Turn Up the Heat (8 page)

“Imagine that,” he bantered back. The edges of her lips curved upward into the barest hint of a smile.

Okay, that was hot.

Not quite sure how else to fill the silence, Shane figured he'd give polite conversation a go. “I, ah, managed to get your transmission out today. The parts should be shipped first thing Monday, so it looks like you're on track. Should be done by Friday afternoon as long as everything arrives on time.”

Bellamy's smile made a full appearance then, and it prompted him to forget all of the fire and brimstone he'd seen from her yesterday.

She looked happy.

“Thanks. Although I have to say I hope you're better at fixing cars than you are at grocery shopping,” she replied, nodding toward his empty basket.

Shane's grin covered his face before he could rein it in. “I eat as well as the next guy,” he argued, and she crinkled her nose at him from across the produce display.

“That's what I was afraid of.”

Damn,
that little half smile thing was disarming! He wanted to make a courteous excuse, grab some Hungry Man dinners and get the hell over to Grady's. He really did.

But then she laughed, and his legs made it clear that carrying him away from the spot where he stood wasn't on the current menu of options.

“Okay, smarty-pants. What've you got in there that's so good, then?” He made a show of peering over the low aisle and into her basket.

Bellamy tipped her head, and her curls tumbled across her shoulder as she looked down. “Oh, nothing really. I mean, we barely have a kitchen in our suite, so, you know. Just some stuff to tide us over. The room service at the resort is, um. Just okay.”

“That's not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Shane said, lifting a brow.

She bit her lip, which jacked Shane's cute-o-meter up a little higher.

“Well, you said it, not me.” The look on her face suggested the room service was pretty bad.

Shane catalogued the contents of her basket in his head. “How many avocadoes does one girl need?” he queried, keeping his face as serious as possible. What a weird thing to have four of. You didn't exactly eat them out of hand like apples.

Bellamy gave a nonchalant shrug. “When the girl in question is making guacamole for her two friends who will certainly hork it down after consuming way too much alcohol at a bonfire? You err on the side of caution.”

Shane's mouth popped open in surprise. “You're
making
guacamole? Doesn't that stuff come in jars just like everything else?”

Bellamy's wry laugh caught him right in the chest. “Shane, you took my freaking
car
apart. Do you really think making a little guac is rocket science in the face of all that?”

He stammered. “Well, I don't know. At least I'm sure I won't screw the tranny up. The guacamole, not so much.”

“Oh, it's not hard,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Now homemade pasta, that's a pain in the ass.”

“Okay, wait. You can
make
pasta? As in, the dried stuff in aisle three?” Shane tried to rope in his complete shock, but failed. She might as well have told him she was going to whip up a quick batch of butter.

Bellamy served up a look that suggested homemade pasta was the garage equivalent of a simple oil change. “Sure. It's more time-consuming than difficult, which is what makes it a pain. Kind of a fun way to kill a Sunday afternoon, though. The results are definitely worth it.”

Boy, if that didn't make watching a football game from the old recliner look downright lazy. Shane's brows drew inward. “So are you a chef or something, then?”

She barked out a laugh. “Oh God, no. I just cook for fun.”

“What a coincidence. I eat for fun.” If Shane had known how freaking provocative her giggle was, he might've tried harder not to piss her off yesterday.

The thought jammed into Shane, freezing his blood in his veins. “You know, I should let you go.” Hell if this part of the conversation wasn't ten minutes too late. “Your friends are probably waiting for you to go to that bonfire, and all. I don't want to keep you.”

Bellamy's laughter shorted out like a faulty fuse. “Oh. Well, it doesn't start for another couple of hours, I guess, but yeah. Yeah, you should get on with your shopping, too.” She paused, chewing her lip. “Thanks for the update on the car. Have a good night.”

“Bellamy, wait,” Shane blurted, thinking only of the smile that had now faded from her lips. “Maybe I'll see you. Later. I'm going to the bonfire with a buddy of mine.”

