Straight From The Heart (6 page)

Throwing back the quilt, she stopped mid-motion. The image of Stephen Wright sprawled across the love seat pinned her to the bed. Could she sneak past him without waking him?

It was so quiet she could hear the tiny creaks of the house and the faint crackling sparks of the dying embers. Eventually giving into hunger, she padded barefoot to the bedroom door. It squeaked upon opening. Kim grimaced at the sound. She really didn’t want to wake him.

Two steps into the living room, she gasped. He was standing in front of the fire watching her sneaking arrival.

And all he had on was a pair of boxers.

Stephen eyed Kimberly
with a mixture of frustration and amusement. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. Unlike him she wore a sleep shirt that covered her from chin to just below the knees. Across the darkened room her bare legs glowed softly white, their shape defined. For some reason Stephen couldn’t get his mind off them. He remembered her sitting on the love seat earlier, legs crossed.

You’re a total pervert!
he told himself.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked.

“I told you, I don’t sleep much.”

“But you’re not even lying down.” Her voice sounded like an accusation. She reluctantly stepped forward, and he realized she was looking anywhere but at him.

His own near nudity finally registered. Well, tough. He was hot, and it wasn’t exactly like he’d planned this midnight meeting. She could just deal with it.

“I thought about getting something to eat,” she said, sidling toward the kitchen.

“The lamp’s kind of low on oil. Let me light some candles,” he suggested, leading the way ahead of her. He’d found several in drawers and had used drinking glasses as candlesticks. As he lit them, they illuminated the kitchen with eerie pools of light, their listing shapes within the glasses giving them a drunken look that added to the general feeling of strangeness and intimacy.

Kim eyed the candles with more interest than necessary. Stephen could feel how much she wanted to keep distance between them; she practically moved an extra yard away whenever she had to get by him.

“I had a couple of burgers,” he told her.

“I know,” she said a trifle testily. “I could smell them.”

“You should’ve had one.”

“I wasn’t in the mood then.”

“Well, they’re cold now.”

“Thank you for that information. I don’t think I could have come up with it on my own.”

“What’s eating you?” he demanded, glancing around at her. She’d circled past him and was standing in the shadows somewhere behind his left shoulder.

“Nothing.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, but the movement only defined her breasts. Stephen tried not to stare, but the lovely picture she made only fueled his fantasies—which bugged him to no end.

Annoyed, he purposely moved into her space. “I could stir up the fire and give them a reheat. I don’t guarantee they’ll be any good, but hey, there aren’t a lot of options here.”

“Maybe I’ll just have wheat bread and salad,” she answered, stepping back until her hips pressed against the counter.

Something snapped inside Stephen; some long held fury at the fates for making everything so difficult. He’d simply had it with convention. Moving closer, he stood right in front of her, not touching, but staring down at her so that her breath caught in alarm and she shrank back against the cabinets.

“What—what are you doing?” she asked shakily.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Well, don’t do it!”

“I’m just tired of all the problems, and I just want to forget them.”

Kim’s hands were clasped in front of her chest, as if this gesture would ward him off. “Fine. Great. Forget away. But you’re really—crowding me!”

“I’ll just reach around you to the cooler and pull out the rest of the salad. I saved you some.” With that he slid an arm past hers and dragged the cooler out.

Kim stood frozen for a moment, then said icily, “Would you mind putting some more clothes on?”

Stephen pretended surprise. “Does this bother you?”

“No. I just—” He waited, staring down at her. “Actually, as a matter of fact, it
does
bother me.” She hazarded a direct glance upward. “You bother me.”

“Well, you bother me, too.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said swiftly.

“Like what?”

“Good grief, you really are an attorney. Questions, questions, questions.”

“You’re just avoiding answering.”

“Look, I came out here to get something to eat, but you know what? I’m not hungry anymore. You have killed my appetite.” She squeezed past him.

It was all Stephen could do not to trap her full body against the counter. He was amazed at himself. He couldn’t ever remember behaving so badly.

But when Kim glanced back at him over her shoulder, lips soft in the candlelight, expression lost and a little miserable, his control completely broke. Against all of her wishes, he dragged her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair.

Her body quivered in his arms. He half expected her to slap him, but all she did was heave a trembling sigh. She struggled to talk; he could feel her effort. But she was unsuccessful.

Seconds ticked by. The contours of her body melted against his. His lips brushed her ear. Her forehead fell to his chest, as if her bones had given way. He held her tighter, heard her uneven breathing mixed with his own. Thoughts danced in his head. Desires. He was on the verge of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her Rhett Butler-style to the tiny bedroom until she whispered faintly, “I can’t.”

“Kimberly
 . . .
”

“I don’t even like you very much,” she said with a touch of humor.

He rested his chin on the crown of her head, struggling for control, for the same lightness. It would break the spell, something she obviously desperately wanted, “I can live with that.”

“Goodnight, Stephen.” Slowly, she pulled herself from his arms. “See you in the morning.”

His name on her lips seemed to echo in his mind. She didn’t say it often. Had he ever heard it? It distracted him for so long that she’d moved from the kitchen to the living room before he could respond.

“What about your wheat bread and salad?” he asked, catching sight of her as she stepped across the threshold into the bedroom.

“Somehow I think it’ll be there for me tomorrow.”

The door closed softly behind her. And Stephen Wright spent a very uncomfortable evening on a too-small love seat in front of a dying fire while his mind tortured him with a continual rerun of those moments when Kim was in his arms.

