Man of Ice (7 page)

“We met at a class reunion a few weeks ago,” he confided. “He thought I knew. You’re my stepsister, after all, he reminded me. He assumed that you’d told me.”

She gnawed her lower lip, staring up at him worriedly.

His lean hand came to touch her mouth, disturbing the grip of her teeth. “Don’t,” he said softly.

“I forget sometimes,” she murmured.

His thumb traced over her mouth gently. He searched her eyes. “He said…that you were utterly devastated,” he whispered. “That you cried until he had to sedate you.” His face drew up with bitterness. “He said you wanted the baby desperately, Barrie.”

She dragged her eyes down to his chest. “It was a long time ago.” Her voice sounded stiff.

He let out a heavy breath. “Yes, and you’ve done your grieving. But I’ve only just started. I didn’t know until Richard told me. It’s been a little rough, losing a child I didn’t even know I’d helped create.”

His face was averted, but she could see the pain on it. It was the first time they’d really shared grief, except when his father had died. But that had only been a few words, because she couldn’t stand to be near him so soon after the Riviera.

“Would you have told me?” he asked, staring at the wall.

“I’m not sure. It seemed senseless, after so long a time. You didn’t know about the baby. I wasn’t sure you’d want to know.”

He caught her slender hand in his and linked his fingers with it. “I got drunk and stayed drunk for three days after I got back from my class reunion,” he said after a minute. Then he added, expressionlessly, “Richard said that you asked a nurse to call me from the emergency room.”

She stared at the big hand holding hers so closely. “Yes, in a moment of madness.”

“I didn’t know she was a nurse. She mentioned your name and before she could say why she was calling, I hung up on her.”

His fingers had tightened painfully. “Yes,” she said.

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it hungrily.

His head was bent over her hand, but she saw the faint wetness at the corner of his eye and she gasped, horrified.

As if his pride wouldn’t take that sort of blow, letting her see the wetness in his eyes, he let go of her fingers and got up, going back to stand at the darkened window. He didn’t speak for a full minute, his hand gripping the curtain tightly. “Richard said it was a boy.”

She rested her forehead against her knees. “Please,” she whispered gruffly. “I can’t talk about it.”

He moved from the window, back to the bed. He tore the covers away and scooped her up into his arms, sitting down to hold her tight, tight, across his legs, with his face against her soft throat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered roughly. “You’re safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. Cry for him. God knows I have!”

The tender gruffness in his deep voice broke the dam behind which her tears had hidden. She gave way to them, for the first time since the miscarriage. She wept for the son she’d lost. She wept for her pain, and for his. She wept for all the lost, lonely years.

A long time later, she felt him dabbing at her eyes with a corner of the sheet. She took it from him and finished the job. And still he held her, gently, without passion. Her cheek felt the regular, hard beat of his heart under the soft fabric of the robe. She opened her hot, stinging eyes and stared across at the dark window, all the fire and pain wept out of her in salty tears.

“It’s late,” he said finally. “Mrs. Holton arrives first thing in the morning. You need to get some sleep.”

She stretched, boneless from exhaustion, and looked up into his quiet, watchful eyes. Involuntarily his own gaze went down to the soft thrust of her breasts under the cotton gown. He remembered the beauty of her body, years after his last glimpse of it.

She watched him staring at her, but she didn’t move or flinch.

“Don’t you want to run?” he taunted.

She shook her head. Her eyes looked straight up into his. She slid her fingers over the lean, strong hand that was lying across her waist. She tugged at it until it lifted. She smoothed it up her side, over her rib cage, and then gently settled it directly over one soft breast.

His intake of breath was audible, and his body seemed to jump.

“No,” he said curtly, jerking his hand down to her waist. “Don’t be stupid.”

She felt less confident than she had before, but there was a faint film of sweat over his upper lip. He was more shaken than he looked.

“Don’t make me ashamed. It’s hard for me, to even think of this, much less…do it,” she said. “I only wanted to know if I could let you touch me,” she finished with a rueful smile.

The cold hauteur left him. “I can’t take the risk, even if you’re willing to.” He started to move her aside, but she clung.

“What risk?” she asked.

“Don’t you know? You don’t need to find out the hard way that I can still want you.” He laughed coldly. “I’m not sure I want to know, either.”