Her mouth lifted at the corners, the faint suggestion of her smile playing there for only an instant. “You are.” The words were the verbal equivalent of Switzerland, so neutral that Shane couldn't read her tone at all. Still, something about that sexy laugh she'd given before spurred him on before he could think.

“Yup.”

“Let me get this straight. You made a date with hot mechanic guy in the middle of the produce aisle and you didn't even
tell
us?” Holly's expression was an equal mixture of shock and wicked grin as she halted a steaming mug of Irish coffee halfway to her lips.

“A little louder, Holly. The people in the way back didn't hear you,” Bellamy hissed through clenched teeth, her breath puffing into the frigid night air.

The bonfire had been roped off for safety, separated from the milling crowd by an eight-foot circumference of rope and resort staff. It still gave off a decent amount of heat and a hell of a lot of atmosphere, although the plunging nighttime temperatures could knock the breath right out of a girl.

Or maybe it was her recollection of the mechanic with a smirk so sexy it should be illegal that was doing the job all by itself.

Bellamy sighed. “And I didn't make a date with anybody. I ran into Shane at the grocery store, and when I mentioned going to the bonfire, he said he
might
see me. I hardly think it's a date if he was planning on being here anyway.”

Jenna rolled her empty coffee mug between her gloved palms. “I don't know. Was it a casual ‘maybe I'll see you'?” she deadpanned, giving an off-the-cuff wave. “Or was it more hopeful, like ‘maybe I'll
see
you'?” She added a waggle of her dark blond brows for emphasis.

“He said maybe he'd see me, like a normal person,” Bellamy insisted. “It's not a date. He doesn't even like me, for Pete's sake.”

Holly scoffed at the protest. “I still think ‘maybe I'll see you' qualifies as a date. It implies intent,” she pressed, taking a long draw from her mug.

Bellamy arched a brow. “What are we, in court? A date involves phrases like ‘pick you up at seven' and ‘are you up for sushi?' ‘Maybe I'll see you' doesn't count.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Sell stupid somewhere else, sweetie. You tried on three different sweaters and you've got that sexy-tousled thing going on with your hair. This is such a date! And by the way, your hair looks fabulous,” she added.

Jenna nodded her approval, huddling closer for warmth. “You
do
look rather kittenish, darling,” she said, and both women dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“Screw you,” Bellamy muttered, although she couldn't help but laugh, too. “How's that for kittenish?”

“I don't know what the big deal is. After the kiss he laid on you last night, a date seems like the next logical step,” Holly said, recovering from her laughter.

“That's a little backward, don't you think? People are supposed to kiss
after
a date, not before it. And this isn't a date, anyway.”

Because if it was, Bellamy was on the precipice of getting stood up.

Jenna reached out to squeeze Bellamy's arm. “Well, whatever it is, it looks kind of cute on you.”

“Thanks for the ego boost. The reason my hair looks decent is because I used those pricey samples from the spa, by the way. And Shane probably only said something about seeing me here because I mentioned that we were going. It was pretty causal, sorry to disappoint you.”

Except that when he'd looked at her with those dark eyes and that gut-stirring smile, she'd have sworn that he
was
hoping to see her.

And now she was the one who was disappointed.

Jenna rubbed her gloved hands together, deciding for the moment to let Bellamy out from beneath the date-orno-date microscope. “God, it's cold out here. Another coffee would hit the spot. Or at least maybe help me feel my toes again.”

“Oooh, I'm game. Irish coffee is goooooood!” Holly said.

“That's because you've had three, and we've only been here for an hour, you lush.” Jenna linked arms with Holly and nodded toward the lodge, with its inviting fireplaces and cozy armchairs. “Bellamy? Aren't you coming?”

Bellamy shook her head. “Nah. After last night, I'll pass. One night of alcohol-induced embarrassment is all this girl can take. I'll wait for you guys here.”

“You sure?” Jenna hesitated.

“Yeah. But if you wimp out and stay inside to cozy up in one of those chairs by the fireplace, I'm coming in after you.”

