Baby, It's Cold Outside (12 page)

M
IA HAD DISCOVERED THE HARD
way that summers in Antarctica could turn real nasty, real fast. So could winters in New England.

She and Beth felt the sting when they walked out of Boston’s Logan International Airport five days later. Both sisters squinted in the bright, brittle sunshine and gasped at the breeze off the bay that drove the windchill down to a teeth-clenching minus ten.

Although the cruise line had sprung for first-class tickets home, the long flight had left them both drained. Mia dropped a still tender but much improved Beth off at her apartment then headed for home. She had to battle the usual I-93 traffic snarl until she hit the relatively open stretch of 24 South. An hour and a half later she pulled up outside her condo in Newport’s north end.

After the spartan quarters at Palmer Station, her one-bedroom efficiency seemed as spacious and elegant as one of Newport’s fabled mansions. Mia had stretched her savings to buy the place and had thoroughly enjoyed painting and decorating it. She’d opted for pale celery walls throughout most of the condo, with darker green accent walls in the dining alcove and bedroom. The fur
niture was covered in chintz sporting bright, splashy pink, red and purple spring tulips. Coordinating chintz plaids draped the windows and bed.

Grateful to be home, she shed her coat, peeled off her clothing and hit the shower. She was in bed fifteen minutes later, asleep in twenty.

T
HE ENTIRE NEXT DAY GOT
swallowed up by necessary posttrip activity. With the remainder of her cruise derailed, Mia still had several unused vacation days left. She decided to devote one to the myriad chores waiting for her at home. She had groceries to buy, mail to sort through, bills to pay. Not much laundry to do, as her suitcases were still aboard the stranded
Adventurer II
. The cruise line had promised the passengers’ personal belongings would be retrieved and forwarded, but she wasn’t holding out much hope.

The line had also sent the passengers home with reams of paperwork to fill out regarding compensation and liability. She got through most of the stack but decided to ask a friend in her company’s legal department to look over the documents to make sure she wasn’t signing away anything essential.

Setting the paperwork aside, she booted up her laptop to check her e-mail. The four hundred-plus messages in her in-box drew a low groan.

“I
have
to tell those clowns at the office to take me off their joke forwarding lists.”

As she skimmed the chronological list, she saw several from Palmer Station. Tiki had sent the first, hoping Mia had made it home safely. Attached to the e-mail were JPEGS of the photos Tiki had snapped on the glacier.

A little ache settled inside Mia’s chest as she stared at the photo of Brent and her silhouetted against a seemingly endless backdrop of ice and sky. Every detail stood out in the reflected glare—including his smile just before he kissed her.

With a pang for what might have been, Mia saved the attachment, replied to Tiki’s e-mail and scrolled down to one from Brent. He, too, hoped she’d made it home without further mishap. Asked about Beth. Gave her an update on the efforts to get the
Adventurer II
off the ice. He also enclosed a link to the National Science Foundation Web site…just in case she changed her mind about applying for a grant.

Mia drafted several versions of a reply before hitting what she considered just the right note. Friendly, but not too personal. Appreciative of all he’d done for her and Beth, but not too gushy. Lips pursed, she reread the reply yet again before finally hitting Send.

The e-mail on its way, she let her gaze drift upward to the cut glass medallion she’d hung in the window above her desk. The facets refracted the light and sent points of color dancing against the opposite wall. Just as Brent had promised they would.

The little ache inside Mia’s chest spread. How could she have been so wrong about him?
Had
she been wrong about him?

T
HAT QUESTION HOVERED
in the back of her mind during the weeks that followed. One of her coworkers brought it front and center again when he stopped by her workstation on his way back from the coffee machine.

“Bet you’re relieved Don Juan’s site is no more.”

Surprised, Mia glanced up from her computer. “It’s gone?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I don’t make a habit of checking it for the latest updates,” she drawled.

The barb struck home. With a sheepish grin, the guy hiked his coffee mug in acknowledgment of the hit.

“It’s been down for a while,” he told her. “Since before you came home. I guess we were all so worried about that business of your ship going aground, we forgot to mention it when you returned to work.”

