Snowed In (6 page)

Chapter 10

Gavin was having a hell of a time working. He could hear Maureen puttering around upstairs, her footsteps settling just above him. Of course. He didn't like to call it his library—that made him sound old and pretentious—but calling it his study sounded even more stuck-up. He just called it The Room. Outside of the office, it was the room he spent most of his time in. He went in there to read or to watch sports on the world's smallest television, as Pippa liked to call it. He had saved a lot of his parents' books when they were cleaning out the house. He grew up surrounded by them, and he couldn't get rid of them. They were his friends, his brothers and sisters since he'd never had actual siblings. He had sampled all of them, cutting his prepubescent teeth on Robert E. Howard, feeding his teenage obsession with Teddy Roosevelt with David McCullough. He was surprised that he could not only finish Jane Austen, but that he actually liked her.

Which, of course, had helped him with the brainy girls in school.

Gavin had always had a thing for brainy girls, and when Maureen told him that she was a librarian, he had wanted to tear her away from her extra fries and . . . talk about books. He guessed she was upstairs reading. Maybe he should go light a fire for her? No, if he found her up there snuggled in with a book he would never make it back down here. And if she was wearing reading glasses, forget it. He would marry her.

That thought stopped him short. The idea was ludicrous—he had known her for less than a day. Actually, if you counted their first encounter, he really had known her for several weeks. But she had been in a relationship for two years without a ring, so maybe she didn't want to get married.

He thought about how big this house was for just one person, and how right she looked wearing his bathrobe. She was so generous and kind, and she surprised him with occasional sharp edges. Of course—of course—it was too soon to think about marrying her. But he could see himself forever with someone like her.

Her, really.

He shook his head and tried to get back to work. He was never going to get her out of his head. He needed distraction to refocus. Looking out the window at all of the snow, he thought maybe he could exhaust himself digging out the driveway. But if he dug the car out, he would be able to take her home. He wasn't ready for her to go.

In the end, he called Pippa to check up on her. She picked up testily and told him not to bother her, she and Marv were playing doctor. That was enough to turn him off sex, at least for long enough for him to put the finishing touches on the proposal and send it off to the client.

There were other calls and emails for him to return, but finishing a project always made him antsy for physical exercise. He really should shovel the car out, and Pippa's too.

Then he thought of Maureen upstairs in the room. They wouldn't be able to go anywhere until the road was plowed anyway.

There was no question in his mind what kind of physical exercise he wanted.

Except when he found her, she was in no position to exercise. Her legs were draped over his dad's old armchair, a blanket thrown across her lap. Her arm dangled over the side where it had dropped the book that sat next to the chair. She still wore his bathrobe and the front gaped open enticingly. She had awakened him this morning; fair play, he thought as he reached for the edges of the robe.

But she looked so sweet and peaceful there that he hated to disturb her. And he really should shovel Pippa's car out, otherwise Marv would get heroic ideas and Gavin didn't need him having a heart attack when there was no way an ambulance could get through. Maureen would probably still be asleep when he got back. Then he would wake her and she could figure out a way to warm him up.

He couldn't resist leaning over her and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up in a rush.

“I wasn't asleep,” she said in a sleep-clogged voice. “I was reading.”

“I always find it easier to read with my eyes closed.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “Sorry. Are you done with work?”

She looked so hopeful, he wanted to scoop her up and take her into the bedroom, Marv be damned. But he just sighed. “Almost. I need to shovel out my neighbor before her boyfriend decides he doesn't have a heart condition and does it himself.”

“You're sweet,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek.

He twisted his head to kiss her palm. “I just don't want to get in trouble for killing her boyfriend. I'll never hear the end of it.”

“I'll help,” she said, throwing the blanket off her legs.

“No, don't do that. I won't be long.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you see how much snow is out there? It will take hours to do that by yourself. I'm helping. I'm all rested up from my nap—”

“I thought you were reading?”

“Ha. Quit arguing, I'm helping. Do you have an extra shovel?”

“If I said no, would you stay in the house and act like a guest and let me spoil you?”

“No. I would stand outside there in solidarity.”

“Fine. If you insist.” He kissed her on the nose and got up to gather their gear.

 

 

The sensation of wearing sweatpants without underwear was not one Maureen was used to. But looking at that sexy lingerie and thinking about the work ahead of her, she opted to go commando under her borrowed sweats. They were a little long, as were the snow pants she was wearing, but she was warm and dry as she hefted the red snow shovel over her shoulder for the six millionth time.

There had been a brief moment of slapstick when they tried to get the storm door open into four feet of snow: first Gavin throwing his weight against the door frame, then Maureen throwing her weight against Gavin as they got the door open, inch by snowy inch, at least enough for them to squeeze their snow gear-puffy bodies out. Gavin was a bit wider than Maureen, and she had to stand in the snow with his arm flung over her shoulders, leaning forward with all of her weight until he popped out. They both landed face-first in the snow, laughing. He had wiped snow off her nose, then kissed it sweetly.

