CHAPTER TWELVE
Melanie finished touching up some photographs in her studio, responded to a couple voicemails and tentatively planned two portrait shoots for the next couple of days. Since she was officially out of a job, she needed all the work she could get—and that included working at Ridge Lodge. With Gavin.
She dialed the resort’s number and was told by a foreman that Gavin and Rich were out.
“Terrific!” she muttered, wondering about their reaction to the article as she fixed herself a meager dinner made from leftover chicken, vegetables and gravy. “Use your imagination, Mel,” she told herself as she rolled premixed pie dough and laid it over the top of a casserole dish. Gavin would be furious—and hell-bent to avenge the article. “Well this is going to be fun,” she muttered sarcastically, switching on the radio and adjusting the volume. The disk jockey reported that another storm was about to hit the central Oregon Cascades. More snow for the lodge, she thought. At least some news was positive.
Sassafras, hoping for a morsel of chicken, stood at attention near the stove. “Later,” she promised, then eyed her creation. “We’ll both have some—to celebrate.”
Though not working for the Tribune created a score of financial problems, she felt a sense of relief.
Shoving the dish of chicken potpie into the oven, she winked at the old dog. “Tonight, we dine like kings,” she announced, then wrinkled her nose. “Well, not really kings, maybe more like dukes or squires or ... well, peasants would probably be more appropriate. But we’re celebrating nonetheless.”
To prove her point, she pulled out the bottle of champagne she’d had in the refrigerator since her birthday and popped the cork. She found a glass high in the cupboard over the stove.
“Here’s to freedom,” she said, pouring the champagne. It frothed over the side of the glass, and she laughed. “I guess I won’t get a job pouring drinks down at the Peg and Platter, hmm?”
Sassafras whined and lowered his head between his paws, still staring up at her with wide brown eyes as the doorbell pealed.
With a loud growl, the dog leaped to his feet and raced, toenails clicking on the old hardwood floor, to the front door. Melanie set her glass on the counter and followed.
Through the narrow window near the front door, she saw Gavin, collar turned against the wind, blond hair dark and wet, snow on the shoulders of his leather jacket, jaw set and stern.
A newspaper was folded neatly under his arm. Today’s edition of the Tribune.
“Give me strength,” she whispered prayerfully as she unlocked the door and swung it open.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded, shaking the paper in front of her nose.
“It’s good to see you, too,” she tossed back at him, the hackles on the back of her neck instantly rising.
He strode in without an invitation. “Whose smear job is this?”
Melanie closed the door behind him and braced herself. “Brian Michaels’s.”
“And what did you have to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
His sensual lips compressed. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I didn’t see the front page until this morning.”
“Helluva way to bring tourists into town.” He flung the newspaper onto a nearby table.
“Did you come over here to accuse me of something?” Melanie asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Because if you did, let’s get down to it.”
“What would I accuse you of?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you think I was part of some conspiracy.”
“No, I don’t believe that,” he said quietly, though he was still angry. White lines bracketed his mouth, and his jaw was clenched so hard a muscle worked beneath his cheek.
“Oh, so this is just a social call,” she said, unable to resist baiting him.
“I just want to know what’s going on. You work for the paper—”
“Worked. As in past tense.”
His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
She motioned to the newspaper. “That happened and ... well, it’s probably going to get worse.”
“How?”
“Brian’s not about to let up. Come on into the kitchen. I’ve got something in the oven and I’ve got to keep my eye on it.” He followed her through the hallway by the stairs. The scent of stewing chicken and warm spices wafted through the air. “Join me?” she asked, holding onto the neck of the champagne bottle.
He lifted a shoulder.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She poured his glass and handed it to him. “I’m celebrating.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he took a sip from his glass. “Celebrating what?”
“My emancipation. I quit the Tribune.”
He frowned. “You said things would get worse.”
“They will. Brian found out that we dated in high school, Gavin. He plans to use it. He even asked me to get close to you again, get you to confide in me.”
“Great guy, your boss.”
“Ex-boss,” she reminded him. “That’s when I quit.”
“How much does he know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“The baby?”
His words sliced through the air like a sharp knife. “I don’t think so,” she replied, shivering.
“Who does?”
Shaking her head, she frowned. “My dad did and Uncle Bart and Aunt Lila.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “And of course Neil and the doctor.”
“No one else?”
“I don’t think so.” Drawing in a shuddering breath she opened her eyes again and, grateful for something to do with her hands, lifted the glass to her lips. “I lost the baby before I’d started to show—before Neil or I had said anything to our friends.”
Gavin’s nostrils flared. “And you didn’t mention it to your ‘friend’ Jan?”
“Of course not!” Melanie replied guiltily. She knew now that she should never have confided anything to Jan. “I told her we dated so she’d stop asking questions. I didn’t think it would backfire.” She finished her drink in one gulp.
“When reporters can’t find news, they create it.”
“Not usually,” Melanie replied, noticing that Gavin’s glass had been drained. She poured them each another glass and asked, “So why does Brian have it in for you?”
