Kiss and Tell Page 4

  Perhaps the shock of having a tree almost kill her had turned her last few brain cells to mush, she thought wryly, opening her eyes and hastily drying off. He was only a man. And a belligerent, nosy one at that.

  He'd left black fleece sweatpants and a red fleece top, which was a good thing, as there was nothing to wear in her pack. His top came to her knees, and the pants bagged around her ankles. She stared at herself in the fly-speckled mirror over the sink.

  What a fashion statement. Her hair sprang up around her face in curlicue tendrils. Her face was I'm-terrified-my-grandmother's-house-almost-crushed-me-to-death pale, but at least she was warm.

  She looked around. What was wrong with this picture?

  The bathroom was small, utilitarian, no frills. A toilet, a pedestal sink, and the shower stall. No cabinets, no closets, no drawers. She looked down at the clothes she wore.

  While the clothing and his towel had all been here when she'd entered the bathroom, Jake Dolan had not taken them in with him.

  He'd entered empty-handed.

  Where had they come from?

  She looked like an angel.

  Or the devil in disguise.

  Jake dragged his gaze away from rosy cheeks and big blue eyes and focused instead on the unopened bottle of hundred-year-old Scotch sitting on the counter. Same difference. Both screwed with his head and tested his willpower.

  "Thanks for the clothes."

  "No problem."

  It wasn't too bad with the breakfast bar between them, though he could still smell her. His soap, surely to God, didn't smell like that on him.

  "Chili or soup? I made both."

  "Either. You choose what you want. I'll have the other." Her face was dewy from the steam.

  "I ate earlier." Judas, I sounded like a—Jake couldn't think what the hell he sounded like. Either she had to go or he was going to crack open the Scotch. But right now neither was a viable option. His molars ground together.

  "Okay, then I'll eat both. I'm starving." She slid onto a stool on the other side of the counter and pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. She looked good in red. An understatement—she looked dynamite in red. Jake realized he was fondling the Scotch bottle and pulled his hand away.

  He poured the hot soup from the pan into a chipped coffee mug, the chili into a measuring cup, stuck a spoon in each, and set both in front of her. "Didn't you eat dinner?"

  She looked up at him, the spoon up to her mouth. "Sure. But that was hours ago. Besides, this is breakfast. Mmmm. This smells wonderful. Thanks."

  Jake watched her lips part and take in the spoon. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. It was only soup. Soup! The spoon slid out, leaving her lips sheened with grease. The spoon dipped back into the hot soup. Man, he'd be dead of petrifaction if she didn't hurry the hell up and finish eating.

  "Tell me again what you're doing here at this time of year."

  She glanced up with a frown. "I told you. My grammy died about a month ago, and I wanted to see her cottage before my brothers smashed it to pieces. I needed a quiet place to think. I thought I could do two things at once." She spooned soup into her mouth, her eyes misty.

  "Think about what?"

  "My life."

  "Why?"

  "Why what? Think about my life? Because I need to make some changes. Instead of jumping in feet first, as I have a tendency to do, I want to give it some serious deliberation. What are you doing up here?"

  "What's your social security number?"

  He was dead serious.

  She laughed. "You must be a hoot at parties."

  "I don't go to parties. Number?"

  Still smiling, she shook her head and ladled more soup into her mouth.

  "I'm less than amused at your intrusion, Miss Wright. Give me your social security number, or go back outside and fend for yourself."

  "Get real. I'm not giving some strange guy my social security number, even if he does let me use his shower and feeds me. I told you who I am. I'll leave you a couple of bucks for the food Duchess and I have eaten, and then get going. You can growl at yourself for the rest of the weekend."

  She sounded confident until Jake noticed the rapid, nervous throb at the base of her throat.

  Crap.

  "You might as well stick around until the weather lets up." He gave her a baleful glance. "I put clean sheets on the bed while you showered."

  He could hear the woman breathing. She swallowed. Jake watched her throat move, his fingers flexed around the base of the bottle.

