Change of Heart (10 page)

She had almost forgotten how good a man could feel. His big, strong body enveloped hers, and before she could breathe, he pulled her head back and kissed her.

It wasn’t a kiss like the first one. There was no sweetness to it. It was a kiss of raging passion, of desire as strong as any she’d ever imagined. The sensation was new to her, but at the same time it was as old as time.

He moved down to kiss her neck. The cabin was lit with lightning and the roar of the thunder seemed to echo within her.

“Yes,” she whispered as his hand went to her breast. “Yes, please.”

He took her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. “I have no protection with me.”

For a moment she held her breath. She felt sure he didn’t have a communicable disease. All that mattered was here and now and this man.

“Yes” was all she said, then he was on her.

He was as hot in bed as he was cold out of it. He’d made a few jokes, but she’d never seen him leering at her. And yet he seemed to have noticed all of her body and to want her very much. Her shirt and underpants were off in seconds. His hands were everywhere, caressing her, touching her.

Miranda had never felt the way he made her feel. He seemed to know what she liked, seemed to find places she didn’t know she wanted him to touch.

By the time he entered her, she was nearly screaming with desire. She held him inside her for a moment, loving how he filled her. When he began the velvet strokes in and out, she thought she might die with the pleasure.

He seemed to know when she was ready to peak, then he thrust into her until she thought she might faint. Waves went through her body. Afterward, still shaking, she snuggled in his arms, feeling safe and secure and at home. She could feel herself dozing off. “That was lovely,” she whispered.

“Not for me,” he said.

Her eyes opened and she saw in the firelight that he wasn’t anywhere near sleep. “There’s more?”

He smiled in a wicked way. “We haven’t begun.”

“Really?” she said with such enthusiasm that he laughed.

They made love all night. Frank seemed to be
insatiable—but then, so was she. For her, there’d been a lifetime of suppression, of reading about, but never experiencing, uncontrollable passion.

He never said so, but he seemed to be shocked that she didn’t know about positions and what to do with your mouth besides kissing. “I’ve read about these things but haven’t done them,” she said.

“Your husband—?” Frank began but stopped.

“He thought wives should be good girls.”

“Me too,” Frank said as he moved down her body.

Sometime during the night she thought she heard him say, “I love you,” but she wasn’t sure.

Miranda slowly woke up, and she was smiling before she got her eyes open. She could feel that the old cabin was empty. She even remembered Frank getting up and going out. Right now all she wanted to do was lie still and think about last night, to remember every second of it.

She’d never thought she could be so . . . well, so abandoned. Her legs around his neck, his hands cupping her behind, was an especially vivid memory.

The door opened and Frank came in carrying a load of firewood.

“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” she said. “I did have some odd dreams, but nothing significant.”

Frank smiled as he put the wood down. “I was going to stop at the little French café and get us some croissants, but they’re closed. How about cold corn bread and bacon?”

“It sounds divine.”

He brushed off his clothes and looked at her for a moment, then went to sit beside her on the old bed. Her bare arms and shoulders were exposed, and he ran his hands over them. “I enjoyed last night,” he said softly. “And you?”

“Very much.”

Bending, he kissed her, then sat up to stroke her hair. “We can go down the mountain or stay here for another day.”

“Stay,” she said without hesitation.

“Sure? We didn’t bring a lot of food.”

“I think I can survive. How did your shirt get wet?”

“It isn’t,” he said, then smiled. “You’re right. It’s soaked and I think I should take it off.”

“My thought exactly.” She pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, showing that she was nude underneath.

They spent a whole day at the old cabin. Neither of them said so, but they seemed to have reached a mutual agreement to talk of nothing of the outside world. No business, no ex-husband, not even children. Frank didn’t come close to telling her about any women in his past, certainly not the one who was expecting an engagement ring.

They laughed and ate and made love. Everything and every place seemed to become erotic to them. They stripped and went swimming in the icy pond. Miranda nearly turned blue from the cold water, and it took Frank thirty minutes of kissing and long, slow, deep strokes to warm her up.

When her skin was at last pink again, he collapsed beside her in exhaustion.

“Let’s do it again,” she said and got up and headed toward the frigid water.

But Frank caught her ankle and pulled her back. “If you want more, you have to revive me.”

“Is that a challenge?” she asked.

“If it encourages you, yes. If not, how about a bribe? Half my kingdom work for you?”

Laughing, she kissed him. “Let’s see if
this
works.” She moved her lips downward on his body.

“I feel nothing. Try harder. No. No. Ah.”

At night they put their sleeping bags together and, naked, snuggled close, watching the fire in the little stove.

“I never want to leave,” Miranda said.

“Me neither,” Frank said. “I’d like to shut out the world.”

“What about your houses with the perfect towels?”

“You make me want to buy new ones in lots of colors.”

“And throw them on the floor?”

“I’m not quite to that point yet.”

She kissed him thoroughly.

“Maybe a hand towel on the counter,” he said.

Miranda rolled on top of him, her bare body against his, and kissed him again.

“Okay, wet towels across the tub. But no purple or pink.”

“Done,” she said, and kissed him again.

The next morning, they made their way down the mountain, taking their time. They stopped for lunch and lovemaking, then continued on to the cabin. After where they’d been, it seemed too big and too clean.

