Traci On The Spot (7 page)

He watched her leave the room, knowing that
to offer any more help would be leaving himself open to another duel of words.

“Small chance of that,” he commented. “It hasn’t made an appearance in all the years I’ve known you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, a grin playing along her lips. “Flatterer.”

She was going to be okay, he thought.

When she returned to the living room, Morgan was busy stoking the fire. To her amazement, he had a healthy-sized blaze going in the hearth, just like the one she’d fantasized about in her imagination.

Barefoot, she padded over to Morgan and, standing behind him, she let the warm glow from the fireplace graze her skin. As the only source of warmth in the room, it felt wonderful.

Or almost the only source of warmth in the room, she amended, looking down at the back of Morgan’s head.

He sensed her entrance as soon as she walked into the room. For once, she wasn’t talking, but he knew she was there just the same.

Morgan could feel nerve endings coming to attention all along his body, especially when she carelessly brushed her bare leg against his arm a moment before she crouched down beside him. To keep himself sane, he began mentally cataloging her vices.

He didn’t get very far, even though he told himself there was a host to choose from.

Traci tried not to dwell on how romantic it all seemed.

“So, you really do know how to make a fire. And all these years, I thought of you as a klutz.” She spread her hands out before the fire, palms up, letting the heat glaze over them. “It feels better already.”

Morgan rose, moving away from her. Staying too close was only inviting the kind of trouble he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

He looked toward the window. There was nothing to look at. For all intents and purposes, they might as well have been the last two people in the world.

Now there was a sobering thought. He felt her eyes on him and nodded toward the window. “The storm’s getting worse.”

She came to stand beside him, suddenly feeling very isolated. “That means we’re stuck here for the night?”

He thought of the two disabled cars and the phone that didn’t work. “Looks that way.”

She blew out a breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous the thought made her. “Lovely.”

Something nudged at him. He refused to recognize it as jealousy because then he’d know that he had really gone over the deep end. “Daniel waiting for you?”

“Daniel’s at a convention,” she said absently. It looked like the end of the world out there. Just how isolated were they out here? When she’d
spent summers here, the town had been little less than a handful of stores and a garage. She hoped it had built up since then. “He won’t be back until Sunday night.” She turned to look at Morgan. “What are we going to do for food?” Except for a granola bar in the car, she hadn’t eaten since early this morning.

“I brought some up with me this morning.”

She looked at him curiously.

“I was planning to stay the weekend.”

Relieved, Traci followed him to the kitchen and watched as Morgan opened the refrigerator to show her it wasn’t empty. There were several items on the glass racks and there was a bottle of wine on the top shelf.

Traci turned amused eyes toward Morgan. “Were you planning on spending it drunk?”

“No.” He shut the door again, then leaned his back against it, studying her. “I thought of toasting the old place one last time. With you if you wanted to. Alone if you didn’t.”

“Very thoughtful.” She grinned. “There’s that word again.”

Morgan turned to look at her. He was making her feel very uneasy, looking at her that way. She suddenly wished she’d thought to comb her hair or maybe put on a fresh layer of lipstick. She probably looked like something the cat dragged in.

So what? This was Morgan, remember?

That was just the trouble, she did remember. All the way back to the front door and the kiss
that had subversively changed her feelings about a lot of things.

She gestured toward the refrigerator. “Well, bring it out.” Traci looked down at the flannel shirt that skimmed the middle of her thighs. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

For what?
The question came from nowhere and he knew the sort of answer he wanted to give. He’d never seen his work shirt look so good before, he mused. On her it wasn’t just a comfortable yard of material. It was sensuously enticing. He watched the way the hem moved back and forth along her soft skin and it made him envious of a bolt of cloth.

He shoved his hands into his pockets before he did something stupid, like drag her into his arms and kiss her again. “Don’t you think that you should have something to eat first?”

Eating, right. What was she thinking? She knew exactly what she was thinking—of making love with Morgan. Of seeing if those bells, banjos and whatnots would show up again.

“When did you get this mothering nature?”