He was always doing that, giving her little kisses, gentle touches on her arm or back. He was so tender; Maureen didn't think she'd ever been with a man who was so un-self-conscious about being sweet. He gave generously, and although Maureen had no compunction about touching him in return, she didn't feel like it was expected, or that he would be hurt if she were more reserved.

She chalked it up to the snow-bubble they were living in. They'd had no physical contact with the outside world for at least fifteen hours. They'd used the time well, she thought, learning each other's bodies and sharing a little bit of their minds. But how long would the bubble last? Already they were piercing it by shoveling his car out. Next, the road would be plowed, then she'd go back home, then to work, while he worked here. Would she see him again? Would she
want
to see him? This was her first chance to be single in two years. Was she ready to give up that piece of herself again, to start figuring out how to fit into someone else's life? She wanted to fit into her own life—her work, her friends, her books—but suddenly the prospect of never seeing Gavin again had her eyes stinging. She didn't want to give him up. But she didn't want to lose herself, either.

 

 

Gavin rang Pippa's doorbell as Maureen disappeared, shoveling out the far side of his truck. He'd already done the walkway, but was losing steam and didn't want to have to shovel Marv's car out if they weren't planning on going anywhere for a few days. Besides, Pippa hadn't picked up the phone when he'd called her—three times—and much as he hated to admit it, he was worried about her. Pippa was a strange woman, but she took care of him. She was like a grandmother to him, if his grandmother gave out condoms instead of hard candy.

Pippa answered the door in a silky, ruffly, obscenely flowery bathrobe. She wore fuzzy slippers and had an unlit cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

“What do you—oh, hi, Gavin. What're you up to?”

He looked pointedly at the shovel in his hand. “Oh, just sunbathing. You?”

“Well, Marv just took another one of those little blue pills, so I don't have long. What do you need?”

Ugh. He shook away the mental picture. Then Marv appeared behind Pippa, wearing a pink towel. Just one very small pink towel.

Gavin was scarred for life.

“Hi there, Gavin. What're you up to?”

Gavin held up the shovel. “Sunbathing. Just wanted to see how you two are holding up.”

“Well,” Marv laughed, “I just took a little blue pill, so I'll be holding up just fine in a minute or two. You survive the storm all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine. Listen, do you need me to shovel out your car or can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh, he's not going anywhere,” said Pippa, reaching around to give Marv's rear a squeeze. “You can get back to, uh—” She arched her eyebrow toward Maureen's bulky jacketed figure, topped with that cute green hat and scarf, as she bent low and made her way around the truck with her shovel. “Get back to work. I'm impressed, cutie. Even in a blizzard you manage to pick up—”

“It's not like that,” Gavin said quickly before Pippa could say whatever she was going to say.

“Uh huh. Anyone I know?”

Gavin knew Pippa was a regular library goer, so there was a chance she knew Maureen. Then again, he'd never seen her there.

Probably better to let Pippa assume she was a stranger.

“Don't worry about it, Gavin. I'll shovel my car out later,” said Marv. Gavin was so grateful for the rescue, he almost forgot about the towel.

Almost.

“Oh, no you don't,” protested Pippa. “Not with that ticker, you don't.”

Marv laughed again, his belly shaking the towel dangerously close to loose. “If my lady here had her way, I'd be here until the thaw.”

As he reached around to tug on the belt of Pippa's robe, Gavin decided they were fine, yes, definitely fine, and he didn't need to check up on them, oh, ever again.

“Okay, well, call if you need anything,” he said, backing out of the doorway.

“Wait! Just a second, Gavin,” Pippa said, skittering back into the house. She returned a moment later with a plastic shopping bag and handed it to Gavin. “Enjoy yourself,” she winked, and shut the door in his face.

Gavin looked inside the bag and found packets of hot chocolate, a bottle of bubble bath, and . . . condoms.

Chapter 11

Maureen wanted to take off her sweatshirt. Really, she did. It just didn't seem that her arms would reach up that high. Her shoulders ached and her back was sore and her nose was runny. And yet, she was smiling. Gavin had made them peanut butter and banana sandwiches (restorative, he said with a wink) and hot chocolate, and now he was running her a bath in that magnificent, gigantic claw foot tub. The smell of vanilla wafted from the bathroom and she groaned, imagining relaxing into steaming hot water.

She groaned again, for an entirely different reason this time, as she sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to remove her socks. She barely had her fingers around the toe of her left foot when the water stopped and Gavin appeared in the doorway.

She would have liked to sit up and appreciate him properly as he stood there in just his plaid boxer shorts. She imagined an X-rated Highland warrior, the hard muscles of his forearms gleaming with water. She would have liked to fully take in the strength of his thighs, but it was all she could do to raise her head. She settled for the majesty of his firm calves.

