Читать книгу Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal - Barbara McCauley - Страница 10

Sam sat in his car and stared at the Shangri-La’s brilliant pink neon sign. Like the beat of a song, the last two letters flickered steadily, blinking in and out … La … La … La … grating on his nerves. He tapped impatiently on his steering wheel.

Where the hell was she?

It was seven-fifteen, for God’s sake. He knew her lunch shift had ended almost two hours ago. On the hotel security monitor, he’d watched her walk to her white sedan in the employee garage and drive away. Even with a traffic jam—which was virtually nonexistent in Wolf River—it wouldn’t have taken her more than five minutes to drive here.

Dammit.

Heat lingered from the blistering day and radiated off the asphalt parking lot, cutting a sharper edge on his foul mood. You’ve gotten soft, Prescott, he told himself irritably. When he’d been in the Army, he’d run reconnaissance in a South American jungle, where mosquitoes were big enough to throw a saddle on and the humidity was so thick you could drink it. He’d lain patiently in bug-infested swamps for hours, even dodged a few bullets.

If he could, he’d take those swamps and bullets over sitting here in this damn car, in this damn parking lot, any day.

He swiped at the sweat on his brow, thankful he’d at least changed into a T-shirt and jeans before he’d driven over here. Even after eight years in the hotel business, he’d never completely got used to the daily suit-and-tie routine. But, like the Army, he knew it was the uniform for the job so he dealt with it.

He glanced at his wristwatch again, was annoyed that only two minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked.

La … La … La …

He tapped harder, gritted his teeth, then looked up when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires. A white sedan had pulled into the motel driveway. About damn time. He reached for his keys, swore when he saw the driver of the car. Male, balding, thick glasses. Big nose.

Wrong white sedan.

With a heavy sigh, he settled back again, seriously considered leaving, going back to the motel and having a good stiff drink at the bar. Forget that today had ever happened.

Right. Nothing short of death or complete amnesia could make him forget he’d kissed Kiera.

It infuriated him he’d lost control like that. Stepped over—hell, jumped over—all boundaries. He’d been so damn careful to stay away from her the past few days. Had made a point not to speak to her, or even look in her direction, for that matter. And then in the blink of an eye, he’d blown his hard-won restraint to smithereens.

What the hell was he supposed to do when she’d looked up at him with those sexy blue eyes? When she’d softly parted those enticing lips? When she’d swayed toward him. Walk away?

Hell, yes.

That’s exactly what he should have done.

Frowning, he raked his fingers over his scalp. In spite of what some people thought, he was human.

And stupid, he thought darkly. Not only because he’d kissed her, but because—of all places—he’d kissed her in Clair’s office.

Clair hadn’t said word to suggest she’d seen, or suspected anything had happened between Kiera and him. But during their meeting with the Four Winds architect, when they’d been studying the blueprints for the new tower, Sam had caught Clair—more than once—staring blankly across the table. As if her mind were somewhere far away.

Sam knew his lack of protocol could potentially put Clair and the hotel’s reputation in an awkward situation. Sexual harassment claims and lawsuits were hardly good for business. Because he’d never stepped over that boundary before, it had never been an issue for him.

Until Kiera.

He wished he knew what it was about the woman that intrigued him to the point of distraction. She was pretty—beautiful, even. And sexy, for damn sure. He wished the attraction were as simple as that. If it were, it would pass quickly enough. But something, some little, annoying itch between his shoulder blades, told him it was more than that. Much more.

He sighed, sank down farther in his seat. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her, he thought. Maybe when he’d seen that black eye, some primal need to protect had been awakened. Or maybe he’d simply been without female companionship longer than he was accustomed to. Of all the reasons, he preferred that one. It was the easiest to rectify.

He straightened suddenly, spotted her across the parking lot, getting out of her car, her arms loaded with brown grocery bags. She’d driven right past him and he hadn’t even seen her!

So much for his reconnaissance expertise.

By the time he came up behind her, she had her key in her hand and was juggling the bags in her arms while she reached to unlock her door.

“I’ll get it.”

With a gasp, she jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at him. “Sam!”

He took the bags from her, nodded at the door when she just stood there, staring at him. “You going to open it?”

