Wildfire (17 page)

“I still haven’t heard how you caught the arsonist. What made you suspect him?” Her voice reflected her enthusiasm as she asked, “Did you identify his fingerprints, or did you trace the matches that started the fire?”

“I can tell you’re a mystery buff,” Brady sighed. “I’m sorry there was nothing spectacular, no singular clue. It was a combination of a number of things that, when pieced together, pointed to someone within the security force itself. A motivational study provided the rest.”

The lack of a single case-cracking clue didn’t upset her. “Maybe now we can all concentrate on the upcoming Christmas holiday.”

“Only twenty more shopping days,” Brady recited. “So when are you going to get a tree?”

“I don’t know.” Amanda stole a cookie for herself. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“You’re not going to tell me that you’re too old to celebrate Christmas, are you?” His inflection warned her that she’d be in trouble if she tried it.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” Amanda denied. “I made these cookies for the holiday.”

Brady’s face fell with boyish disappointment. “I thought you made them for me.”

“At the rate you’re eating them, there won’t be any left by tomorrow, let alone Christmas.”

“You’ll just have to bake some more, won’t you,” was his practical suggestion.

“Slavedriver!”

“If I were a slavedriver, I’d make you chop down your own tree instead of offering to do it for you.”

“I haven’t heard you offer to do it for me,” she pointed out.

“I just did. When are you free?”

“I’m never free,” she murmured seductively. “But for you I could be reasonable.”

“Name your price,” was his intimate invitation. He waited for the telltale signs of a blush before adding, “I was talking about the tree, of course.”

“Of course,” Amanda murmured, cursing her fair complexion.

They set off after work on Friday to one of the nearby nurseries that grew Christmas trees. Brady chose a hearty balsam and started chopping. His selection of holiday jokes had Amanda in stitches, tears of mirth running down her cold cheeks.

“Are you sure this doesn’t hurt the tree?” she was teasing when Brady suddenly cursed under his breath, his stroking chops abruptly ceasing.

“I think it just hurt me a hell of a lot more than I hurt the damn tree!” he swore.

“What did you do?” Amanda breathed in fear, visions of a disastrous accident filling her with dread.

“This damn tree obviously wasn’t meant to be cut down by a southpaw.” Brady held out his badly scraped left hand. “That lower branch got closer than I thought.”

Amanda cradled his injured hand to her cheek, unmindful of the tears still streaking her face.

The salty wetness was enough to bring a grimace of pain to Brady’s face. “Honey, you’re rubbing salt in my wounds.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, quickly lowering his hand from her face, but still retaining it in her cautious clasp. “How can I make it better?”

“You could try seducing me,” he judiciously decided.

“And deprive you of the chase?” she countered with a choked laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Well, I sure as hell do,” he growled. “Frequently!”

Amanda was unable to hide the reciprocal awareness that his husky admission evoked. It was reflected in the responsive softness of her eyes, the tremor of her fingers. She held his gaze as long as she could, the pagan message in their depths depriving her of air and forcing her to break the visual tug of war. Her eyes fell on the strong masculine hand she still held. The damage to his knuckles was probably painful, but not serious. “You’ve got a very wide hand.” She murmured her thought aloud.

“The better to hold you with, my dear,” Brady chortled in the voice of a wicked wolf.

“But apparently not the better to chop down trees with.”

Brady dramatically clutched his chest, drawing her hand up with his. “Only a cruel woman would hit a man when he’s down.”

“That’s the problem, you see,” Amanda humorously explained, enjoying herself tremendously. “The tree’s the one that’s supposed to be going down, not you.”

Brady released her hand, imperiously waving her away. “Stand aside, woman, and let me finish my quarrel with this mighty giant!”

Amanda refused to budge. “Not until I bandage your wounds from the last quarrel.” She removed a spotless handkerchief from her shoulder bag. “I always knew that this would come in handy someday. Did I hurt you?” she asked in response to Brady’s groan.