Here he was, mentally stripping away the flannel shirt from her body inch by torturous inch, and there she was, calling him maternal. He should have his head examined.

Morgan pulled open the refrigerator door. “Fine, suit yourself—”

She hadn’t meant to insult him. Heaven help her, she actually liked the fact that he worried about her. What was the matter with her?

“Something to eat would be nice,” she answered airily. “What do you have?”

He opened the refrigerator again to show her. “Eggs, bread. Ham.” There was some mayonnaise in the pantry as well as a children’s breakfast cereal that he had never managed to outgrow.

She nodded, hardly hearing. “Sounds good. I’ll do the honors.”

He took out a frying pan and placed it on the stove. “You cook?”

She took the handle of the pan and moved it to another burner. “There is no end to my talents, Morgan.” Taking out the carton of eggs, she shut the door with her hip. The edge of the work shirt hiked up on her thigh. “How do you like them?”

You don’t want to know.
It took a moment before he could tear his eyes away from her legs. The last time he’d seen them that exposed, they’d been toothpicks. They certainly weren’t now. “Whatever’s easy.”

She had to get past this sizzling feeling in her veins, Traci told herself. This was Morgan. Morgan, not a hunk centerfold of the month.

But it might have been. He certainly looked good enough to be one.

“Easy it is.”

Expertly, she cracked four eggs against the side of the skillet and deposited them one at a time into the pan. Eggs were her specialty. Actually, eggs were the only thing she could make with confidence, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

When she popped four slices of toast into a
very dusty looking toaster, the fluorescent lights overhead began to wink.

“Uh-oh, something tells me I’d better make this quick.” The thought of being stranded here in the dark was less than pleasing. “You have candles?”

Morgan was already opening the drawers housed beneath the counter. There were three in a row. The first two were empty, except for a few dead insects. “That’s what I’m looking for.”

The last drawer yielded only one candle. A further search of the kitchen didn’t add to the booty. Morgan laid the candlestick on the table. “I’ve got a flashlight in my car. You stay here, I’ll go get it.”

The idea of being left behind didn’t appeal to her. Neither did the idea of having Morgan go off alone. Not when the weather resembled something Noah must have experienced as he loaded two of everything onto the ark. What if Morgan couldn’t find his way back?

“How long will you be gone?”

He detected a nervous note in her voice and interpreted it his own way. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to hitchhike into town and leave you.” He wondered if there was any sense in putting his jacket on. It was still soaked. “I doubt that anyone is going to be out in this.”

She frowned. Was it her, or had the wind gotten louder? “I wasn’t thinking of your leaving me. I was worried that you might get lost.” She thought of calling him a few choice things for even thinking
of going out in this, but knew it was futile. He was as stubborn as she was when it came to taking advice. “Take the dog with you,” she added suddenly.

Morgan walked into the living room. Jeremiah was stretched out before the hearth, a living throw rug. “Why, so he can bite me? I’d rather do this alone, thanks.”

She sighed, her fears multiplying. Well, if he wanted to go out in this, that was his choice.

Traci turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen. “You’re as stubborn as you ever were.”

“Thanks.” His voice drifted back to her.

In the kitchen, she braced her shoulders as she heard the front door slam shut. It took her precisely two seconds to make up her mind. Shoving the skillet onto the side of the stove, she raced to the door, unmindful of the fact that, except for the nightshirt, she was barefoot up to the neck. Throwing open the door, she was all set to run after him.

Her body slammed into his. Morgan was still standing on the front porch.

Amusement whispered over his features as his eyes washed over her. “You always run out barefoot into a storm like that?”

The creep. He knew why she’d gone running out like this. Words tumbled out after one another without thought. “Only when I’m running after an idiot. You’re not going to find the car. It’s pitch-black out and you’ll get lost. You’ve got the sense of direction of a dead frog.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.” And he was, although he wasn’t about to say it. Not yet. Not until he understood what was happening here.

“I don’t want to have to explain this to your mother,” she muttered, utilizing the excuse he’d given her earlier. “Hard as it is to believe, she’s attached to you.” As was she, Traci added silently.