As soon as they had turned toward the resort, Bellamy wrapped her arms around her ice blue down parka and rocked back on her heels to try and generate a little body heat. She let her eyes scan the crowd, flitting from face-to-face for a full minute before commanding herself to knock it off. Shane had definitely said maybe, and there were hundreds of people out here, huddled around. He'd probably just come up with something more interesting to do, that's all.

Like that brunette from the bar last night.

“Oh, don't be stupid,” she muttered, her breath escaping in puffy wisps.

“Ouch. I haven't even said hello yet.”

Bellamy's eyes flashed wide as she whirled toward the sound of a very male voice coming from right behind her.

 

 

As Shane walked through the east gate and onto the near-frozen grounds of the resort, his unease made an encore performance by way of tap dancing through his gut. It was cold as all get-out, there was a playoff game on that would've looked great from his nice, warm Barcalounger, and being at the resort made him want to break out in hives.

What was it, exactly, that had possessed him to shoot his mouth off like a two-dollar pistol and say he would do this?

Right. The thought of Bellamy's lips, turned up into that sweet little half smile, that's what. Ten minutes, Shane rationalized. If he hadn't found a reason to stay in ten minutes, he'd hit the road.

Probably.

After nine and a half minutes of milling through the growing crush of the bundled and huddled, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Shane? Hey! I didn't think you'd show.”

Jackson's voice caught Shane by surprise, but he turned and played it cool, as if standing outside with a couple hundred strangers 'til his legs went numb was his idea of unparalleled fun.

“Yeah, well, I was at loose ends after swinging by Grady's. Figured I'd come check it out after all.”

Jackson nodded toward the resort. “You've got good timing. I'm running to grab a round of coffee for me and Samantha. I could do without the frilly whipped cream, but I gotta say that the Irish whiskey in those things knocks the chill right outta ya. Why don't you come hang out with us?”

“I don't want to go all third-wheel on you, dude.” Shane shifted his weight and skimmed the crowd again with a careful glance.

“Are you kidding? There are tons of people here. It's not like you're interrupting a private party. Yet,” Jackson added on a smirk.

A flash of ice blue and blond curls caught the corner of Shane's eye and held tight, but as soon as he focused, his gut sank.

Bellamy was standing, sweet as could be, maybe ten feet from them. At about ten feet, four inches and much too close in Shane's opinion, stood none other than Marcus Lawrenson. From the look of things, the old cheese bag was laying it on as thick as molasses in the winter, too, leaning in toward Bellamy as she spoke.

Damn it, Shane knew coming here had been a bad idea. A classy girl like her belonged with the ski instructor set, anyway. He turned to give Jackson a sorry excuse and cut a path directly to his recliner. If he was lucky, he'd be able to catch the second half of the game before falling asleep in the thing.

But then the look on Bellamy's face registered in his brain. Her tight, awkward smile seemed forced, and so at odds with the one she'd given at the grocery store. Shane's legs did that independent-thinking thing again, refusing to move while he stared at her. He watched as her eyes skirted the crowd, darting toward the resort whenever Marcus wasn't paying attention.

She was looking for a lifeline.

“You okay, man?” Jackson waved his hand in front of Shane with a nonverbal
hello, in there
.

Shane nodded, crafting an idea in his head. “Yeah, sorry. Listen, I left my gloves in the truck. I'm just going to run and grab them.” He made a show of rubbing his bare hands together and blowing into them, even though they weren't really that cold. This was either going to work like a charm or it was going to get him slugged. Shane took one last look in Bellamy's direction.

If she slugged him, it might be worth it.

“Couple of Irish coffees and you won't feel a thing,” Jackson said with a laugh. “We're on the other side, over by the west gate. Just come over on your way back.”

“Right.”

His feet were moving toward Bellamy before the word was all the way out.