“What? Oh, yes.” It took her a moment to fit the key into the lock. When she opened the door, she turned and blocked the doorway, reached for the bags. “This really isn’t a good time, maybe you can—”

“I’m coming in, Kiera.”

She hesitated, then stepped to the side.

The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, chrome dining table, box-shaped tweed sofa and a rust-colored armchair. Over the sofa, a large, framed print of a sunny, palm tree–lined beach attempted—unsuccessfully—to brighten up the drab room. An open door to the right of the sofa led to the bedroom.

He jerked his gaze away. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was the bedroom.

He set the groceries on the Formica kitchen counter, caught the scent of fresh herbs wafting from one of the bags, noticed two wine bottles in another. “Are you expecting company?”

She stood by the still-open door, white-knuckling the doorknob. “Why do you ask?”

“Why are you answering a question with a question?”

At the sound of a car pulling into a parking space close by, Kiera quickly glanced outside, then shut the door. “Just because I’m cooking doesn’t mean I’m expecting anyone.”

Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”

When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.

“One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”

“All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d like to file a complaint.”

“Yes, I would.” She pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard under the stovetop. “This frying pan is too small.”

“Dammit, Kiera.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Assuming you’re referring to our little breach of conduct this afternoon, of course I don’t want to file a complaint.” She set the pan on the stove and met his gaze. “Sam, we’re both adults. What happened … just happened, that’s all.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he said tightly. “‘It just happened?’”

“What do you want me to say?” With a shrug, she fumbled in one of the bags, pulled out fresh herbs, butter and an onion.

What did he want her to say? he wondered. Her answer should have relieved, not annoyed him. If he had half a brain, he’d be done with this, with her, and get the hell out now.

Apparently, he wasn’t that smart.

“I kissed you, Kiera,” he said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you’re my boss?”

“Of course because I’m your boss.” His annoyance increased when she didn’t answer him but grabbed a knife instead and sliced off a chunk of butter, then dropped it into the pan.

“And what if you weren’t my boss?” she said casually, then reached for the basil.

His pulse jumped at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was playing one of those coy, female games, or if she was seriously asking him a question. He watched her chop the basil, smelled the pungent scent of the spice filling the room. Dammit! Why can’t I read her?

“If I wasn’t your boss,” he said slowly, evenly, “I’d have done a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”

In spite of her resolve to be nonchalant, Kiera couldn’t stop the winged stutter in her heart. She shouldn’t have asked him that, knew her question was playing with fire. But somehow the words had just slipped out, and there was no taking them back now.

And if—for once—she was going to be truthful, she didn’t want to take them back.

Her stomach jumped when he moved around the counter toward her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare. If she did, he’d certainly see everything she was thinking. Everything she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, she thought. It was too soon.

“Are you thinking about quitting?” He moved closer. “Or are you suggesting something else?”

Something else? She glanced up sharply as she realized what he meant, felt her cheeks warm. She supposed her question did sound like some kind of a proposition to have a secret affair or be a kept woman. She lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not suggesting anything else.”

“What if I did?”

She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”

“For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”

His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. A moan rose from deep in her throat, hummed through her entire body. She was powerless to stop it, so she gave herself up to the feeling, let it melt through and consume her.

Wonderful, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.

So wonderfully wonderful.

He dragged her closer, deepened the kiss, maneuvered her between him and the Formica counter. She reveled in the feel of his hard, powerful body pressed tightly against hers. No one had ever kissed her like this before. Had ever made her feel such raw, wild need. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time. The kiss this afternoon had simply been an appetizer, she realized, a precursor to the main course.

She clutched at his back, rose on her toes to get closer.

Shifting his weight, he slid his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. She heard a deep, low growl in his throat, then gasped when he suddenly lifted her up onto the counter and stepped between her legs. The paper bag behind her spilled over, and through the blood pounding in her head, she vaguely heard the oranges she’d bought roll onto the floor and bounce. She didn’t care. With Sam’s kisses spinning her world out of control, how could she?

His mouth left hers and she whimpered, drew in a sharp breath as his lips blazed kisses over her jaw to her ear. She rolled her head back, bit her lip when his teeth nipped her earlobe, then moved to her neck. Fire raced over her skin, pulsated at the juncture of her thighs. His lips and teeth teased and explored, but his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was busy. His hands worked her shirt from her waistband, then quickly slid underneath.

