Baby, It's Cold Outside (10 page)

They’d detoured to their third-floor room to clean up and drag a comb through their hair before dinner. The fact
that Allen had offered to wait for Beth outside the dining room hadn’t been lost on Mia.

“So what’s the deal with the furry doc?” she teased. “Are you two working on more than a blog?”

“Not yet. I’m thinking about it, though. He’s not as hunky as your station manager, but he’s really sweet under all that facial hair.”

Startled, Mia halted her comb in mid-drag. “Brent isn’t ‘my’ station manager.”

“If you say so.”

“C’mon, Beth. You of all people know there’s no way I’m going to jump into another brief, mindless and potentially disastrous affair.”

“Who says this one has to be disastrous?”

“Get real, sis. We’re outta here as soon as the weather clears. Neither one of us should start something we can’t finish. Besides,” she added, attacking her hair again, “in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a distinct shortage of privacy here at the station.”

“What I
have
noticed is that the Palmer crew is a pretty resourceful bunch. Where there’s a will, I suspect they could find a way.” Grinning, Beth stuffed her comb in the little cubbyhole beside the mirror. “Let’s go eat. Allen says they’re having some kind of ritual movie showing afterward.”

“Uh-oh. Another ritual.”

She told Beth about the ice plunge on the way to the dining room. Once there, Allen and Tiki filled them in on several other traditions during a luscious dinner of baked ziti, salad and homemade bread. One such tradition involved a green-ice sculpture competition on St. Patrick’s
Day. Another required a hike to the top of the glacier behind the station before officially shedding fingee status.

The sisters got to participate in another time-honored tradition when they made the dash to the GWR building for movie night. The lounge could barely accommodate everyone. Folks perched on bar stools, on scattered chairs, on top of the pool table, on the floor. Jill Anderson manned the tabletop popcorn machine at one end of the bar while her husband poured soft drinks and wine for their guests from bottles purchased at the station store for the occasion.

“Beth! Mia! Over here.”

Allen beckoned them over to a tiny wedge of floor space he’d saved. The sisters had just settled cross-legged when Brent made a late appearance.

“Got room for me?”

“Sure.” Beth sent Mia a smug, I-told-you-so look. “Scoot over, sis.”

With everyone crammed in hip to hip and knee to knee, the small lounge heated up fast. And with Brent’s muscled thigh nudging hers, Mia heated up, as well. Calling herself ten kinds of an idiot, she forced her attention to the big-screen TV.

“Brace yourself,” Brent warned, snitching from her bag of popcorn. “We show this same movie every January. Usually not until the last day of the month, but we moved it up on the schedule in honor of our unexpected guests.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

She did, less than two minutes after the opening credits began to roll for
The Thing
. A science fiction
horror flick starring Kurt Russell, the movie featured a shape-shifting alien that infiltrated an Antarctic scientific research station. Palmer’s regulars had memorized most of the dialogue. In thrilling, hyperdramatic voices, they chorused each line along with the actors.

Privately Mia thought
The Thing
did a darn good job of depicting Antarctica’s hostile environment, but by the end of the movie she was laughing so hard her sides hurt. Some of the guests and a number of station residents lingered afterward for another glass of wine.

Gradually, the lounge emptied except for the overflow crowd bunking down there. Beth and Allen departed together, Mia and Brent following a few moments later. Once outside, they discovered the wooden walkway connecting the buildings had acquired another slippery coat during the movie.

“Careful,” Brent warned. “You’d better hang on to me.”

She hooked her arm in his and kept her head down against the wind until they hit the BioLab’s double doors. When the door whooshed shut behind them, she shook off the sleet and smiled up at him.

“Palmer Station is really taking me back to my childhood. First sleeping bags, à la Camp Winihaha. Now having someone walk me home from the movies. It’s junior high school all over again.”

“Not quite,” he returned with a grin. “If this was junior high, I’d be all in a sweat trying to figure out how to wrangle a kiss on your front porch.”

He said it lightly, making a joke out of it. Yet as soon as the words were out, his gaze dropped to her mouth and his eyes darkened to cobalt.

All of a sudden Mia forgot how to breathe. “Do you…uh…want a kiss?”

