I reached the bottom of the steps and then turned to move down the hallway toward the kitchen. I heard the clatter of a pan on the stove, then a cupboard opening and closing.

I hesitated briefly before stepping into the kitchen, taking a deep breath and walking in with a smile, as if nothing had happened between us. “Something smells good,” I said lightly. My heart skipped a beat when Blake turned around. He wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His hair looked freshly washed, still damp, tufts of it dangling over his forehead. It took every ounce of discipline I had not to step toward him, reach my hand up and smooth them back.

“Hungry?”

“I wasn’t really, until I smelled the bacon,” I admitted.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the small table under a window that overlooked the woodpile and the woods beyond the cabin. I glanced at the cozy little nook, saw two placemats, two sets of silverware, and a glass of orange juice sitting in front of each place setting. I stepped to the table and sat down, reaching for the glass of orange juice and sipped as he dished out large spoonful’s of scrambled eggs onto blue-speckled tin plates. Moments later, he placed those two heaping plates of steaming scrambled eggs, several slices of bacon, and two lightly browned pieces of toast onto the table.

“Coffee?”

“Please,” I said and waited for him to return to the table with the coffee. He placed a mug down in front of me, then sat, placing his own mug beside his steaming plate.

“Dig in,” he said, reaching for his fork. “There’s nothing worse than cold eggs.”

I smiled and nodded. Despite the nervous knot in my stomach, I began to eat. After several moments, Blake cleared his throat and my heart thumped in my chest. I didn’t want him to say anything about the previous evening. “Please don’t say anything about last night, Blake,” I said, beating him to it. “Let’s just forget it happened, all right?” I glanced at him, saw him gaze at me — uncertainty I thought — for several moments, and then slowly nod.

“Sure,” he said before stabbing a large clump of scrambled egg onto his fork.

I decided to get the question out into the open. “So are we done now, or am I going to tag along with you as you inspect your next property?”

He said nothing as he chewed. I had a sinking feeling that I would be going home today. My heart sank in disappointment, not in Blake, but in myself. Some journalist I was. I could just see the look on Angela’s face when I returned and told her that I hadn’t been able to complete the assignment, at least not in the way that she’d envisioned.

“I’m not ready to talk about my father’s death,” he said bluntly. “I’ll try to be more forthcoming with other questions you have, but let’s keep that one off limits for now, shall we?”

I thought about it and then nodded. “I suppose so,” I agreed. He had said, “not ready.” There might be a chance for me to delve more deeply into his past and get down to the truth before my time with him was over.

“Will we be here much longer?”

He glanced up from his plate. “Just a little something this afternoon in town, but tomorrow morning we’ll leave this property and go on to the next.”

I nodded, secretly pleased that I didn’t have to leave yet. We both ate silently for several minutes. He was a good cook and I complimented him. He grinned.

“I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“What, no fancy mansion, no cooks, no maids, no butlers?” I was only half joking.

He shook his head. “I’ve got no need for a mansion, I can cook for myself, and I know how to do my own laundry.”

I glanced at him, not needing to force my smile this time. Now that was a change of pace, wasn’t it? Then again, it wasn’t like I knew a lot of billionaires… or how they lived. What I knew about them, I’d read. I grimaced. I was beginning to understand his hesitancy in exposing himself to public view. Was it anyone’s business how he chose to live? Maybe Blake Masters wasn’t such a unique creature after all.

Soon, we had both finished breakfast and he leaned back in his chair to finish off his coffee. “I fixed breakfast so you get to do the dishes.”

I nodded. “Fair enough. Then what?”

“I have some business to take care of in the office. You can go exploring if you’d like, but not on the four-wheeler… there are some beautiful hiking trails that branch off behind the cabin.” He gestured over his shoulder out the window.

“I think I’ll take you up on that.” The truth was, I rather liked being out here in the wilderness. I was used to wide open spaces in Texas; not really accustomed to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco. It was nice to be away from the skyscrapers, the asphalt, and the near constant dinging of the cable cars, the mobs of people, and everything else that city life entailed.

Both of us stuck to our agreement and didn’t mention last night. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Relieved? Uncertain? I decided to let things play out. Keep focused on my job. After breakfast, Blake left the kitchen and headed into the office. I heard the door close as I rose from the table and busied myself cleaning up the kitchen. Then, as he had suggested, I headed out of the cabin, rounded the side, and found two trails that led into the woods and upward into the hills beyond.

It was a beautiful morning, the scent of pine heavy in the air. Not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky. The air was crisp and cool, but not cold enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms. I stood for several moments, enjoying the feel of the sunshine, the scent in the air, just being outside. A smile tugged at my lips as I began to slowly meander my way up the trail. I recognized several trees, especially the Noble Fir and the Red Cedar. As I walked along, I spied a cluster of Lodgepole Pine, and a short distance beyond that, some Quaking Aspen. I kicked at a few stray pine cones as I walked, staying on the trail as I passed sagebrush, some Blue Blossom, and Indian Plum.

I didn’t know the names of many other shrubs, but did know enough to keep my eye out for any sign of poison oak and its telltale “leaves of three, leave them be.” In my native Texas, poison ivy could be found in most areas, and I had learned my lesson as a young child. I knew that poison oak could grow densely in open sunlight or in shaded areas as a climbing vine. The last thing I needed at this point was to walk into a patch of that.

I enjoyed my walk, trying to keep my mind off of Blake, though unsuccessful for more than a few minutes at a time. My thoughts kept retrieving the memory of last night. Blake Masters was certainly experienced, much more so than I. No probably about it. Even though I’d only slept with a couple of men, I got the impression I’d pleased him, even with my lack of sexual skills and experience. Had last night meant anything to him?

Did it matter?

I paused at the top of a small knoll, pausing to turn and gaze at the view below. Off in the distance I saw the cabin, and beyond that the helicopter, the sun glinting across its sleek surface. Beyond that, miles and miles of wilderness. My mind wandered back to Blake, and that instant, I realized that it
did
matter. I did want Blake to like me, but I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Was it because he was so different from any other man I’d ever met? Was it because he was rich and important, and I liked the idea of capturing his attention? Or was it merely because he was so damn charismatic? He practically oozed sex and animal attraction.