She quivered, lost herself to the mind-numbing sensations of his skin on hers. His palms were rough and when they cupped her breasts, she arched her back. He mumbled something, lowered his head to nuzzle. Gasping, she braced her arms on the counter behind her, and in some dim recess of her mind felt the small, plastic-wrapped box under her fingers.

And remembered what she’d bought.

When she stiffened, he raised his head.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky and deep.

“Nothing.” She closed her hand around the box, tried to push it back into the paper bag, but the bag moved away and fell on the floor.

Oh, hell.

With a frown, he straightened and glanced behind her back.

She watched his eyes narrow, then his mouth press into a hard line when he saw what was in the box.

A pregnancy test.

His gaze shot back to hers. “You’re pregnant?”

If the situation—and the look in Sam’s eyes—hadn’t been so intense, she might have laughed at the absurdity of his question. She certainly didn’t want him to think the test was for her, but she couldn’t very well tell him that Clair had asked her to buy it, either. No matter what Sam thought of her, Kiera wouldn’t break that trust.

When she didn’t reply, he stepped back and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Dammit, Kiera, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

She slid off the counter, picked the bag up from the floor, then dropped the box inside. “I didn’t ask you for help, Sam.”

His eyes dark with anger, he stared at her for what felt like a lifetime.

“Fine.”

He ground the single word out through gritted teeth, then turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, stopped, spun around and leveled his gaze at her.

“Just tell me this,” he said tightly. “And dammit, tell me the truth. Are you married?”

That she could honestly answer. “No.”

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. She watched him turn and slam out the door. Slowly, she released the breath she’d been holding, then leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.

She heard a car engine rev, then the squeal of tires.

Men!

With an irritated groan, she pushed away from the counter and bent to pick up the fruit that had rolled on the floor. Why should he be mad at me? she thought, picking up an orange and tossing it back onto the counter. And why were the men in her life who mattered to her most so damn demanding?

She scooped up another orange and glared at it. “I refuse to be bullied.”

Why the hell did she have to fall for a guy who had the same ornery, the same intolerable, the same insufferable temperament as Trey?

She spun around at the sudden knock on the door. So he’d come back to interrogate her further, she thought and marched toward the door, ready to argue if that’s what he wanted. She threw open the door.

But it wasn’t Sam standing there. It was Clair.

“I—I’m sorry,” Clair said hesitantly, obviously startled at the unexpected force of the door opening. “I must have come at a bad time.”

“No, no. Of course not.” Kiera felt the heat of a blush scurry up her neck onto her face. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—never mind. Please, come in.”

Kiera closed the door when Clair stepped inside, then moved to the counter and picked up the box sitting there. “I hope I bought the right one. There were several to choose from and I really hadn’t a clue.”

“I wouldn’t have known, either.” Clair stared at the pregnancy kit with a mixture of wonder and amazement on her face. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Oh, I hope you’re right. I really, really hope you’re right.”

“Then I really, really hope I’m right, too,” Kiera said, then stiffened when Clair moved forward and hugged her. Just a brief hug, a simple, I’m-just-so-happy-I-want-to-share-it hug.

But to Kiera it was so much more.

It was a hug that had the power to topple defenses. To break through walls. To answer questions.

If there was anyone she dared trust, anyone who might be able to answer those questions, Kiera knew it was Clair.

But she couldn’t. Not only because it was terrible timing, but because now that she had established this connection she was terrified of losing it, afraid that the joy shining in Clair’s eyes would turn to doubt. Maybe even to hatred.

When the time is right, she thought, praying it would be soon.

“I’m sorry.” With a sniff, Clair stepped back and wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’ve just been so emotional these past couple of weeks.”

“That’s another sure sign.” Kiera blinked back her own threatening tears, then shifted uneasily, not sure what to do now. “Can I—ah, would you like something to drink? Some water or iced tea?”

“Iced tea would be wonderful,” Clair said distantly, still staring at the box in her hands. “I think I might need a couple of minutes to calm down before I drive home.”

“Sugar?” Kiera asked, pulling a pitcher out of the fridge.

“No, thanks.” Clair moved to the counter, glanced at the groceries and the chopped basil. “You cook?”