In answer, he pulled off his glove and ran his thumb along her lower lip. Once. Twice. His skin was warm on hers, his voice low and husky.

“Oh, yeah.”

T
HE KISS STARTED OFF LIGHT
. Easy. Brent’s lips brushing hers. His fingers threading through her hair.

Mia tried to ignore the slow sizzle his mouth generated. Sternly, she reminded herself why she was stuck down here at the bottom of the earth. And that she’d sworn to tread carefully where men were concerned. Very carefully.

Yet his mouth felt so good on hers, darn it! So warm and sensual and right. That thought was front and center in her mind when Brent pulled back.

“You okay with this?” he asked, searching her face.

She was, she realized. The mere fact that he’d asked, that he understood her instinctive need for caution after the fiasco of Don Juan, bridged the gap.

“Yes. You?”

His grin slipped out, quick and sexy and all male.

“Absolutely.”

The kiss was deeper this time, greedier. Their mouths locked. Their tongues mated. Mia gave in to the need to slide her hands up and over his shoulders. He reciprocated by hooking an arm around her waist and tugging her against him.

They had on too many layers for direct contact but she
could feel his strength and heat. She reveled in both…and in the cleansing joy of just letting herself go again.

When he raised his head once more, his breath came as fast and hard as hers. He stared down at her, so close she could see herself in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said softly.

She drew in a gulp of air. “Wow is right.”

Brent leaned his free arm against the door, caging her in while he tried to decide what the heck to do next.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have many options. The station was bursting at the seams with almost double its maximum capacity. Privacy was nonexistent, except maybe in one of the labs or offices.

As quickly as that thought surfaced, Brent squelched it. No way he was hustling Mia into a lab and backing her against a spectrophotometer or algae tank. That would put him in almost the same class as that jerk, Don Juan. Yet he wasn’t ready to say good-night. Or let her out of his arms.

Inspiration hit a moment later. “You up for a late-night dip?”

“In the icy sea? No way!”

“Actually, I was thinking of the hot tub.”

She blinked up at him. “Are you serious? You guys really have a hot tub?”

“We do. It’s more of a necessity than a luxury. Divers use it to soak the chill out of their bones after going under the ice. We keep it bubbling 24/7 so the water doesn’t freeze.”

“It’s
outside?
”

“It is,” he admitted ruefully. “But sheltered from the wind.”

She wavered a moment or two before shaking her head. “My bathing suit is still aboard the
Adventurer II.
”

With noble restraint, Brent refrained from suggesting they go
au naturel.
“Not a problem. You have a T-shirt on under your sweats, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what most of us wear.”

Mia had her doubts. Serious doubts. But, as advertised, the small hot tub tucked behind the BioLab building was protected from the worst of the weather. Still, she hung back while Brent slid off the cover and adjusted the water temperature.

He made quick work of stripping down to a black T-shirt and a pair of thick, thigh-hugging trunks obviously designed for warmth. He stepped into the tub and quickly sank up to his neck.

“Come on in,” he teased when she hesitated with her hand on her jacket zipper. “The water’s fine.”

With great reluctance, she shed her outer layer. Her red sweats came off next, her borrowed boots last. The arctic night air raised instant goose bumps over every inch of her exposed flesh. Shivering, Mia almost jumped into the tub.

“Ahhhhh.”

Steam curled upward from the surface of the bubbling water. Encased in the warm fog, she felt her way along the built-in seat. Brent negated the need to find a perch by the simple expedient of tugging her onto his lap.

“Now,” he murmured, threading a hand through her hair. “Where were we?”

Mia’s internal temperature shot up to match the
water’s. Brushing her lips against his, she punctuated her reply with kisses.

“Right…about…here.”

God, he tasted good! Felt good, too. Her eager hands explored the chest molded by his wet T-shirt while her mouth and tongue played with his. Brent reciprocated by sliding his free hand down her rib cage and over her hip.

It couldn’t go beyond kissing. And touching. She knew that. Despite the late hour, someone else could hit on the same idea and mosey on out to the hot tub. Or Beth could come looking for them.

