Snowbound

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re teasing me,

aren’t you?”

“No.” His voice was flat, hard. “I see people look away

quickly. It makes them uncomfortable. They wonder

what happened, but they don’t really want to know.”

Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I want to know.”

He nodded. “That makes you…unusual.”

They seemed unable to look away from each other.

His eyes searched hers with an intensity that shook her.

Sounding a little breathless, she managed, “The scar

just gives you that brooding, Heathcliff look.”

“Don’t say that.” He sounded disgusted, the electricity abruptly broken.

“It was, um, meant to be a compliment.”

“I detested Wuthering Heights. ”

Actually she wasn’t crazy about Bronte’s classic,

either, although there was something about being forced

to analyze theme and characters endlessly for an

English class that could ruin the best of books.

“Heathcliff does epitomize the romantic hero, you

know,” she pointed out.

“The guy was rude and self-pitying. Am I that bad?”

He sounded so appalled that she had to laugh.

“I was just trying to say that a scar doesn’t make you

any less attractive to women. In fact—” she tilted her

head “—it makes you look just a little dangerous.”

“Attractive, huh?”

Darn it, her pulse began to bounce again.

“You know you are.”

“It’s been a long time…” He stopped, obviously

wishing the words unsaid.

Was he admitting that he hadn’t made love to a

woman since he was wounded? Maybe, since before he

went to Iraq?

Fiona asked the only thing she could think to. “Did

you have a girlfriend before you left?”

“I was seeing someone, but we were drifting apart

even before I shipped out.”

“Oh. I, um, haven’t actually dated more than casually

in a long time, either.” Oh God. Why did she tell him

that? Maybe he wasn’t interested. If she saw boredom

cross his face…

He didn’t look bored. His voice was low, a little

rough. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve been busy. Working full-time and going

to grad school at the same time is a challenge.”

He waited.

“Okay, I guess I just haven’t met anyone who interested me enough to bother. Which is not what I tell guys calling to ask me for a second date!”

He smiled. Really smiled. “Break their hearts, do you?”

“Oh, that’s me. A femme fatale.”

“I think—” again his voice had roughened “—you

could be.”

They were flirting, she realized, not just dancing

around the possibility, as they’d been practically since

she stumbled over the lodge doorstep yesterday. Her

heart was pounding, her cheeks felt warm, and despite

all common sense she wanted to be snowbound here

until she found out if this attraction to him meant

anything.

Suddenly a giggle escaped her, as irresistible as a

hiccup.

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I suddenly realized I’m having this intense conversation with a man who’s holding a basket of sanitary napkins.”

He looked down. “Uh, yeah. Here. You take them.”

He all but shoved the basket into her hands.

Another bubble of laughter in her throat, she said,

“Feel manlier now?”

He was getting better at the whole smiling thing.

This one was positively rakish. “Hey, you kissed me

because of those pads.”

“I can be bribed,” she said with as much dignity as

she could summon.

“And with so little.”

She laughed. “I’ll take these upstairs.”

“You do that.”

Fiona backed up a step or two. “And see whether

Amy has reappeared.”

“Good idea.”

“The boys are probably getting hungry again.”

With resignation, John said, “Undoubtedly. I’ll see

what I can find.”

“Okay.” Even so, it was all she could do to make

herself turn away. Pushing through the swinging door,

she felt a little flutter of alarm along with plenty of