“Ready?” he asked, coming toward the bed and kneeling in front of her.

“Yes,” she said, making a lame pull at the sock.

“The bath will feel better with fewer clothes on.”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

They stayed there for a moment just looking at each other.

“Is there a problem, Maureen?”

“No, no problem. I just can't move.”

“Let me.” He pushed her hands away and peeled off her socks, then stood to pull the sweatshirt over her head. She grimaced as she lowered her arms again. “Almost there,” he said, soothingly, as he lifted her at the waist and tugged her sweatpants down.

She stood on shaky legs, completely naked.

“Well, come on,” he said, taking her hand.

She wanted to take a step, really, she did. But he was so gorgeous and she was so . . . sore. She didn't think she could move if the house was on fire. So she just whimpered.

“What a wimp,” Gavin said, and scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. He set her down on the small, fuzzy rug and held her arm as she stepped into the bubble-filled tub. She sighed as the warmth danced up her calf.

“Too hot?”

“Perfect.” She stepped in with both feet and braced her arms on the sides of the tub to lower herself down.

Oh, this was heaven. She outright groaned as the water touched her back and the bubbles danced up her chest. She dropped her arms into the bath and started sinking down.

“Hey, hold on,” he said, reaching under her arms to sit her up. “Make room for me.”

“But—” She started to protest that there was no way two people of their height and size could fit into this tub. But then he bent down, taking his boxers with him, and Maureen was determined that they would make it work.

It took a little maneuvering, but soon he was facing her, their legs touching, his feet at her side. She felt the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail curl in the heat. She was going to be a frizzy mess when she got out, but that was a problem for later. Now she soaked, gently moving her arms so the vanilla scented bubbles caressed her breasts.

She opened her eyes at the sound of Gavin's contented sigh. He sat with his eyes closed, his head leaning against the tile wall, his shoulders and elbows resting on the lip of the tub. Poor guy. He had shoveled twice as much as she had. Of course, he had the muscles for it.

The thought that she would have to go back to reality buzzed in the front of her mind like a summer fly, but she flicked it away. Right now she was taking a luxurious bubble bath with a handsome, tired god. She was going to enjoy it.

Maureen sat up, taking hold of each of his hands and making slow, firm circles up his forearms. Gavin didn't open his eyes, but he groaned and she felt goose flesh form on his skin. She rubbed down to his wrists, then up his arms again, this time leaning forward to work up his biceps. His muscles were like rocks, but his skin was softened by the water. She felt him relax by slow degrees under her kneading. She moved up to his shoulders, tracing that delicious line that defined the muscle, reveling in his solidness. Then across his chest, pressing lightly with the palms of her hands, then her fingers. She worked up, around the back of his neck, pulling him forward and turning him—less gracefully and sensually than she had hoped—so his back was to her. Oh, that strong back. Broad and solid. She could see each muscle move as he flexed and stretched, responding to her touch like a cat. He shivered as she massaged up the back of his neck and onto his scalp, tilting his head back into her hand as her fingertips danced through his thick, dark hair.

He reached around for her hands then, pulling her palms to drop a kiss on each one before placing them on his chest and leaning back into her embrace. They sat like that for a long moment, their heartbeats in sync, until he pressed a kiss onto her cheek and urged her up. This time she sat with her back to his front and he ran his fingers up and down her arms. He scooped handfuls of water and trickled them gently down her shoulders and her chest, following the rivulets with his fingertips. He repeated the process until she felt heavy and relaxed. He traced the last trickle down and cupped her breasts, finding the peak of her nipples. She squirmed under his hands but he shushed her and kissed her neck. She could feel his arousal against her back, and she squirmed again, hoping to tease him the way he was teasing her.

But then he stood up. She was so caught up in her daze of relaxation and arousal that she didn't have time to brace herself against the sudden loss of his support, but he caught her and tugged her upright.

“Water's getting cold,” he said, reaching for a towel.

“But—” she whimpered—actually whimpered—as he wrapped her in a fuzzy green towel and stepped out of the tub.

“But what? Do you want to catch pneumonia?”

“But I was just getting warm.” She ran a finger down his chest. He responded by vigorously rubbing his hair dry with his own towel, then wrapping it around his waist.

“Well,” he said, tugging her close, “we can stay in that freezing cold water . . .”

“It's hardly freezing.”

“. . . or I can light us a fire.”

She might have paused for a moment to consider, but it sure didn't sound like it.

“Yes, fire please.”

He chuckled. “You dry off, I'll light the fire.” He kissed her then, the kiss she had been waiting for since they got in the tub. It was hot and deep and she found herself standing on her toes to get closer. But he just pulled away.

“Hey,” she said, reaching him as he turned to leave the room. She only succeeded in grabbing his towel, though, which came unwrapped in her hand. He turned back at her, shrugged, and walked off toward the room full of books and fireplace.

What was that saying? She hated to see him go, but she loved to watch him leave.