Nor did Mia intend to take things beyond this slow, sensual exploration. If nothing else, Don Juan had taught her to look hard and long before baring herself. But man-oh-man, what Brent could do with his mouth and hands and tongue! The bubbling water and wet steam couldn’t compete with the heat searing Mia from the inside out.

Wiggling around, she hooked a leg over his and straddled his thighs. They sat face-to-face, breath to breath, belly to belly.

“We got the ends of your hair wet.” Smiling, he combed his fingers through the limp strands. “You have tiny icicles forming.”

“Only on the outside.”

Inside, she was having major hot flashes. Especially when he planed his hands down her hips and slid them under the hem of her wet T-shirt. She could feel the callouses on his palms against her slick skin. Feel, too, the sudden hardening under her thigh.

She was playing with fire. Mia acknowledged the
danger even as she locked her arms around his neck and brought her mouth down on his.

The hard ridge jerked under her thigh. Brent gave a small grunt and moved his hands down to cup her bottom. He eased her over an inch or two. Positioning her. Stoking her. Exploring the small indentation in her left cheek.

It was the damned dimple that brought her to her senses. With a ferocious effort of will, Mia wiggled back and put some distance between them.

“We’d better stop,” she got out on a husky note. “I’m, uh, not certified for deep water dives.”

The joke was corny but conveyed her message. Brent blew out a long breath.

“Guess we’d better get you certified before we take to the water again,” he said ruefully.

“Guess so. Ready to go back inside?”

His mouth tipped into a wry grin. “Give me a minute.”

T
HAT GRIN WAS THE FIRST THING
Mia remembered when she woke the next morning. Beth and Tiki lay curled up in their sleeping bags on either side of her, Mary in the bed. To the rhythm of their soft, even breathing Mia replayed every moment of that steamy hot tub session in her mind.

Her heart thumped as she remembered the crazy sensation of having her body engulfed in swirling heat while wind and sleet knifed through the frigid air.

Speaking of which…

Belatedly, Mia translated the soft hum of her roommates’ breathing into an absence of other sounds. Like a
screeching wind and sleet dancing off the roof. She raised her head and saw the faint glimmer of hazy dawn outlined in the frost-rimmed window.

“Oh, no!”

The dismayed murmur slipped out, surprising her. She wanted to go home. She really did. Getting plucked from icy waters after being forced to abandon ship was
not
her idea of a fun vacation. And camping out on the floor of a crowded dorm room was okay for a night or two, but this sleeping bag didn’t compare to the bed in her nice, cozy Newport condo.

On the other hand…

She’d let herself get all hyped up about the possibility of writing a book about Antarctica. She now had pages and pages of notes and had planned to take more today. Then, of course, there was Brent.

Brought back full circle, Mia sighed. No point in wishing they would have more time to explore this undeniable attraction. If the cessation of wind and sleet was any indication, she and Beth would soon be on their way home.

Trying to work up some enthusiasm for their imminent departure, she wiggled out of the sleeping bag and headed for the bathroom. She was washed and tooth-brushed and dressed in her jeans and wool sweater before Beth or the other two women so much as stirred.

She left them to their snoozing and followed the yeasty scent of fresh-baked rolls to the second-floor dining room. A scattering of Palmer residents and their stranded guests had beat her down. Including, she saw with a quick intake of breath, the station manager.

When he looked up at her entrance and did the crinkly-
eye smile thing, Mia felt a sharp stab of regret. Departing Palmer Station now seemed more like a punishment than a reward for keeping a stiff upper lip during those scary hours in the lifeboat.

When she grabbed a cup of coffee and joined him at his table, he confirmed her guess that she and the others would soon be on their way home.

“The storm’s blown itself out.”

“I noticed.”

“I’ve been down in the comm center for the past half hour. Your cruise line is diverting an Argentinean icebreaker with a reinforced hull to pick up its stranded passengers and crew. With luck, you’ll be on your way back to Punta Arenas this time tomorrow morning.”

“Not till tomorrow? Good!”

She covered her involuntary exclamation with a breezy smile.

“That’ll give me more time to take notes. I might just get a book out of this experience yet.”

“You might at that. But you can’t give your readers a real feel for Antarctica unless you walk on ice.”

“Wasn’t that ice we were slipping and sliding around for the past two days?”