He glanced back at the inclement weather. His sense of direction was a good deal keener than she speculated, but he didn’t think he could find the cars easily.

“Hard as it is to believe,” Morgan echoed, “you actually make sense. I might lose my way in this.” He sighed, ushering her back inside. “I guess we’re just going to have to stay around the fireplace if the lights go out.”

Just as the door closed behind them, the lights went out. She turned, her head brushing against his chest. “You were saying?”

“Fireplace it is.” Taking her arm, he guided her back into the living room. “What about the eggs?”

“Fortunately, they’re ready. I’ll go get them.” Leaving his side, she shivered.

He thought of putting his arm around her, then decided against it. In her present condition, she might just bite it off.

“I think there are still a couple of blankets in the hall closet,” he remembered. “I’ll get them.”

“Thanks.”

He paused, watching as she walked off to the kitchen. The light from the fireplace wrapped itself around her silhouette and did very strange things to the condition of his gut.

Morgan blinked and forced himself to fetch the blankets.

T
raci pushed aside her empty plate on the hearth. Because of the damp chill throughout the house, she and Morgan had opted to eat on the floor before the fireplace.

Jeremiah came instantly to attention. He trotted
over to the plate and began licking it, obviously picking up some of the flavor of the scrambled eggs. She’d left some toast behind for him to dispose of as well, even though, for lack of anything better, Morgan had given the dog a ham sandwich.

“I guess it beats having a dishwasher,” Morgan commented, setting his own plate down beside hers on the floor.

“No matter how good his food is, or how full he gets, I’ve found that Jeremiah always likes what I’m eating better.” She shifted so that she could face Morgan. It wasn’t that easy a maneuver, given her present outfit. “You wouldn’t have any popcorn around, would you?”

Morgan looked at the dog, then at Traci. “I guess foraging must run in the family.” Tension and scrambled eggs had been enough to fill him up. “You’re still hungry?”

She frowned at her plate, now completely cleaned. Jeremiah was working on the flowery design. “This wasn’t exactly a gourmet sevencourse meal we just had.”

On the floor, Morgan leaned his back against the sofa. “I’m full.”

She sniffed. As if that was supposed to make a difference. “You probably had lunch. Besides, I thought making popcorn would give us something to do. There’s no radio or TV and it’s only six o’clock.”

He looked at his wristwatch, angling the face
so that he could get enough light to read it. “More like seven.”

Seven. She could remember when her evenings didn’t even start until nine.

“Boy, time sure flies when you’re having fun.” Content to let Jeremiah amuse himself with the plates, she settled back beside Morgan. If it was actually close to seven, that meant she was missing a chunk of time. Her eyes narrowed. “How long was I out when you brought me back?”

Fear had blanketed him when he hadn’t been able to rouse her. “Long enough to make me worry.”

Pulling on the hem of the shirt, she shifted around further and stared at him in surprise. “Were you? Really? Worried about me?”

The thought evoked a warm, shimmery feeling throughout her body that Traci wasn’t certain if she wanted to savor or push aside. For now, she merely explored it. It did feel nice.

He didn’t want her making too much of his admission and using it to his disadvantage. “Traci, I would have worried about a complete stranger I dragged out of a wreck. I am human, you know.”

Stupid to think he’d actually meant something by it. Her smile faded as she turned her face from him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to tread on your humanity.”

He noted the hurt in her voice. It was slight, but he was certain it was there. For once, he hadn’t meant to wound her pride.

“Besides,” he went on, “we do go back a long way and I do care about you—I guess.”

Renewed interest entered Traci’s eyes when she looked at him. “You guess?”

For the life of him, he couldn’t read the look on her face. “Sure, the same way I care about your mother and father. And Mr. McGillis.” How stupid could he get, pulling that out of the air? he upbraided himself.

So much for thinking that he was trying to tell her something. “Mr. McGillis?”

“My mailman.”

“Oh.”

She looked toward the kitchen. The rooms were arranged so that they all fed into one another, all appearing to share common ground. There was enough light for her to wash the dishes if she was so inclined. At the moment that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She needed some distance between them.