Yeah. Uh-huh. Or no one in the office had wanted to admit they’d become Don Juan junkies.

Mia waited until she got home that evening to verify that the site was down. Sure enough, when she keyed in its URL all that came up was gray fuzz. Not even the standard message that her browser couldn’t locate the site. She did a double check by Keying in “Don Juan, Number 112” on Google. The correct Web address popped up but when she clicked on it the screen filled with fuzz again.

“Good riddance.”

Immensely relieved, she shut down her Web browser. It looked as though Brent would only have the picture Tiki had snapped on the glacier to remember her by. If he wanted to remember her at all.

H
E DID, SHE DISCOVERED
when she answered the doorbell the second weekend in March.

It was a bright Saturday afternoon, with a definite hint
of spring in the air. But Mia wasn’t expecting anyone so she peered cautiously through the peephole. When she saw who stood on the other side her jaw dropped. Mixed in with her astonishment was a wild burst of joy that had her yanking the door open.

“Brent! What are you doing here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are that I had the nerve to…”

Thrown completely for a loop, Mia waited for him to continue.

“It’s a little complicated,” he said after a moment. “Can I come in?”

“What? Oh. Sure.”

Still stunned, she led the way into her living room. As she took in his neat black slacks and suede jacket, she couldn’t help wishing she’d pulled on something a little more presentable than gray sweats. And done more with her hair than just stuff it back in scrunchie. And…

“Nice place,” Brent commented as his gaze roamed her celery-colored walls and splashy tulip chintz.

“Thanks.” Still flustered by both his appearance and her instinctive reaction to it, she blurted out, “How did you know where I live?”

“You can find anyone on the Internet these days.”

“Oh. Right.”

That brought her down to earth with a thud.

“So why, exactly, are you here?”

Brent was damned if he knew. He’d told himself repeatedly that Mia had been smart to give him the brush-off, that their worlds were too different to mesh. Right up until he’d boarded the plane for the States to take his leave, he’d planned on flying back to Colorado for three
weeks of doing nothing. But the moment the plane had touched down in Houston, he’d changed his ticket. Now here he was, facing a woman he’d known for all of three or four days but had thought about incessantly for the past two months.

“As I said, it’s a little complicated.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to put into words the crazy urge that had landed him on her doorstep. It didn’t help that Mia looked every bit as seductive as he’d remembered. Not every woman could carry off shapeless sweats and a fresh scrubbed face the way she could.

“The thing is…”

Might as well lay it out, he decided. Worst-case scenario, she would laugh in his face and boot him out the door.

“I kept thinking about the days you were at Palmer. How rushed they were. How we didn’t really have time to get to know each other. Discover each other’s favorite movies. Favorite iTunes downloads. If you prefer pizza over, say, corn dogs. So I thought maybe we could fill in the gaps.

“You came all the way from Antarctica to Rhode Island to find out whether I prefer pizza or corn dogs?” she asked incredulously.

“For starters.” He had to grin at her astounded expression. “I’ll be honest. I’m also hoping to rekindle whatever it was that sizzled between us down at Palmer. I tried to extinguish the spark, Mia. Especially after I got your let’s-be-friends e-mail. Damned embers just wouldn’t die.”

Her mouth opened, snapped shut, opened again. “I…Uh…”

“I know,” he acknowledged ruefully. “I’m as surprised I had the nerve to show up unannounced as you are.”

He knew he was out on a limb here. Way out. But he’d let the fiancée he thought he’d loved go without a fight. He couldn’t let Mia go, too, without making
some
push to discover what it was about her that had gotten under his skin.

There were limits, however, even for a man on a mission.

“Here’s what I suggest. I checked into the Marriott down at the harbor. If you think there’s a chance we might share a mutual passion for pizza instead of corn dogs, join me for dinner tonight. If you don’t, I’ll pack up and fly home tomorrow. No harm, no foul.”

O
H, SURE
. N
O HARM, NO FOUL
.

Easy for him to say.