While she was working that one out, he lifted her and placed her gently onto the pillows. He got up and moved back from the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“What if you could…want me?” she persisted, levering up on her elbows.

He looked unutterably weary. “Barrie, we both know that you’d scream the minute I touched you with intent,” he said. “You couldn’t help it. And even if I could feel anything with you, it might be just the way it was before. I might lose my head again, hurt you again.”

“I’m not a virgin anymore,” she said without thinking.

His face was quiet, expressionless as he looked down at her. “It’s a moot point. My body is dead, as far as sex is concerned. For both our sakes, let well enough alone. It’s too soon for experimenting.”

Before she could speak, he’d gone out the door, closing it behind him with a firm snap. Barrie lay back, turning what he’d said over in her mind.

He knew, finally, about the baby they’d lost. She didn’t know if she was sorry or glad, but it had been cathartic to have it all out in the open. He grieved for their child, at least, as she did. But he had nothing to give her, and she still loved him. It was a problem that had no easy resolution, and in the morning a new complication was due to present itself. She wondered how she was going to react to the widow Holton. It would be an interesting introduction, at the very least. Leslie Holton blew in the next morning like a redheaded tornado, driving a brand-new shiny black Jaguar. Peering through the lacy curtains in the living room when she drove up, Barrie couldn’t help thinking that the car suited her. Mrs. Holton was sleek and dangerous-looking, a powerhouse no less than the car she drove. She was wearing a black-and-white suit. Its starkness made her pale skin even paler and presented a backdrop for her fiery hair. Wickedly Barrie wondered how much of it came out of a bottle, because the widow was obviously over twenty-one. Way over.

She went out into the hall and met up with Dawson who had just come out of his study. There were dark circles under his eyes. He appeared worn, as if he hadn’t slept. He looked across at Barrie, and she realized that he hadn’t slept at all.

She moved toward him. Last night had calmed some old terrors, the way they’d talked had changed things in some subtle way. She stopped in front of him and looked up.

“You haven’t had any sleep,” she said gently.

His face hardened. “Don’t push your luck.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Am I?”

“Looking at me like that is chancy.”

She smiled. “What will you do?” she chided.

Something equally reckless flared in his pale eyes. “Want to see?”

He moved forward with an economy of motion to scoop her up against his chest. He held her there, searching her eyes at point-blank range.

Her arms tightened around his strong neck and she looked back at him curiously. He’d wanted the baby, too. That knowledge had changed the way she envisioned him. Even though there was some residual fear of him in her, the memory of the grief she’d seen in his face last night tempered it.

“Doesn’t anybody hear the doorbell ringing?” Corlie muttered as she came out of the kitchen and suddenly spotted Dawson holding Barrie off the floor in his arms. “Well, excuse me.” She chuckled, sparing them a wicked glance as she went toward the front door.

Barrie started to speak but Dawson shook his head. “Don’t disillusion her,” he whispered. “Let her hope.”

Something in the way he said it made her look at him curiously. His pale eyes fell to her mouth and he hesitated.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could,” she said boldly. “I mean, I wouldn’t scream or anything.”

“Cheeky brat,” he muttered, but he was still looking at her mouth.

“I can always tell when you’ve been on a trip to the station in Australia,” she whispered.

“Can you?” His head bent closer, his mouth threatening her soft lips. His arms contracted a little. Somewhere in the distance, a stringent voice was demanding that Corlie have someone get luggage out of the Jaguar.

“Yes,” she whispered at his lips. “You always come back using Aussie slang.”

He chuckled softly.

Barrie felt the vibration of his laughter all the way to her toes. It was the old magic, without the fear. She loved him. His arms were warm and strong and safe, and her hands clasped together behind his neck. She lifted herself closer to that hard, beautiful mouth and parted her lips.

“No self-preservation left, Barrie?” he whispered huskily. His own lips parted and moved down slowly. “Baby,” he breathed into her mouth. “Baby, baby…!”

The pressure became slow and soft and insistent. It began to deepen and she caught her breath, anticipating the hunger that she could already taste…

“Dawson!”