But when she began to rise, she found that there wasn’t a ladylike way to manage it.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt again, exasperated. “You know, this isn’t the easiest trick, keeping this down to acceptable lengths.”

He had to stop looking at her legs, he admonished himself. Out loud, he was the essence of nonchalance. “I’ve seen you naked before.”

“I was six, you were eight.”

He shrugged, allowing his eyes to elaborately slip over her body. Was it his imagination, or was
it getting increasingly harder to maintain his poise? “Not much difference.”

Traci clenched her teeth together and tugged at the hem again, beginning to rise. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He noted the losing battle she was waging. “You pull on that any harder, and it’s going to tear.”

She let out a loud sigh and sank back down. The hell with the dishes. “This is payback time, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t the slightest clue was she was driving at. “Payback?”

“For the time I stole your clothes when you were skinny-dipping.”

She’d yanked them from the bushes where he’d had everything spread out and had run, laughing, into the house. Morgan had finally entered an hour later, holding two branches around himself. One had turned out to be poison oak. Guilt ridden, Traci had stayed up, helping him apply salve to the blisters that were accessible until his parents and hers had returned from the party next door.

That had been the first time he’d witnessed any compassion in her. And just possibly the only time, until today when he had told her about Cynthia.

“If you mean that I arranged the storm, the bridge washing out and the tree being in a place where you would back up into it, you’re giving me just a little more credit than I deserve.”

He was being deliberately obtuse. “I mean the clothes.”

It wasn’t easy keeping the smile from his lips, but he managed. “Check my closet. There’s nothing there.”

She didn’t have to look to know it was empty. That wasn’t the point.

“But you’re wearing dry pants.” She dared him to deny that he had completely changed his clothes before coming down with the shirt he’d given her. “I distinctly remember that they were wet when you went upstairs.”

“I only had one extra pair.” He’d packed for a weekend, not for an entire month. “I put it up to a vote and decided that your legs could stand the exposure better than mine could.”

“A vote?” she echoed, confused. “Who voted?”

“Me,” he answered innocently. “And since possession is nine-tenths of the law, I figure that tipped the scale in my favor.” Affably, he unnotched his belt and slipped the tongue from the buckle. “Of course, if you really want me to take them off—”

Her hand flew out to stop him. “No!” Traci shook her head vehemently, then moaned. The playful exchange stopped.

Morgan leaned forward, feeling damn helpless. “Bad?”

Traci bit her lower lip. She hadn’t meant to let the sound escape, but the pain had caught her by surprise. “I wouldn’t even wish this on you.”

“You’re getting me really worried, Traci.” Morgan rose, looking toward the door. The storm
hadn’t let up, but there were worse things than braving a storm. “Look, maybe it’s not my distributor cap. Maybe it’s something else. If I can fool around with the engine—”

Startled, Traci was up on her knees. He couldn’t be serious. “In a monsoon?”

Annoyance at his own helplessness added a sharp edge to his answer. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yes.” When he looked at her expectantly, her mouth softened into an inviting smile. “Just sit down and talk to me.”

“I don’t see how—”

She wrapped her fingers around his hand and tugged him back down. “You wouldn’t, but fortunately you don’t have to.”

Her smile chased away some of the tension he ‘was feeling—or at least, the tension related to worry. The tension that was related to the sexual disquietude weaving back and forth between them only intensified.

“The sound of your voice makes me feel better.” She wondered if she was going to regret admitting that. Probably. “I guess it must all be part of that blow to the head.”

“Must be.” Relenting, he got comfortable and then surprised them both by slipping his arm around her shoulders. “Still cold?”

She shivered, but this time it wasn’t from the chill. Anticipation rippled through her. Traci tried vainly to relax.

“Not anymore.” Nerves played leapfrog within
her and she hadn’t a viable explanation as to why. “That’s a nice fire,” she whispered, wishing she wasn’t feeling so incredibly fidgety.

“Thanks.”