“You think he does?”
She nodded. “Don’t you?”
“Probably. I met him a long time ago in Colorado. He started sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, and I complained. He was fired shortly thereafter.”
“He never mentioned it,” Melanie said thoughtfully. “When your name was first linked with the lodge, Brian was pretty interested, but I don’t think it was because he wanted to dig up some scandal. At least, I hope not.” She sipped from her glass again and stared over the rim at Gavin.
He was tense, his features hard, the muscles beneath his shirt bunched, but his gaze, when it touched her, was warm and seductive. His tawny eyes were as they had always been, erotic and knowing.
Her mouth grew dry, and she quickly finished her second glass of champagne.
He stood near the windows of the nook, one shoulder resting on the doorframe, large fingers wrapped around the slim stem of his fragile champagne flute.
The soft noises in the house filled the room—the slow tick of the clock in the front hall, the steady rumble of the furnace, the muted strains of a love song from the radio, a creak of ancient timbers and the old collie’s whispering breath as he slept under the table.
“So what’re we going to do about this?” he finally said, his eyes searching her face.
“About what?”
“Us.”
That single word caused her heart to start thumping. “I don’t know if there is an ‘us.’ I’m not sure there ever was.”
“Sure there was,” he said easily, finishing his champagne and setting the empty glass on the counter.
“It was a long time ago.”
“What about last week, when you were up at the lodge?”
Yes. What about those precious hours we spent together? “As I remember, it didn’t end well.”
“You shocked me.” He let out a long, slow breath, but his gaze never wavered. “If I’d known about the baby . . .”
“What would you have done?”
“Come home.”
Her heart wrenched. “But that would have been no good,” she whispered, her words difficult. “You didn’t stay for me. You couldn’t come back for a baby. You would’ve felt trapped.” She saw the denial in his lips and held up a palm. “You would have, Gavin. Someday, sometime. You would have wondered, ‘what if?’”
“And you weren’t willing to gamble that I would decide it didn’t matter?”
“No.”
He crossed the room slowly, his gaze moving deliberately from her eyes to her lips. “You didn’t give me enough credit, Mel.”
“I just wanted you to be happy—”
Wrapping strong arms around her waist, he drew her against him. “Happiness is elusive,” he whispered before he kissed her, his lips molding over hers. He smelled of snowflakes and tasted of champagne.
Knowing she shouldn’t give in, Melanie closed her eyes and leaned against him, content to feel his hands splayed possessively against her back. She welcomed the feel of his tongue as it slid easily between her teeth, his hard body pressed so intimately to hers. His thighs moved, pinning her legs to his. Her pulse leaped, and her heart thundered.
When at last he lifted his head, his eyes were glazed. He touched her wet lips with one finger, tracing her pout, his gaze searching hers. “I thought that if I ever saw you again, it wouldn’t matter,” he confessed. “I told myself that I was over you, that you’d been a boyhood fascination, nothing more.” Disgust filtered through his words. “Obviously I was wrong.”
The timer on the stove buzzed so loudly Melanie jumped.
“What’s that?” Gavin asked.
“Dinner.”
“It’ll wait.” In a quick motion, he turned off the stove and the buzzer. Noticing the coat rack near the back door, he tossed a long winter coat in her direction, grabbed her hand and tugged, pulling her outside.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” she said, laughing as he led her down the back steps and through the snow. “I’m not dressed for this.”
“Don’t worry about your clothes,” he said, sliding a hard look over his shoulder.
“Gavin . . . ?”
He didn’t answer but just tugged on her arm, leading her across the yard. The sky had turned black, in stark contrast to the white earth. Snow covered tree branches, roofs, eaves and ground, drifting against the fence and piling onto the stack of wood near the barn.
The barn.
The air was suddenly trapped in her lungs.
With a tingling sense of deja vu, she knew where he was taking her. Her throat went dry, and time seemed to spin backward.
He tugged on the handle of the door, and it slid to the side on rusted rollers, creaking and groaning. Inside, the dark interior smelled of dust and old hay. There were no more cattle or horses, and the barn itself was in sad need of repair.
Melanie balked. Her breath fogged. “You’re not seriously thinking of—”
“Let’s go,” he insisted, leaving the barn door open, letting in a pale stream of illumination from the security lamp near the garage and the silvery reflection of the snow.
He paused at the bottom of the ladder to the hayloft, and Melanie stopped, yanking her hand from his. “They say you can never go back, Gavin.”
“I’m not going back.”
“This might not be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been eight years for a reason.”
His arms surrounded her, and his mouth closed over hers. Memories rushed through her mind, yet they paled to the here and now, to the rough feel of his jacket against her cheek, the smell of his cologne mingling with the dust, the warmth of his hand pressing hard against the small of her back. She’d been kidding herself, she realized, when she’d made love to him before and thought she could remain emotionally detached.
Groaning, he half pushed her up toward the loft. Melanie’s throat went dry, but a thrill of anticipation skittered up her spine and she stepped onto the ladder.