“I like to,” Kiera said, filling a glass from the cupboard. “Do you?”

“Never learned, and now I’m too busy.” Clair nodded at the pan with butter in it. “What are you making?”

“Chicken marsala.” Kiera handed the tea to Clair, then threw caution to the wind. “You’re welcome to stay and eat if you’re hungry.”

“Just the tea, but thanks for the offer. Maybe a rain check?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let me keep you, though,” Clair said, sipping her tea. “I would enjoy watching you for a few minutes. It fascinates me how people can take a bunch of different ingredients and turn them into something exotic and delicious. Unless you’d rather not have someone hanging over you—”

“I don’t mind.” Kiera moved back to the stove and flipped on the burner. If there was one place she felt most comfortable, it was in the kitchen. And besides, if she was cooking it would keep her mind off being nervous around Clair—off all those questions she so desperately wanted to ask.

“So where did you learn?” Clair settled on a counter bar stool. “Your mother?”

Kiera shook her head. “Cookie Roggenfelder.”

Clair raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I was raised on a ranch in East Texas.” Kiera opened a package of chicken breasts she’d had the butcher pound thin for her. “When I was eight, I spent most of my time following after the cook.”

“Named Cookie,” Clair added, grinning.

Kiera nodded. “I’d beg him every day to let me help and every day he’d say no. I guess I finally wore him down, because on my ninth birthday he gave me an apron and told me if I still wanted to help, I had to start at the bottom. The bottom being peeling potatoes, shucking corn, chopping onions. It was nearly six months before he let me actually cook anything. I made corn fritters.”

“How did you do?” Clair asked.

“They were hard as granite and burned, to boot.” While she opened a bag of flour, Kiera smiled at the memory. The kitchen had smelled like smoke for three days. “Cookie insisted I bake them every day until I got it right. Took me three weeks straight, but now I can honestly say I make the best corn fritter you’ve ever tasted.”

“I’ve never had one.” Clair swirled the ice in her tea. “But you’re definitely making me want one.”

“I’ll make them for you sometime,” Kiera said, then dusted the chicken with flour. “You’ll be spoiled for life.”

Clair studied Kiera’s face for a moment, then took another drink. “Does that mean you’ll be staying in Wolf River?”

Kiera’s heart jumped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Like I said before, small towns are brutal on a person’s private life.” Clair gave an apologetic shrug. “There’s been some talk.”

“Oh?” Somehow, Kiera managed to keep her hand steady. Butter sizzled when she dropped the chicken into the heated frying pan. “What kind of talk?”

“What you’d expect,” Clair said. “Where you come from, why you’re here. Why you’re living in a motel, by yourself. If you’re married.”

“I’m not married.” But she’d answered a little too quickly, Kiera realized, especially for someone who was trying her damnedest to be calm and collected.

“I’m sorry if I’m prying.” Clair’s voice was truly contrite. “But I do have an interest in you beyond idle curiosity. I’d like to know if the best waitress my hotel has ever hired plans on sticking around for a while. And besides, I like you. This may sound weird, and it’s probably just my hormones going crazy, but I feel as if we have a connection, somehow. I realize we just met, but I’d hate to lose you, as a Four Winds employee, and as a friend.”

“I—” Kiera had to choke back the lump of emotion in her throat “—thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me that chicken you’re cooking will be done soon,” Clair said with a grin. “I wasn’t hungry a minute ago and now I’m suddenly starving.”

Kiera and Clair looked at each other. Together they said, “Another sign of pregnancy.”

They laughed, then Clair folded her arms and leaned forward on the counter. “I promise I won’t pry anymore, but I’d love to hear more about Cookie and the ranch you grew up on. It sounds wonderful.”

It had been wonderful, Kiera thought. Until two weeks ago, when she’d found out everything had been a lie. For the moment, though, she would pretend she didn’t know the truth. Meeting Clair had helped ease the pain somewhat, but there was still so much to learn. So many questions to be answered.

And besides, after her incredible lapse of good judgment with Sam, she needed a distraction. Cooking and talking with Clair would certainly be a welcome one.

“My favorite Cookie story—” Kiera said while she turned the chicken “—has to be the day one of the new ranch hands inadvertently commented that his mama made the best ribs in the entire state of Texas….”