He stared into the flames. He felt it was safer than looking at her. Or allowing himself to smell her hair, or think how soft her body might feel beneath his shirt.

The glow from the hearth did a decent job of lighting the room. Shadows reached out along the walls and ceiling in vague, undefined shapes.

Rather like the feelings that were racing through him, he mused.

“It’s kind of eerie, though,” he commented.

She stared at the shadows, at the way the light played with them. There was a time she would have seen monsters in every shape. But she’d come a long way from that little girl.

Or so she liked to think.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mused loftily. “With the right kind of mind-set, you might even call this romantic.” Too late, she realized her mistake. Traci looked at Morgan. She didn’t want him misunderstanding. “With the right person, I mean.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed softly. “With the right person.”

His eyes were on hers and she could feel his touch, though he hadn’t moved an iota since placing his arm around her. Her nerves were growing at a disproportionate rate. “Not the two of us,” she felt compelled to say.

Desire, strong and urgent, was making an unexpected
appearance and it was all he could do to keep from kissing her. “Are you that sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat.

What the hell was the matter with her? She’d come up here to sort out her feelings about Daniel, not pick up new ones about Morgan. But she couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that. Like someone she didn’t know. Like someone she wanted to know.

Traci looked away. “Oh, you mean what happened earlier. Well, that was your fault.”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her nervous before. “I don’t think the word
fault
is the right one in this case.”

She continued staring into the flames. Her nerves refused to settle down. “Well, whatever you want to call it, it was an aberration.” Gathering her courage to her, she turned to look at him, her eyes daring him to dispute her words. “Like Halley’s comet falling.”

Satisfaction lit his eyes and curved his mouth. “Felt that way to you, too, did it?”

This conversation wasn’t going the way she wanted it to. She pulled away from him. “I’m going to get some wine.”

Morgan watched in fascination as Traci rose to her feet. For once, he forgot to be a gentleman. Damn, but she had turned out to be a beautiful figure of a woman.

“Why?” he called after her.

“Because you’re out of popcorn.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Morgan heard the refrigerator door being opened and then slammed shut. He looked at the dog who, finished scavenging, was curled up on the far side of the hearth. “She’s gotten harder to follow, hasn’t she?”

Jeremiah didn’t bother lifting his head. He opened his eyes and looked with disinterest at Morgan for a moment before his lids slid shut again.

Traci entered the room, the bottle tucked under her arm and two mugs plus the corkscrew he’d brought with him in her hands. Kneeling down, she folded her legs under her before offering the mugs to Morgan.

“We’re going to have to toast each other with these. I can’t find any glasses.” She placed the bottle between them.

“Glasses.” Morgan shook his head at his oversight. Somehow, drinking out of mugs just wasn’t the same. “I knew I forgot something.”

“You forgot extra clothes,” she accused. Glasses didn’t matter. Dignity, however, did. Holding the hem of the shirt down again, she rearranged her legs.

He caught a glimmer of her thigh where the shirt had risen. He couldn’t find it in his heart to regret the oversight on his part. “Sue me.”

The lawyer’s answer to everything, she mused. “Don’t tempt me.”

He grinned at her just before he sank the tip of the corkscrew into the cork. “Ditto.”

He thought she blushed, but it might just have been the light from the fire washing over her face. Still, he had his doubts. Morgan twisted the corkscrew in and then pulled.

Traci kept her eyes fixed on the mug as he poured, afraid to look at him. Was he telling her that he was being tempted by her? Or was this just his attempt at wry wit?

She didn’t know and she was afraid to speculate.

Morgan filled Traci’s mug halfway, then poured a like amount into his own. He lifted his mug toward her and the fireplace. “To the house.”

She touched the side of her mug to his. “And to memories.”

Their eyes held for a long moment before she brought her mug to her lips.

The wine aroused her sensations, just as the look on his face aroused her. She needed something else to concentrate on.

Traci took another long sip, then studied her mug. “Not bad.”

The warmth the liquid spread over her limbs was pleasing. For a moment, it nudged aside the other warmth that was zipping erratically through her, popping up and down like beads of water on a hot skillet.