Kiss in the Dark (11 page)

A long time had passed since she slept so soundly.

“Bethany?”

The low voice drifted over her like a warm caress. She sighed and snuggled closer, not ready to be disturbed.

“Sweetheart, we’re here.”

Where? she thought in some hazy corner of her mind. She didn’t want to be anywhere other than where she was.

“Come on,” the voice encouraged.

She didn’t move, didn’t want to leave the warmth of the cozy fire, the feel of hands gliding over her body. She shifted to allow better access and nuzzled closer to the warm chest.

Warm chest.

Reality jarred her out of the dream and back into the Bronco. Or rather, Dylan’s arms. He’d eased her from the front seat and now carried her as he walked across what sounded like gravel. Her eyes opened abruptly, but through the darkness she could see little more than the glow of his gaze. The air was cool, the night quiet, save for an owl somewhere in the distance. Around them, trees stretched up toward the star-dappled sky like shadowy guards. The night obscured detail, but the strong scent of pine identified them as spruce or fir.

“Where are we?” she asked, but the gauzy light of the moon answered before Dylan could. The massive structure sprawled out from her memory and loomed straight ahead. “No,” she whispered.

Not here. Not now.

Dylan had always been wild and unpredictable, but he’d never been cruel. Until now. The St. Croix cabin. He’d brought her to the St. Croix cabin. Or rather, retreat.

Her heart started to pound. Hard. She squirmed against him, but his arms were like steel bands, his chest as hard as the rock on the side of the mountain.

“Put me down,” she tried to command, but the words broke on the way out, just like everything else that came in contact with Dylan St. Croix.

He kept right on going. “What’s the matter? Don’t want me to carry you over the threshold?”

The memory lashed in, shockingly vivid despite the passing of nine long years. The laughter and teasing. The
make-believe game she’d naively believed would translate into reality.

“No,” she whispered.

He took the four steps to the rustic porch in two, then strode toward the
door. A light came on as though by
magic, flooding the expanse of weathered wood with a golden glow.

Dylan stopped and shifted her in his arms, easing her down the length of his body until her feet settled against the doormat. She stood there in the chilly night breeze, not trusting herself to move without stepping on a land mine.

“Bethany?”

She swallowed against the tightness, but couldn’t look away from the empty hanging baskets, swaying quietly in the breeze.

Dylan swore softly. “There’s a commercial greenhouse ten or so miles down the mountain,” he said. “We can swing by tomorrow, if you like.”

She absorbed the impact of the words, wondering how
a man who thrived on upsetting
the applecart also knew
how to restore it with punishing gentleness. “That’s not necessary.”

He didn’t say anything, but she would have sworn she heard him frown. He turned back to the door and with a quick flick of his wrist ushered her inside.

Memories greeted her, not threadbare as she expected, hoped, but strong and enduring like the man behind her. Shadows of times gone by crouched in every corner, echoes of laughter and tears reverberated through the rafters. They washed over her just like they had that night almost seven weeks before, but rather than the chill she expected, she found only warmth.

Stepping onto the old braided rug, she wrapped her arms around her waist and wondered how this cabin where no one lived could feel so alive.

“It’s computerized,” he answered before she asked. “I programmed the heater on a few hours back.”

Beth shook her head. She should have known. Lots of people kept mountain getaways, ramshackle structures where they escaped civilization for a few days. Not so with the St. Croixs. One of Oregon’s most prominent families,
they never did anything halfway, from politics to scandal
to mountain retreats.

The so-called cabin featured a stunning display of glass and wood, modern yet rustic at the same time. The entry sprawled into an expansive great room, with wood floors
and a wood-beamed ceiling, wood paneling. The two matching sofas were ivory, the easy chair slate blue. In the
far corner a distressed pine armoire stood closed, but Beth knew a TV hid within its doors.

And then there was the fireplace.

“I keep meaning to update it,” Dylan said. “Grandfather mentioned installing those gas logs controlled by a remote, but…” He hesitated. “That seems like cheating.”

And God knew Dylan St. Croix, crusader of truth and justice and all that was right in this world, would never succumb to a make-believe fire.

Her throat tight, Beth glanced toward the wall of windows dominating the back side of the room. Darkness hid the vista, but in the morning, sunlight would glint through hundreds of Douglas fir, preserved here on the St. Croix land, safe
from
the intrusion of loggers and modern man.

The vastness drew her, just like the night not so long ago, when she’d learned all over again why she had to steer clear of Dylan. She crossed the room and put a palm to the cold glass, breathed in deeply of smoke and pine and sandalwood. Night had always fascinated her, brought peace even when the world exploded around her. Night gave her courage. The stillness, she supposed. The quiet. It was easier to forget. To pretend.

“Bethany?”

His voice was rougher than before, almost hoarse. His breath whispered across the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him. She
didn’t I
want
to see his tired eyes, blazing with heated emotion she didn’t understand.

Fatigue dulled her senses, but the shock of learning she and Dylan had created a child continued to burn. She’d worked hard to keep the chaos that was Dylan out of her life. Like a shooting star, he was exciting and sexy and stirred something deep inside, but he wasn’t the kind of man with whom to build a future. A family. He wasn’t the kind of man to provide stability and guidance to a child’s life. She’d learned that the hard way. That’s why she’d walked away, even when doing so felt like ripping her heart out. That’s why she’d stayed away.

Opening her eyes, Beth looked toward the
darkness, but
found Dylan waiting for her there, as well. The light from the great room cast his reflection into the glass, forcing her to see him even when she did not look.

