six-month stretches as the marriage waxed and waned.
The despair and resignation of that child rose in her, reminding her that, other than her grandparents, she’d never been able to depend on anyone in her life….
She stopped the morbid thoughts and wondered what had brought such gloom to her spirits. The storm, she decided, observing the torrents of rain against the window. Summoning a smile, she murmured in a teasing tone, “It would never occur to me that you would act less than a gentleman.”
The dark eyebrows rose. “Don’t be too sure of that,” he warned, a thread of humor in his voice, but something more, too—an edginess that had nothing to do with the long trip and fatigue, but everything to do with being a man alone with a woman at a late hour, with a bed tantalizingly close.
His eyes swept over her, pausing at the ridiculous pink fuzzy scuffs that had been a gift from her mother last Christmas. Her mom liked frivolous things and thought Amelia was much too staid.
Thinking of her mother’s cute, flirty ways that so intrigued men and drove her dad crazy with jealousy, Amelia wished she could think of a sassy comeback. Unfortunately, she never could until long after the opportunity had passed.
Her face warmed, and she hoped the blush wasn’t noticeable. With her red hair and fair skin inherited from her grandmother, Amelia found her emotions seemed to lie too close to the surface for her personal comfort.
The wind caused the flames to dance wildly in the grate. She realized she felt the same way inside—sort of wild, as if her spirit wanted to dance, and hot, as if a fire burned in a secret furnace inside her.
“Wasn’t that once a wood fireplace?” he asked. “I cleaned the chimneys here one year when your grandparents were still alive.”
“I—” She had to clear the huskiness from her throat. “I had it converted to gas this summer. It was too much work to take care of the wood and ashes, but I do enjoy a fire on cold evenings like this.”
He nodded in understanding, his eyes half-closed as he gazed at the natural-looking, flaming logs. He had heavy eyelids—bedroom eyes, the girls at school had called them—and the shifting light gave him the dangerous look of a rogue or pirate.
His jawline was strong, his cheeks rather prominent, with interesting shadows beneath them. His lips were evenly matched and his smile entrancing. His hair was curly, which he tried to disguise by keeping it cut short. In school, it had flowed in ripples to his shoulders. She’d wanted to run her fingers through the shining strands.
The telltale heat climbed her neck. Fortunately, he was still gazing into the fire. She found herself staring when he raised the mug to his lips. His throat moved as he swallowed, then he held the mug in both hands, his fingers caressing the smooth porcelain idly, his thoughts faraway as he absently observed the flames.
Her skin tingled all over as if he was stroking her body the way he did the cup. Hunger and longing and a mixture of feelings exploded in her, urgent and reckless. Shocked, she leaped to her feet. “Good night,” she said.
He glanced up, surprised at her abrupt action. But Amelia fled to the bedroom and closed the door. She hesitated about locking it, then realized that was silly. He would hardly come charging in after her.
“Good night,” she heard him call. “Sweet dreams.”
Dreams, she scoffed silently as she climbed into bed a few minutes later. She’d had enough of dreams to last her a lifetime. She was owner of a thriving bed-and-breakfast business, one that she’d built with her own hard work and planning. Who needed dreams?
Everyone, the wind whispered against the dark window, its piping notes somehow sad and more than a little lonely.
Another night flooded her memory, haunting her with the sweet nostalgia of times past, of being sixteen and so very much in love.
Seth turned off the gas to the fake logs in the fireplace and snuggled into bed. The sofa mattress was surprisingly comfortable. He bunched the pillow behind his head, his mind on the woman who slept in the next room.
His libido had acted up while he used her shower. The bathroom was filled with pleasant, feminine scents from shampoo, powder and cologne. Other facets of her personal space also tweaked his imagination, such as the scented candles dotting the wide border of the tub.
The fact that the candles had been used conjured up several intimate scenes. He could picture her relaxing in the tub, that tangled mass of auburn curls pinned up on her head, the candle glow highlighting her fair skin, which looked as delicate as peach petals.
A shudder ran through him and heat erupted deep within. He sucked in air like a man who’d been in danger of smothering. His libido paid no attention to the calming effect this was supposed to produce. The sheet tented as his body responded in blatant hunger.
Good thing his hostess couldn’t see him now. Uncle Nick or no Uncle Nick, Seth would be tempted to forget honor and all that stuff in favor of caveman tactics.
He laughed silently, mockingly. The devil had nothing on his uncle when it came to fury. Uncle Nick was a stickler for proper behavior around the female sex.
Seth agreed with that sentiment. He would never hurt a woman, not intentionally. But there had been one time when he’d been tempted to take all a girl offered.
Amelia at sixteen had been almost more than his seventeen-year-old will could withstand. He could see her now as clearly as he had that night….
Seth had found her standing in the shadows outside the community center, where the Harvest Moon dance was in progress. Even in the dark, he recognized her at once.
“Amelia? What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze.” Like the hero of a novel, he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. The cool night air felt good to him. The dance floor was crowded and all those gyrating bodies caused the temperature to rise.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “but I’m okay. Really.” She returned his jacket.
The fast number ended and a slow love song began. On an impulse, he held out his hands. “Dance?”
She shook her head and moved more into the shadows.
The rejection intrigued rather than repelled him. “Come on. We’d better go inside before one of the chaperons finds us and sends us to the principal for skulking in the bushes.”
The attempt at humor failed.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll go home.”
With that, she turned and started across the school parking lot, with only a thin shawl around her shoulders. He tried to recall where she lived. Oh, yes, on the other side of town in a two-story white house with her grandparents.
He’d been on a student council committee with her last year and had delivered some papers to her home. She’d disappeared in March, apparently leaving the area, but had returned a couple of weeks after the start of the new school year. At sixteen, she was nearly a year younger than he was, and a year behind him in school. Like him, she was a member of the Honor Society.
Smart. He liked that in a girl. Last year, as an honor society project, he and Amelia had researched and presented a report on poor scholastic achievement