  "Oh. Thanks." She eyed him a little more warily than she had before. "But I'll be just fine on the couch for a couple of hours. It's much too short for you."

  He had no intention of sleeping. She was bad enough with his eyes open. "Suit yourself. I'll get you some blankets."

  He wasn't going to fight over the damn bed. It was a single, sagged on the left, and hadn't been slept in since before he'd bought it in a thrift shop five years ago. He thought of the wide, firm, California king twenty feet below the soles of his boots and bit back an oath imagining her on it. Naked. Willing.

  The dog nudged his arm and gazed up at him with soulful puppy eyes. Damn.

  "You hungry again?" he demanded gruffly. The dog had shared a four-pound steak and french fries, then polished off almost a whole bag of frozen oatmeal-raisin cookies last night before Jake had managed to get rid of her.

  Marnie pushed the empty mug aside and started on the chili. "Don't give her the chili," she warned.

  "She doesn't like chili?" Jake asked, opening the pantry door and looking at his guest over his shoulder. He knew damn well the hound would eat anything put in front of her.

  Duchess protested, eyes going hopefully from Jake to Marnie and back to Jake.

  "I know you do." Marnie gave Duchess a reproving glance. She looked back at Jake. "She loves chili. I'm just not sleeping in the same room if she eats it."

  "Chicken soup for the beast, then." Jake removed two cans, looked at the dog, then removed two more.

  "I can do that." Marnie came around the counter. Jake backed up a step. She advanced, hands outstretched for the cans. He retreated two more steps.

  She frowned. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine. Here." He thrust the cans at her and maneuvered himself around her and out of the narrow kitchen. "I'll find you a couple of blank—"

  A phone rang.

  They looked at each other. "Must be yours," he said shortly. His was on another level and couldn't be heard up here.

  The phone continued ringing. "Could you hand me my—Thanks."

  She took the phone out of the backpack and flipped it open.

  "Hi." She looked at him and mouthed, "Sorry. It's—" She pointed to her bare wrist and looked at him.

  "Seven-fifteen," he said quietly.

  "Dad. It's only seven-fifteen. Why are you calling m—Yes. Of course you can. No, I'm wide awake." She rolled her eyes. Jake tried to make his feet move to find those blankets. He stood rooted to the spot. The love she had for her father was brilliantly obvious. Even her exasperation at being called so early couldn't disguise that this was an often-repeated conversation.

  "Really? The sun's been shining, and it's beautiful up here." Rain drummed its steady beat on the windows. "Well, I'll keep a close watch in case those clouds come this way. But it doesn't look like—Yes, I know the bridge goes out if it r—No, I'm not, actually. There's a nice family staying in another cottage close by." Pause. "A mom. A dad. Three little kids… No, no cold air comes in… Yes, it is surprising after all these years. They knew how to build things to last in those days."

  She listened, a faraway look in her eyes. "I promise, I'm just fine. I'll call you when I get home on Monday, okay?" She closed her eyes tightly, listening to what her father was saying on the other end of the phone. The tip of her nose turned pink.

  Hell. Is she going to cry?

  "Love you, too, Daddy. Bye."

  "So." Jake rested his hip on the counter as she turned off the phone
and set it down on the counter. "Who am I? The mom, the dad, or one of the three kids?"

  "He worries."

  "Good thing the sun's shining so brightly then, isn't it?" He looked out the window. The rain was still coming down in torrents.

  Shit.

  He might as well get started on the damn ark now.

  Chapter Three

  « ^ »

  "And for your information," Jake told her, "this is a cabin, not a cottage."

  Ookay.

  Marnie rolled her eyes and followed his line of sight. Rain ad infinitum. "You know, it doesn't look like it's going to stop soon. There doesn't seem like much point in waiting." His dark blue eyes narrowed on her face. Why did she feel as though he could read her mind?

  "There's another bridge a little farther upriver," she offered. "That one doesn't usually flood. I know the way. I think if I left now I could—"

  "I've already rescued you once today," he said tautly. "I'm not going out again. Stay put. Sleep. Don't sleep. Do whatever you want."