Mia wasn’t as certain. She could still feel remnants of the excitement that had ripped through her when she’d identified Brent in the peephole. If that wild, completely unexpected thrill was any indication, she might not be able to walk—or sail—away so easily this time.

She spent the rest of the afternoon debating whether to have dinner with him. She hadn’t forgotten that moment outside his office when she’d caught him cruising that damned Web site, but time, distance and some serious rationalizing had put that in perspective.

After all, Brent was no different from the guys at her office. They weren’t perverts. Just healthy, curious males. Better they should bookmark a Web site showing scantily
clad women than one with hard-core porn. Besides, Don Juan’s site was down. Gone. Nothing but fuzz. Mia had put that embarrassing incident behind her. She refused to let it ruin her life.

That was her justification, anyway, for driving to down to the Harbor Place Marriott just after six. That, and a sneaking desire to find out if Brent Walker was as intriguing off the ice as he was on.

W
HEN
S
ATURDAY-NIGHT DINNER
led to a Sunday-afternoon stroll along Newport’s famous Cliff Walk, Mia had her answer. And when the Sunday stroll led to Monday, Wednesday and Thursday after-work get-togethers, the spark had most definitely rekindled.

Maybe it was Brent’s deep, rich laugh. Or his gentle touch when he brushed a thumb over her cheek. Or his
very
obvious restraint every time he kissed her good-night. Whatever the reason, Mia had made up her mind by the time Friday evening rolled around. She wanted more than a touch. More than a kiss. More than an evening of pizza and TV watching, which was what they’d decided to do.

A fifties’ era, B-grade gangster movie flickered on the screen in front of them, but she barely noticed the stiff dialogue or atrocious acting. She sat curled loosely against Brent’s side. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her palm, absorb the faint, leathery tang of his aftershave with every breath. When she angled her head, she could count the white squint lines carved into his deep tan. Yielding to a need she didn’t even try to deny now, she leaned in and nuzzled the warm skin of his neck.

He went still for a moment. Only a moment. Then he curled a knuckle and nudged up her chin. His blue eyes telegraphed a warning Mia had no trouble translating.

They weren’t constrained by overcrowded facilities and a complete lack of privacy this time. They were alone. On her comfy sofa. With no sisters or scientists likely to walk in on them.

“You sure about this?” he asked, giving her a last out.

She framed her reply in a smile and a soft, “Oh, yeah.”

The heat flared as hot and as fast as it had at Palmer. One minute Mia was straining against his chest, eagerly taking in his taste and his texture. The next, they were stretched out hip to hip on the sofa cushions.

Brent didn’t try to rein in his hunger. Neither did she. Their hands as eager as their mouths, they burrowed through assorted layers of clothing. Mia got his shirttails free of his belt and slid her hands under the hem of his T-shirt. She was down to her bra and panties, Brent to his slacks, when he rolled off the sofa and to his feet in one fluid move.

“I’ve been hoping for this moment for two extremely long months,” he said as he scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the bedroom. “We’re going to do it right.”

Mia wasn’t sure how he defined
right
, but what followed certainly fit
her
definition. Balancing her on one knee, he yanked down the spread and deposited her on the bed before shedding the rest of his clothing. His body was so well honed, so taut and finely muscled. She barely had time to admire a chest dusted with dark gold hair and a flat belly before his weight pressed hers into the mattress.

Mia thrilled to the feel of him. So sleek and smooth and warm. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back, tracing her fingertips along his spine, gliding her palms over his tight, trim rear.

Brent explored, too, using his hands and mouth with a skill that soon had Mia gasping. Her lips, her throat, her breasts and belly all got his personal and very precise attention. Her nipples were tight and aching when he finished with them. Her lower belly quivered with pleasure. And when he found her hot, wet center, she almost groaned aloud.

She felt him iron hard against her hip, felt the rough hair on the thigh he used to nudge hers apart. Her back arching, she opened for him then had to grit her teeth when he rolled away from her to grope in a pocket of the slacks he’d dropped beside the bed. Ripping open a condom, he sheathed himself and turned back to her.