 

 

“Bell-a-meeee,” Marcus sing-songed, and for the first time ever, Bellamy hated the sound of her own name. “I can't believe you didn't come down for a lesson today. The powder was as good as the view,” he continued, his tone sickly sweet as he leaned in close enough for her to smell the breath mint that was failing to cover up whatever he'd eaten for dinner.

“The day must have gotten away from me, I guess.” Where the hell were Holly and Jenna? This was going to turn into a code red, Bellamy could feel it. Somebody should really invent a best friend panic button for these kinds of situations. She threw one last glance through the crowd while Marcus slicked back his hair with a hand.

Nothing.

“Well, we can't let that happen again.” Marcus arched a brow at her in a way that made her want to bathe in Clorox, but then she felt a tiny pang of remorse. He wasn't hurting anything, although she was a little worried about getting caught in the creep shrapnel if things went downhill. Still. For now, maybe there was a way out of this that didn't involve her running and screaming.

“Listen, Marcus, I, ah, should probably tell you. I'm waiting for . . . somebody.” Bellamy edged backward to regain her personal space and waited, hoping he'd jump to the wrong conclusion and get the not-interested vibe she was broadcasting on all channels. Never mind that ‘somebody' was either Jenna or Holly, or better yet, both.

“The more, the merrier, sweetheart,” he cooed, her implication going unnoticed.

Bellamy groaned an inward curse. She should've known better than to expect a logic leap from a guy who used his head primarily as a hat rack.

Marcus leaned in again, not seeming to notice that she took a step backward as he did. His voice reached Barry White status as he shuttered his lids to look at her. “Your girlfriends are always welcome to join us, if you want.”

Okay,
ew
. Bellamy had reached her limit. “You know what, I—” Before she could even finish her sentence, Shane sauntered up and wrapped his arm around her, planting a kiss right on her lips just as easy as you please.

“Hey, babe. Sorry I'm late. Parking was a bear.” His dark eyes flew to Marcus for a split second before returning to hers with an almost imperceptible nod.

Holy shit. The fake-boyfriend routine was the oldest trick in the book.

Shane was bailing her out.

“Oh, I'm so glad you made it,” Bellamy gushed, playing it up by snuggling under the arm he'd left around her. “Shane, this is Marcus. He was just keeping me company while I waited for you.”

Marcus was too busy picking his jaw up from the ground to do anything other than stammer. “Oh, uh, yeah. We know each other. Hey, Shane.”

“Marcus. Thanks for looking after my girl while I parked my truck.” His dark eyes flashed over Marcus's, glinting in the orange glow of the firelight.

Wow, Bellamy thought. Shane was good. He really had the whole protective boyfriend act down cold.

“Bellamy, you, ah, didn't mention that you . . . knew Shane,” Marcus tsked weakly.

“We only just met recently, but it's been quite the whirlwind.” She smiled. Okay, at least that was the truth.

“Well.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Maybe I'll catch you another time.”

“Maybe.” Shane's tone flattened over the word.

She waited until Marcus had taken about twenty paces through the crowd before pulling back to look at Shane. “Your
girl
?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

He cracked a boyish you-got-me grin, and it snapped through her like a current. “Sorry. Too much?”

Bellamy blinked, her rib cage feeling like the new home for a fleet of hummingbirds. “Uh, no. No, I think it did the trick. Thanks. Did I look that desperate?”

“Truth?”

She gave him a look that said she expected nothing but. “Of course.”

“You looked like you'd rather have a root canal,” Shane admitted.

Bellamy's laugh bubbled out of her, mostly because he wasn't far from the mark. “Wow. You really know how to flatter a girl.”

His baritone chuckle mixed in with her laughter. “Look, you're the one who asked for the truth.”

“I guess I did. I'd rather people just lay it on the line, you know? Then I know what I'm dealing with.” She shrugged, watching the warm breath of her words defer to the cold air that carried them.

Shane fastened his gaze on hers with an unwavering smirk. “Okay. Let's try this, then. I'd really like to buy you a cup of coffee. What do you say?”

Bellamy grinned from ear to ear. Now
this
was a date.

“I say that sounds great.”