Their faces jerked apart. Dawson stared at the newcomer just for a moment with eyes that didn’t quite focus. “Leslie,” he said then. “Welcome to White Ridge.” He lowered Barrie gently to her feet and, keeping a possessive arm around her, held his hand out to Leslie.

Mrs. Holton made an indignant sound. “Hello, Dawson,” she said impatiently. “My goodness, isn’t that your stepsister?”

“She was,” Dawson replied coolly. “Yesterday, she became my fiancée. We’re engaged.”

Mrs. Holton was clearly surprised. “But isn’t that against the law?”

“Barrie and I aren’t blood-related in any way,” he said. “My father married her mother.”

“Oh.” Leslie stared at Barrie, who grinned at her. “I’m glad to meet you, Miss Rutherford.”

“Bell,” Barrie corrected her, extending a hand. She was quivering inside, all raw nerves and excitement. “Barrie Bell.”

“I didn’t expect this,” Mrs. Holton said. She eyed Dawson carefully. “Of course, it’s very sudden, isn’t it?” She smiled with feline calculation. “In fact, I seem to remember hearing that the two of you didn’t even speak. When did that change?”

“Yesterday,” Dawson said, unperturbed. He looked down at Barrie. “It was sudden, all right. Like a bolt of lightning.” His eyes fell to her soft mouth as he said it, and she caught her breath at the surge of feeling the stare provoked.

Leslie Holton wasn’t blind, but she was determined.

“You do, uh, still want to discuss my tract of land near Bighorn?” she asked with a calculating smile.

“Of course,” Dawson replied, and he smiled back. “That was the purpose of your visit, wasn’t it?”

She shrugged a thin shoulder. “Well, yes, among other things. I do hope you’re going to show me around the ranch while I’m here. I’m very interested in livestock.”

“Barrie and I will be delighted, won’t we, baby?” he added with a glance at Barrie that made her toes curl.

She pressed close to his side, shocked at her surge of hunger to be near him. It was equally shocking to hear his faint breath and feel his arm tighten around her shoulders.

“Certainly,” she said. She smiled at Mrs. Holton, but she sounded, and felt, breathless.

“Corlie will show you to your room, and Rodge will bring your bags right up,” Dawson said. “I’ll be right back.” He let go of Barrie with a smile and went to call Rodge on the intercom.

“You teach, don’t you?” Mrs. Holton asked Barrie. “You must be on summer vacation.”

“Yes, I am. What do you do?” Barrie shot right back.

“Do? My dear, I’m rich,” Leslie said with hauteur.

“I don’t have to work for a living.” Her eyes narrowed with calculation. “And neither will you after you marry Dawson. Is that why you’re marrying him?”

“Of course,” she murmured wickedly. She glanced at Dawson, who was just coming out of the study again. “Dawson, you do know that I’m only marrying you for your money, don’t you?” she asked, raising her voice.

He chuckled. “Sure.”

Leslie was confused. She looked from one of them to the other. “What a very odd couple you are.”

“You have no idea,” Barrie murmured dryly.

“Amen,” he added.

“Well, I’ll just slip upstairs and rest for a few minutes, if you don’t mind,” Leslie said. “It’s been a long, tiring drive.” She paused in front of Dawson and smiled up at him seductively. “I might even soak in the hot tub for a little while. If you’d like to wash my back, you’re welcome,” she added teasingly.

Dawson didn’t reply. He just smiled.

Leslie glowered at him, glanced at Barrie irritably and followed an impatient Corlie up the staircase.

Barrie moved closer to him. “Do we have hot water, or is it still subject to fits of temperament in the spring?”

“We have bucketsful of hot water,” he replied. “And a whirlpool bath in every bathroom.” He looked down at her. “One of them holds two people.”

She had mental images of being naked in it with Dawson, and her face paled. She withdrew from him without making a single move.

He tilted her chin up to his eyes. “I’m sorry. That could have been less crude.”

She sighed. “It’s early days yet,” she said apologetically.

“Very early days.” He pushed back her long, soft hair. “You let me kiss you,” he added quietly. “Was it all an act, for her benefit?” He jerked his head toward the staircase.

“I don’t act that well.”

“Neither do I.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “If we make haste slowly, we may discover that things fall into place.”

“Things?”

He touched the very tip of her nose with his forefinger. “We might get rid of our scars.”