“No, that groan was entirely due to your pun,” he explained, referring to her use of the word
handy.

“It was an unintentional one, I assure you,” she retorted, efficiently binding up his hand.

They got the tree into Amanda’s living room without further difficulty, although there was a tricky moment when it appeared that the evergreen was going to get stuck, trapping Brady between it and the door frame. Amanda had laughingly told Brady that if he’d eaten any more of her cookies, he wouldn’t have fit through.

When the tree was completely decorated, Amanda switched off the room lights and plugged in the string of colored bulbs nestled in the fragrant pine branches.

“Where’d you get so many ornaments?”

“I collect them,” Amanda admitted.

Brady looked interested. “From when you were a kid?”

“No,” she answered abruptly. “We moved around too much to keep track of things like ornaments.”

“I thought you said you were born in Deerfield.”

“I was, in this very house as a matter of fact.”

“You never told me that before.”

“It never came up,” she shrugged. “Anyway, we moved when I was about nine or ten. My father got a job at a university back east. We moved twice over-the next few years, and then of course there was the divorce. My mom ended up in California; my father is in Virginia, I believe.

Brady picked up on that immediately. “You believe?”

“We’re not that close.” Her tone didn’t invite perusal of the subject.

“How did you manage to regain possession of ‘your’ house?”

“It went on the market shortly after I returned to Deerfield.”

“I see,” he murmured, even though he didn’t quite. “You’re very protective about your past, aren’t you?”

“So are you.”

“What do you want to know?” Brady invited, resting comfortably on her couch. He wore a checked cotton shirt with his jeans, as usual. While they may not have been fashionable designer attire, the working denims fit him to a T.

“A lot of things. What you did after the army, what you said to Guy Lox?” Amanda was pleased with the smooth way she inserted that into the conversation.

“Lox? Why bring him up?”

“Because I heard the two of you had a little meeting in his office this week.”

“The college grapevine again,” he sighed, before stating hopefully, “I don’t suppose you’d believe we were just having a little chat.”

Amanda shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. Okay, we talked about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because of the little incident during the last faculty wine and cheese party. You didn’t think I guessed about his behavior, did you.”

“Brady, Professor Lox is on the faculty library committee. I hope you didn’t…” She paused, struggling for the right way to word it.

“Smash his face in and threaten to break his arms,” Brady obligingly filled in.

“Did you?”

“No. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted though.”

“Then what
did
you say?”

“Simply that for his future well-being he’d better stop harassing the woman I love.”

“You told him that?” she croaked, her heart lodged in her throat.

“Sure did,” Brady answered cheerfully enough. “And now I’m telling you.” His voice softened magically, its inflection winding its way around her heart. “I love you, Mandy.”

CHAPTER NINE

Amanda stared at Brady’s face, unable to believe her ears. Had he really said he loved her? Just like that? No wine, no flowers, no music? No warning?

“Maybe you’d better sit down,” he ruefully suggested. “I surprised you, huh?”

Amanda could only nod.

“Didn’t you guess?” he prompted with affectionate exasperation. “Couldn’t you tell how I felt about you?”

“I knew you wanted to make love to me, that you were attracted to me; but I didn’t think about love.”

“Well, start thinking about it.” His teasing manner hid his uncertainty.

“I don’t know w-what to say,” Amanda stuttered.

“I can see that. It’s all right,” he soothed, getting up to stand beside her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Amanda didn’t know who initiated the embrace, and she didn’t care as long as she was close to him. The familiar rush of pleasure she experienced whenever he was near made her stop and consider. The pleasure, the passion, the desire, she felt at the look, feel, and taste of him; could this be love? Or was it a dangerous facsimile?

“Since I’ve gone this far, I might as well go the rest of the way,” Brady murmured against the top of her head. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back and cupped her face with his hands, his gaze direct and unwavering. “I’d like us to go away together for a weekend, away from interrupting beepers and distracting phone calls. We need to talk.”

“Just talk?”