  "I want to—" She broke off and shook her head, "—stop being ridiculous," she finished with a sigh. "You're right. I'll wait it out." Although he was standing at least six feet from her, she felt crowded. Marnie grabbed up the wet backpack. "I'll put my things in front of the fire to dry, then."

  Draping her jeans, sweatshirt, and wet socks over one of the bar stools, she dragged it closer to the leaping fire. That took all of seven seconds. The wet underwear she left in the bottom of the bag. She dusted off her hands. "I'd kill for a cup of coffee." She turned around to find him still leaning against the counter watching her.

  "It's probably stale."

  Wonderful. Stuck in the Great Flood with Mr. Tall-and-Not-So-Sweet.

  "No problem, as long as it's hot."

  Marnie walked past him to get into the kitchen. He didn't move, other than his mouth tightening, as she brushed past. The little hairs on her arm tingled. It was a good thing she was leaving soon. She was far too physically attracted to him. Erk! Talk about bad timing. "Do we have a coffeepot?"

  "Under the sink."

  Absolutely, why hadn't she thought of that?

  She found the Mr. Coffee where normal people kept their trash and cleaning supplies. It was full of cobwebs and dead brown things. She grimaced, wrestled the top off, spritzed dishwashing liquid into it, then filled it with scalding hot water and dropped the grungy lid into the pot to soak.

  "You've got some kind of power for your appliances. How come you don't have real lights? And heat?"

  "Because I don't. That's why."

  She shot him a glance, then continued opening and closing cabinets, looking for the coffee. Soup and chili—that was it.

  After he'd watched her go through every single cabinet and drawer, he said flatly, "In the freezer."

  Marnie tugged open the small upper door to the freezer. Even the air in there smelled stale. She took out a large can of coffee, leaving several foil-wrapped packages of mystery meat behind. "How long have you been up here?" she asked curiously.

  "Why?"

  "Because unless you've figured out how to get take-out delivered, I'm curious what you've been eating."

  "Why?"

  He obviously didn't want her here. Even more obvious, the man was used to being alone. The men she'd briefly been engaged to had both been sociable. They had also been handsome. While Jake Dolan had an interesting face, he wasn't handsome by any stretch of the imagination. His face showed character, the physical and psychological scars of life. He was, in fact, exactly the kind of man a smart woman avoided at all cost. Bossy. Opinionated. A misogynist.

  With that scowl he looked downright intimidating. Yet his appearance accelerated her heartbeat, which was rather baffling. What on earth were the gods thinking to toss a man like this at her now of all times? There was some weird kind of chemistry going on between them, something she'd never encountered with any other man. Marnie cocked her head. Why him? Why now?

  When he looked at her, her skin tingled, and she felt giddy. Her heart beat faster. The room was icy, yet her skin felt warm. Colors seemed brighter, and his raspy voice seemed to stroke her skin, making the little hairs on her arms stand up.

  Oh, boy. I've lost it for sure. Get a grip, she told herself sternly. Think about something else. Anything else.

  "So," she asked in desperation, "are you on vacation?"

  "Do you have an off button?"

  Unoffended, she shrugged. "How do you get to know someone if you don't ask questions?"

  The attraction between them must be a pheromone thing, she decided. Something chemical. Something that better quit it before I make a complete fool of myself.

  "Want to hear what I know about you without asking questions?"

  "Sure." She found a large, green plastic ashtray under the sink and washed it. Then opened the four cans of soup and used the ashtray as a bowl for Duchess.

  "You're a natural blonde. Your hair gets lighter in the summer. You have a trust fund you don't use. You manage, barely, on your income, and run out of money before the end of the month because you're always giving handouts. You live in a house, not an apartment. Bold colors. Clean lines. Original art. No clutter."

  "I'm impressed." And delighted he'd been thinking about her.

  "You're spoiled rotten. Used to getting your own way. Can't cook worth a damn—"

  "Beep. Wrong. I'm a superior chef." She smiled at him sweetly, then tilted her head. "Now I'll give it a try. Hmmm. Let's see, you're a loner. Only child?" He nodded. "See, I'm good at this, too. Let's see… What do you do for a living? I bet it has something to do with radio."