They had dinner by candlelight and afterward she started to pull down the blanket that separated their beds. Frank made her laugh by pretending to blow a trumpet. She knew what he meant. In the movie
It Happened One Night
, Clark Gable said the Walls of Jericho were coming down so he blew a toy trumpet.

They fell into bed laughing.

Early the next morning they were at the stove, with Frank helping Miranda make pumpkin scones, when they heard the helicopter above the cabin. Frank reacted instantly. He ran to the door, and to her consternation, he flung open a door hidden in the log wall and withdrew a rifle. “Stay here,” he ordered.

“Okay,” she whispered, feeling a bit like a heroine in a Western movie.

Seconds later he was back. He put the rifle away, then went to the table. He was frowning. “Is breakfast ready?”

She heard him only by reading his lips, because the sound of the ’copter overhead was deafening. His attitude and whoever was arriving piqued her curiosity. Quickly, she flung food onto a plate, sloshed coffee into a cup by his hand, and ran out the door.

The helicopter was directly overhead. A couple of duffel bags had already been lowered, and a tall blond man wearing a dark suit, briefcase in hand, was descending. His foot was hooked into a loop of cable. Miranda couldn’t help smiling at this version of Wall Street coming down through the tall trees, the mountains in the distance. As he got closer, she started laughing because she could see that while holding on to the briefcase and the cable, he was also eating an apple.

He landed in front of her. He was quite good-looking: very blond, very white skin, blue eyes so bright they dazzled. Holding the apple in his mouth, he motioned the helicopter to go away, and Miranda saw that the briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist.

“Hungry?” she asked, as he stood there staring at her.

“Starved.” He was looking at her in a way that made her feel quite good about herself, and she smiled back warmly.

“You here with Frank?” he asked.

“I am. I was hired to be his nurse. That turned out to be a joke, but I’m still here because . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to explain something so private. With her hand shielding her eyes, she watched the helicopter disappear over the horizon, then looked back at the man.

“Mike. Or was it Kane?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If a joke was played on Frank, it would have to be either Mike or Kane.” When she didn’t respond, he held out his hand. “I’m Julian Wales. Frank’s assistant. Or actually, glorified gofer. And you are?”

She put her hand into his large warm one. “Miranda Stowe. I’m a nurse, but I’m also the cook-housekeeper.”

He gave her a look that made her blush. “Perhaps I’ll find myself becoming ill and have need of your services.”

She withdrew her hand from his—after two tugs. “Mr. Taggert is in there, and I have pumpkin scones for breakfast.”

“Gorgeous, and you can cook too. You wouldn’t like to marry me, would you?”

Feeling like an eighteen-year-old, she laughed. “Frank’s already asked.” She was horrified at what she’d revealed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She had no idea how to cover herself, so she went back into the cabin. Julian, his eyes wide in disbelief, stared after her for a moment before following.

Frank’s only greeting was “You’re early.”

Julian’s reply was to remove the briefcase from his wrist, unlock it, and turn it over to Frank.

“Unfortunately,” Julian said, “I arranged for the ’copter to pick me up tomorrow morning. I’d planned to stay and do a little fishing, but I didn’t know you had a guest. If it’s not suitable for me to stay, I can walk out.”

Buried in the papers, Frank didn’t look up. “Take the couch.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said, then winked at Miranda as she put a plate of scones and scrambled eggs in front of him.

“Have you had breakfast, Miranda?” Julian asked. When she shook her head no, he said, “How’d you like to join me outside? A morning like this is too beautiful to waste in here.”

She looked at Frank but he was absorbed by the papers. Smiling, plate in hand, Miranda followed Julian out the door.

He put his plate on a stump and began to remove his suit jacket and tie. “Hallelujah!” he said, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. “Twenty-four hours of freedom.” Sitting on the stump, the plate on his lap, he looked up at her. “There’s room for two.”

She smiled graciously but sat down on a rock a few yards away.

“Did Frank actually ask you to marry him?”

She nearly choked. “I truly should
not
have told you that. Sometimes I have an inability to keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t a
real
marriage proposal, just sort of a business arrangement.”

Julian cocked one blond eyebrow. “I see what he gets, but I can’t see what you get. Except the money, of course.”

His attitude and his words sent anger coursing through her veins. Miranda stood up. “You know, Mr. Wales, I think you and I are going in the wrong direction. I find Mr. Taggert to be a very likable man, and I won’t allow you or anyone else to disparage him.”

For a moment Julian looked too shocked to speak. He too stood up. “I apologize. It’s just that you are such a surprise that I don’t know how to react. Please stay and finish your breakfast. I promise I won’t be offensive.”

When she sat back down, he did too, but she didn’t say anything.

“You and Frank get along, do you?”

“Quite well,” she said and could feel herself blushing.

While he was eating, Julian couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Please forgive me for staring, but you aren’t what I’m used to seeing with Frank.”

The man was beginning to annoy her. “Mr. Wales, I am well aware that I’m not some romantic heroine from a novel. I am rapidly approaching middle age, I’m overweight, I’m a single mother, and I’m sure that suit you have on cost more than I earned last year. If any other woman on earth were here, I’m sure neither of you men would notice me.”