His dark eyes were warm with loving intent while his voice tenderly wooed her. “No, not just talk. I want to make love to you, and I want it to be slow and perfect. I know of a country inn a few hours from here. They boast that there’s a fireplace in every room. Will you come with me?”

A rush of relief welled over her. He wasn’t talking about marriage, he was talking about an affair. A love affair, granted, but nothing legally binding. He understood, as he always seemed to understand her, without words, without explanations. “Yes, Brady. I’ll come with you.”

“I’ve booked us for the weekend before Christmas.”

“You were that sure of me?” she said, trying to look suitably indignant when all she could really think about was the intimate promise of an entire weekend spent in Brady’s arms.

“I’m not sure of you at all,” was Brady’s husky admission.

Amanda nuzzled closer, her thoughts dreamy. She didn’t speak, for words got in the way. Instead she enjoyed the moment for what it was, with the added piquancy of knowing that in a matter of a few days they would be forging yet another link. Their relationship had never been a mad rush, it had evolved over the time they’d known each other, and each step was a natural progression. That fact made her feel certain that her decision to go away with Brady was the right one.

Amanda planned her wardrobe with more than usual care. She chose outfits that were designed with sexy frivolity in mind, a far cry from her usual tailored cautiousness. Even her undies were pale clouds of silk.

Friday after work she rushed home to soak in a bubble bath, pinning her hair out of the way. While rubbing on a fragrant body lotion, she speculated about Brady’s reaction to its sensuous scent. Her wool skirt was a deceptively simple wraparound in muted tones of beiges and browns. A matching vest covered her tawny blouse. She kept her makeup deliberately light, the neutral tones highlighting her features.

Despite all this preparation, Amanda was still nervous, and it showed in her unnatural quietness once they were on their way.

“What are you thinking about?” Brady queried, noting the small smile curving her lips.

“You,” she answered honestly.

Brady’s lips now sported a matching smile. “What about me?”

“I was thinking about the way you hold a phone.”

“The way I hold a phone?” he repeated in bewilderment.

“You did ask.”

“I know I did, but I don’t know why you were thinking about the way I hold a phone.”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” she began.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Brady inserted, his smile progressing to a grin.

“I was thinking of all the things I like about you,” she explained, “and that was one of them.”

“You like the way I hold a phone?” He was incredulous.

“Will you stop saying it like that.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what there is to like or dislike about holding a phone.”

“That’s because you’ve never paid any attention to it. Some people grasp the center of the receiver as if it were a dumbbell, but you cradle the mouthpiece in your hand, bracing it against the heel of your palm.”

“And what does that tell you about me?” Brady’s question rode on a ripple of laughter.

“I don’t know. It’s just one of those idle observations.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You read about it in one of your mysteries.”

“I did not,” she denied. “I was thinking about your quirks.”

“I’d rather you thought about my…”

“Don’t say it,” she warned.

“How can you tell what I was going to say?”

“It was written all over your face.”

“And you can read in the dark?”

“Mmm,” she affirmed. “Didn’t know that, huh?”

“No. Do now though. I’ll have to be more deviously mysterious.”

“Now I see why Wisconsin is nicknamed the badger state. They named it after you.”

“I’ve never badgered you,” he immediately denied.

Amanda’s tone was one of mocking disbelief. “No?”

He had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “Well, maybe a tiny bit. But you deserved it.”

“I did? Why, what did I ever do?”

“You sicced that beefy security officer on me the first time we met.”

“We hadn’t actually met when I
sicced
him on you,” she corrected. “I didn’t know who you were. Besides, I apologized for that.”

“In a very unsorry voice.”

“I wasn’t used to frisking cops,” she defended herself.

“And I wasn’t used to librarians who frisked.”

“Did you tell your mother where you
were
spending the weekend?” Amanda switched the subject by asking.

“Why?” Brady countered. “Do I need a note of permission?”

“No. It’s just that I know how close you are to your family and I wondered what you told them.”

“That I would be unavailable until Monday.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. My family respects my privacy.”