With each rung, she wondered if she were making a mistake she would never be able to undo, but she kept climbing, one step at a time, until she stood in the cold, darkened loft and Gavin was beside her, his breath stirring her hair as he slid the coat from her shoulders and tossed it onto the old straw. Then, holding her chin between both his palms, he molded a kiss against her lips that made her shiver from head to toe.
A tremor passed through Melanie, and she was sure he could feel it as his tongue pressed insistently against her teeth and into her mouth, searching, tasting, plundering.
His hands held her tight against him, his thighs pressing against hers, her breasts crushed to his chest.
“I never forgot you Melanie,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Never.” His hands slid lower, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against him. Through their clothes, she felt the hardness between his legs, the urgency in his touch.
“I tried. God, I tried. And there were other women—women I hoped would make me forget.”
“Shh,” she whispered, the breath torn from her lungs. She touched his lips with the tip of one finger. “I don’t want to hear about them.”
He drew her finger into his mouth and sucked, his tongue playing havoc with her nerve endings as it tickled and toyed.
Melanie’s abdomen tightened. Liquid heat scorched her veins, and she couldn’t stop the moan that slipped through her lips.
Kissing her again, he pulled her closer, forcing one of her legs to move upward and rest against his hip. Her head lolled backward, and her arms wrapped around his neck as they fell to the hay. Her old coat was a meager blanket against the cold air and the rough hay, but Melanie didn’t notice. She was on fire inside, and the scratch of the straw only heightened her already tingling senses.
Gavin’s mouth found hers again. Hot, anxious lips pressed hard against hers in a kiss that was as punishing as it was filled with promise.
“Gavin,” she cried wantonly. She arched upward, closer, closer. He stripped away her sweater and took both lace-covered breasts in his hands. Burying his head between the mounds, he kissed the skin over her breasts as he pulled her bra away. The stubble on his chin was rough, his lips and tongue wet and wild and wonderful as his hot breath whispered across her nipples and caused a fire to burn deep within.
He teased her. His tongue grazed a nipple, parrying and thrusting, wetting the tight bud until Melanie was wild with desire.
An ache stole through her, and she cradled his head to her breast. He suckled long and hard, and Melanie grasped his hair in her hands, her fingers tangling in his thick blond locks.
He began to move against her, and she felt his rhythm, still holding him close as he struggled out of his clothes and kicked his jeans away. Lord, she wanted him. She could barely think for the desire rippling deep within.
His eyes were gold and glowing with a passion matched only by her own as he discarded her clothes quickly. And then they were naked. Again in the barn, but this time the love between them was a savage, forceful desire that stripped them bare. “You make me crazy,” he muttered, as if trying to get a grip on his exploding passion.
Was he going to stop? Now? Oh, God, no! “Gavin . . . please . . .” Writhing, she lifted her hips, and he ran his hand along her inner thigh, touching the apex of her legs, and groaning in satisfaction at the evidence of her desire.
“Melanie . . .” he whispered, his breath fanning her skin, his tongue wetting a trail against her leg.
His hands once again found her buttocks, and she moved closer to him, trembling with desire as he found her, pleasuring her until she could stand the sensual teasing no longer.
“Gavin, oh, please . . .” She reached for him, drawing him up along her body, her hands forcing his head to hers, and she kissed him with all the desire flooding through her veins. Touching the flat nipples in his mat of golden hair, she sucked on his lower lip and he lost control.
“What do you want from me?” he rasped, his voice echoing off the old beams.
“Everything.”
Shifting, he lifted her legs in the air, leaning her smooth legs against his chest.
“Oh really?” she said, biting her bottom lip sensually as he moved his body against her in this new position.
“This one gives me such a nice view,” Gavin responded, smiling slyly.
Slowly, she could feel him enter her and they both reveled in the sensation. First with shallow thrusts, and as things heated, Gavin took control. He plunged deep and she arched upward, meeting the fervor of his thrusts anxiously, closing around him again and again, their bodies fusing in savage fury.
Her senses were on fire as he massaged her breasts while he entered and withdrew, pushing her to the edge of rapture. Her fingers dug into the supple flesh of his arms and at the sound of his primal cry, she shuddered, dropping her legs and convulsing against him, a thousand sparks igniting and sizzling.
With a dry gasp, he collapsed atop her, crushing her breasts and pressing her hard against the rough coat. Perspiration fused their bodies, and his curling chest hair tickled her sensitive bare skin.
“Melanie,” he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse. “What am I going to do with you?”
And what am I going to do with you? Wrapping her arms around him, she closed her eyes and tried to slow the still-rapid beating of her heart. She wasn’t going to fall apart now, to weep for what might have been. But she held him tightly, as if afraid he might disappear.
When he slowly rolled to his side, she reluctantly released him.
“This is insane,” he said. “Just plain crazy.” He plucked a piece of straw from her hair and sighed loudly.
“So what’re we going to do about it?”
“I wish I knew,” he muttered.