  He looked blank. "Radio?"

  "You have an incredibly sexy voice." She gazed into his eyes.

  He looked back steadily. Inscrutably. "I had a little trouble with my vocal cords a while back. My voice is ruined."

  Her stomach flipped, and she kept her eyes away from the scar on his neck with difficulty. She swallowed a lump in her own throat and said huskily, "I like it. It makes me—"

  One dark brow rose. "Makes you what?"

  Hot. Shivery. Turned on.

  "Nothing."

  Although it wasn't a character trait of which she was particularly proud, she often spoke without thinking. At the rate she was going, he'd toss her back out in the rain.

  "That's if you do work, of course," she continued blithely. "You could be a career criminal, on the lam from the law, hiding out up here in the mountains waiting for the heat to die down. Am I getting warm?"

  "I thought this was a monologue."

  "Funny man. Knowing what someone does for a living can tell you quite a lot about the person, that's all."

  "Want to see a credit report?"

  She gave him a snotty look. "Do you like what you do? Whatever that might be," she added under her breath.

  "Haven't thought about it one way or the other."

  "Why don't you quit, then?"

  "I'm thinking about it. You work?"

  "I worked all the way through high school. My dad insisted I learn the value of a dollar." She was used to people thinking that since she was a rich Wright, she didn't need gainful employment. "I've worked for the same computer company for almost eight years."

  "I thought you were an artist." He sounded suspicious.

  "Yes, well, at the moment, one pays my rent and the other doesn't. Admittedly it's nepotism. I work for my father—Wright Computers? But I assure you I do work. He's real big on sowing before one reaps. I started sowing as a programmer before I was out of college. One of these days I'm going to reap and do illustrating full time. That's one of the things I'm here to think about." Go to Paris, wear black, and look mysterious. She smiled.

  "Fiancé number three?"

  Marnie frowned. "What does that—Oh. Nope. One doesn't have anything to do with the other. No more engagements. I'll see, I'll conquer, eventually I'll marry."

  "Set your sights on the poor sap yet?"

  She scanned
his face and gave a noncommittal shrug.

  For years she'd convinced herself that what she'd wanted was too ephemeral, too storybook to be real. She'd analyzed all her relationships to death and found both the men and herself lacking.

  She'd never been remotely aggressive. Never pursued a man. Never wanted to. Probably because, until now, she'd just never felt strongly enough.

  Whatever the reason, she certainly felt strongly enough now.

  When she'd come here to make life-altering decisions, she hadn't thought that her grand adventure was already under way.

  She'd never been this physically attracted to any man.

  Never. Not even close.

  What was it about this abrasive man that made her heart speed up and her breasts ache with longing? What was it about him that made her hungry for sensations she hadn't known she was missing? What was it about him that made her want to cast caution to the winds and explore all that he was?

  He was a puzzle. An enigma. She shouldn't be so intrigued, but she was. Everything about Jake Dolan intrigued and, heaven help her, turned her on. The way he looked. The way he talked. The way he smelled, and walked, and scowled. The whole package intrigued and tantalized her.

  Marnie stared at his mouth and ached to taste him. She looked at his long hair and longed to bury her fingers in the silken strands. She wanted to touch his broad chest and feel his arms around her. She wanted to—

  He scowled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Like what?" she asked innocently.

  "Like I'm a food product."

  Oh, Marnie wanted to taste him, all right. "Hmmm."

  His scowl deepened. "That's not an answer. That's a…"

  "A what?"

  "An irritant."

  "What else do you think you know about me?" Marnie challenged softly, wanting to touch him so badly she ached. She stayed where she was, but it was as though a magnetic force field drew them closer and closer.

  She felt bold, daring, and giddy with want.

  Poor Jake was struggling like the fish on the end of a hook. But he was in the force field, too.

  "Are you really who you say you are?" he asked, so roughly she barely understood the words.