There was no running when it came to Dylan St. Croix.

He looked tired, she thought absently. Like one of the Douglas firs outside, that had been standing and enduring and weathering for far too long. His thick hair was rumpled, his jaw dark with whiskers. Shadows ringed eyes that reminded her of a soldier surveying a grisly battlefield.

The temptation to pretend was strong. To pretend they were friends and turn to him, reach out to him. To pretend being here didn’t jar her, that she could stand in the room where they’d made love so many times and feel nothing.

“Why, Dylan?” she asked into the window. “Why did you bring me here?”

His reflected gaze darkened. He looked at her a long moment, his gaze skimming as intimately as his hands had the night they’d crossed the line. “I thought privacy might do you good.”

This time she did hold back. He didn’t need to know that she could have no privacy here, where ghosts and memories awaited at every turn, filled her every breath. They whirred around her and towered above her, preventing her from seeing anything beyond the past. The man.

“You’re tired,” he said, and almost sounded like he cared. “You should get some rest,” he added, lifting a hand to her shoulder.

Beth sidestepped his touch.

“Damn it, Bethany,” he swore softly, “quit looking at
me like that.”

She turned to face him, lifted her chin. She knew better than stepping into a game of chicken with Dylan, but like so many times, knowledge didn’t stop her. “Like how?”

His gaze met hers. “Like I’m about to rip your heart out.”

Everything inside her went very still, all but the organ in question. It strummed low and deep. Hard. Thin ice surrounded them, but Dylan didn’t let something petty like risk stand in his way. He just charged full steam ahead, venturing out beyond the realm of safety, toward the point of no return.

Beth did not. She wasn’t a coward, but she’d fallen into icy water before, felt the icy pinpricks slash at her, felt her body slow and the current pull her under.

She had no desire for a repeat performance, even if the way Dylan watched her conjured the fantasy that this time, he’d catch her before she fell.

“You’re right,” she said. Less than fourteen hours had passed since they’d stood at the cemetery, saying goodbye to Lance. Already, it seemed a different lifetime. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

His gaze dipped from her face to her stomach, where her hand rested. Protected. When his eyes met hers again, an unfamiliar light glinted there. “I think there’s still some hot cocoa. Would you like—”

“No.” God no. That’s how it had started before.

“Then let’s get you into bed.”

The words arced through her like live electricity, but Dylan merely took her hand and led her across the great room, as though oblivious to any sexual connotation. To
the right lay the kitchen and a spiral staircase twirling to
a loft. To the left, a short hall led to the three bedrooms.

They stopped at the first. “You can stay in here this time,” he said, pushing open the door and flicking on the light.

She’d not let herself look inside this room seven weeks before, but now, Beth could only stare. The big bed, it was still there, massive and dominating, turning everything inside her liquid. She knew that big bed made of pine and shaped like a sleigh. More than knew it, she’d lost her virginity there.

And conceived her first child.

Emotion welled up like a swollen mountain stream. Her throat tightened. Her chest ached. Angry, with herself for the reaction, with Dylan for bringing her here, with Lance for being such a coward, she did the only thing she could. She tacked up a shield of bravado to hide the pain.

“If this were a movie,” she said with an air of breeziness that both pleased and surprised her, “this is when you’d announce you have to stay with me, to make sure I don’t try anything stupid.”

Something odd flashed in Dylan’s eyes. He leaned against the door frame and arched a brow. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but I can’t think of anything more stupid than me crawling into that bed with you.”

Heat sluiced through her. Hurt. “Touché.”

“And anyway,” he added lazily. “We both know movies are just fantasy. Real life rarely works out as neatly.”

True enough. In the movies, in fantasies, they’d find a way to turn this mess into a happy ending.

Uncomfortable with the way Dylan lounged against the frame and watched her, she glanced into the large room. Across from the bed stood a huge wood-burning fireplace, while a wall of windows looked out on the darkness.

The swirl of longing caught her by surprise.

Nine years had passed since she’d stood in this room, loved in that bed. And during that time, to her knowledge, Lance had never come here, either. The judge, in his wheelchair, could barely get around his estate—and he was
hardly the outdoors type.

But the cabin was far from deserted.

“How often do you come here?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Often enough.”

“Do you come … alone?”

Beside her, she felt him stiffen. “Is that what you think I am, Bethany? A man who comes alone?”

The jolt was instantaneous, the heat searing. “Dylan—”

“If you must know,” he said, tucking a finger under her chin and turning her to face him. Not until her reluctant eyes met his did he finish. “Yes, most of the time I come alone.”

Surprise flared through her, igniting a dangerous curiosity that stoked deep. No, he couldn’t mean … not a man like Dylan St. Croix. But the other possibility … it unsettled her, as well, but on an entirely different level. Deeper. Darker.

“But not always?” she managed.

His dark gaze held hers. “Not always.”

Something deep inside went very cold. No matter how he’d intended his early statement, his answer meant the same thing. He didn’t always come alone.

God help her, she could barely breathe. “And when you’re here … where do you sleep?”

He nodded toward the bed. “Right here.”

Beth followed his gaze to the bed. The image formed before she could stop it, of Dylan stretched out in that big bed, naked. With another woman.

The sense of violation was swift and immediate. Her throat tightened. And that place deep inside, the one that had gone cold, started to bleed.

She turned from the truth, the past, and headed down the hall. “I’ll take the guest room.” She didn’t really want that bed, either, where she’d faced both demon and desire one snowy night she could no longer pretend hadn’t happened.