Kimberly’s wish for sunshine was completely ignored by the gods of weather. Rain plummeted with renewed force as soon as dawn broke. She watched from the living room window, her arms folded across her chest, her thoughts dark. She could hear the water from the shower, probably icy cold, but Stephen had taken his bag and braved the possibility anyway.

Kim longed desperately for a cup of coffee. She’d brought instant. All she had to do was build another fire and heat some water over the coals, yet for some reason it sounded like a monumental task. She was weary all over. Lack of sleep definitely had something to do with it.

And why couldn’t you sleep?

Kim
snorted in disgust. What in God’s name had come over her last night? For a heartbeat, locked in the security of Stephen’s arms, tantalized by the possibility of lovemaking by candlelight, she’d forgotten herself completely. She’d forgotten whom she was with! When he’d gathered her close, instead of running away she’d stood in robot-like anticipation, mesmerized by every touch and downright faint with desire.

The memory embarrassed her. Groaning, she buried her face in her hands, then dug her fingers into her scalp, wanting to rip her hair out by the roots. The incessant rush of the shower invaded her thoughts. She could picture him naked under the unforgiving spray, his muscles sleek and wet.

“You are completely crazy,” she told herself.

Pacing the room, Kim wished there was some way she could call Bobby. The sound of her son’s voice was bound to be a reality check. He was so good and exuberant and full of pep. She needed that right now. Instead, she was trapped here with no means of communication.

The taps suddenly shut off. The thought of Stephen Wright appearing damp and half-naked galvanized Kim into action. She threw more wood on the fire and shoved newspaper beneath it. She’d just struck a match when she heard the bathroom door open, and she turned and looked without thinking.

He wore a pair of jeans, low on his hips, and a towel draped around his neck. His hair was wet and tending toward a curliness she hadn’t noticed before. Raking fingers through that wet mane, he threw her a questioning look.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Stephen merely lifted a brow at her attempts to divert him. He strode into the kitchen, and Kim broke seven matches before she managed to set fire to the newspaper. Blast the man. He completely disarmed her.

When the flames took hold, Kim situated a sauce pan full of water precariously atop the logs. Earlier she’d munched on a dry piece of wheat bread and eaten the rest of the salad. So much for breakfast.

Stephen appeared from the kitchen with more bread, butter, and jam. He gazed at the pan full of water with interest. “Coffee?”

“Hopefully.”

“Did you get anything to eat?”

“Yep,” Kim responded.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you wasting away.”

Why couldn’t he wear a shirt?
Kim asked herself. What was this bare chest thing all about? It irritated her that she was so susceptible to it. She’d never thought of herself as someone who obsessed over men’s bodies, but she sure as heck was obsessing over this one!

“You’re frowning,” he pointed out. With animal grace he slipped the towel off his shoulders, absentmindedly dried his chest, then tossed the towel to the edge of the love seat.

“You’re half-dressed,” she snapped back.

“I’m going to put a shirt on as soon as I’m totally dry.” He looked amused.

“I just don’t feel comfortable, okay?”

“Still think I’m going to make a pass?”

He made the idea sound ridiculous, but last night’s memories were still very fresh. “You came pretty close in the kitchen last night,” she reminded him.

He inclined his head. “Yeah, well
 . . .
I won’t do that again. I’m sorry,” he apologized once more.

She wished he’d ranted and raved and acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about. To throw down the gauntlet and chivalrously concede wasn’t working for her. Now it was Kim who felt like the guilty party.

“Do you think this rain is ever going to stop?” she asked, walking back to the window.

“No.”

That brought a smile to her lips. “So, we’re stuck here forever with no electricity and a diminishing supply of wheat bread?”

“I’ve got a few beers left. We should last ’til the end of the month.”

“You’re a real comfort.”

“The water’s boiling.”

Kim hurried back to pull the saucepan from the logs. While Stephen watched in silence she measured instant coffee into the two mugs she’d scrounged from the kitchen, then poured the hot water over it. The smell of the melting granules was as aromatic as a cup of fresh coffee. Kim breathed deeply, although she would have sold her soul for a latte at that moment.

Handing Stephen his cup, her fingers touched his. She pulled back, then was surprised when he grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. In shock, her aquamarine eyes searched his for an answer. “Thanks,” he said softly, releasing her.

Kim moved to the chair, perching in it cross-legged. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re doing a darn good job of it.”

“What?”

“You’re in my space!” she declared, uncomfortable with her own feelings.

“You’re
in
mine.
I was here first,” he pointed out.

“Oh, right,” Kim returned dryly. “You had dibs. I forgot.”

Stephen grinned wholeheartedly. Unabashedly. From the pure joy of Kim’s disgruntled sarcasm. If she’d thought he was disarming before, this sent her pulse charging like a bull through the gate.

“I’ll try to behave,” he said, “but I gotta tell you. I feel great today, like some weight’s been lifted that I didn’t know was there.”

“Really.”

He nodded. “And you know why?”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Kim murmured, but secretly she couldn’t help wondering if it might have something to do with her. Not that she wanted it to, she reminded herself. This was not a guy to lose your heart to. He was not a man to be trusted.

“I’ve been looking forward to this weekend since before Betsy even offered me the cabin. I’ve wanted to get away for months, maybe years. But there’s always been something, or someone, with other plans.”