“Ice-coated rocks and walkways don’t come close to the real thing. Tell you what. I need to get with my key staff at eight and have a meeting with Jill to go over some modifications she needs for the outside aquarium tank at ten-fifteen. If the weather holds I could walk you up onto the glacier after lunch. It’s about a half-mile trek. An easy climb, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m up for it. I think.”

He grinned at her dubious expression. “If you need more incentive, climbing Big Blue will qualify you to graduate from fingee status.”

Climbing anything with Brent was incentive enough but Mia made a show of giving in reluctantly.

“If you say so. Okay, Walker, I’m in.”

“Good. Meet me in the lounge after lunch. I need to give you a safety briefing before we go up on the glacier.”

W
ORD OF THE PENDING
expedition spread during the morning. When 1:00 p.m. rolled around, a weak but determined sun had burned through the soupy haze outside and a group of six enthusiastic hikers had gathered in the lounge. Tiki was among them, excited about her chance to shed her fingee designation. Beth had planned to participate, as well, but got a better offer from Allen.

“He’s checking me out to see how I handle a snowmobile,” she confided to Mia. “Then we’re going to a penguin rookery on the other side of the island. I should get some terrific pictures for my blog. You can use them in your book, too. With due credit to the photographer, of course.”

“Of course. Have fun.”

“You, too.”

Beth departed with a cheerful wave and her camera zipped inside her jacket pocket. Mia then turned her attention to the slide show Brent projected onto the big-screen TV. If she’d harbored any foolish illusions that a stroll on the ice might not be all that difficult, he soon set her straight.

Two other station regulars besides Tiki had joined the
expedition. Like Brent, they were experienced ice climbers and members of the Palmer Glacier Search and Rescue Team. They helped him explain basic safety precautions and demonstrate the required communications equipment. Then Brent showed detailed satellite imagery of the trail up to the glacier. Marked by flags flying from tall poles stuck in the ice, it looked to be about fifteen or twenty feet across.

“It’s absolutely essential everyone stays on the trail,” Brent warned. “We test it for crevasses regularly. The path is safe, or we wouldn’t take you up there. But it’s late in the summer and the glacier is melting under the snow, so we all need to exercise caution.”

Mia did a mental oooooh-kay and seriously considered wimping out. The fact that this was her last day at the station—and with Brent—kept her in the mix.

The experienced hikers made sure everyone slathered on plenty of sunscreen to protect against ice glare before rechecking cold-weather gear and walkie-talkies. Only after Brent was satisfied that everyone knew how to operate the communications equipment did he lead the way to the exit.

Mia squared her shoulders and braced for the wind and bone-biting cold of the past few days. Instead she stepped out into absolutely still air and a temperature that had already nudged up to a toasty thirty-three degrees.

“Whoa!” she breathed. “What a difference a day makes.”

Nodding, Brent made a sweep of the glacier behind the station. It gleamed a dull aqua in the slowly strengthening sunlight.

“This is the Antarctica that keeps bringing us back.”

Him, maybe. She wouldn’t put Palmer at the top of her list for vacation spots. Although…

As she followed him toward the sloping path, she had to admit the place had an eerie beauty all its own. The jagged mountains in the distance speared straight into the sky. They were skirted by glaciers that moved with imponderable slowness toward the sea.

As Mia trudged up the wide path, the only sound she heard apart from her own labored breathing was the rumble of the surf sweeping into the coves and inlets below. Just like along Rhode Island’s coast, she thought. Only instead of washing against a shore lined with expensive condos and the “cottages” of the superrich, this ocean encircled a continent almost untouched by human habitation.

She was listening to the tide’s restless ebb and flow when a thunderous boom split the air. With a startled shriek, she ducked and threw her hands over her head. She wasn’t the only one freaked out by the cannonlike boom. Tiki almost nose-dived into the snow at Mia’s feet.

“Look!” Brent shouted, pointing to an ice-bound cove some distance down the coast. “The glacier’s calving.”

Both women spun around just as a massive chunk of ice broke away from the main body. Transfixed, Mia watched the house-size piece crash into the sea. Tiki snatched off her gloves and fumbled for the camera in her pocket. She got off only a couple of shots before the grinding, howling noise died and the churning sea subsided.