Jennifer Greene - Can’t Say No

Almost against her will, she found her eyes darting around, seeking out shadows in the woods, absently scanning the densely covered rise to the top of the hill…Abruptly, her hands stopped patting her skin with the towel as if she were putting on a strip show. Then her spine straightened into a more natural posture, and she stopped whipping back her hair like a forties movie star.

Dammit, Bree. You’ve been freezing for at least a half hour, and you may as well quit acting like a damn fool. He’s not there. You knew that even before you came down here.

The softly caressing towel turned into a rubbing punishment. Would you get that damn man out of your mind?

At eleven, Bree collapsed on the feather bed, tested her little finger to see if it had the energy to wiggle, discovered it didn’t, and contentedly closed her eyes. This once, she knew she would sleep. The day couldn’t have been fuller, with shopping and swimming and a quick experiment with scents and an entire evening of baking. And in the peace and silence of the woods, she was certain her nightmares were behind her.

But the dream came back in the darkest hours. Always, it was slightly different. New details would hauntingly tug at her memory: the way the clouds had hung in charcoal-gray shadows, the face of someone in the crowd, the song she’d been humming as she left Gram to get the car.

Always, the end was the same. She’d let herself be talked into taking a frail old woman outside on a frigid day-her fault. They’d shopped for hours-her fault. She’d left Gram alone-her fault. She’d wasted a few minutes bringing the car around, the exact minutes during which the purse snatcher had attacked Gram-her fault. She was the one who had let it all happen. Wrong choices…all her fault.

And the siren kept screaming in the dream. The night pressed down on her; sheets writhed around her like chains. She had loved Gram so much, and the siren kept screaming, along with a silent scream that no one else ever heard.

“ Bree . Stop that caterwauling and get your little butt down here so we can both get some sleep.”

Bree’s eyes flew open. Disoriented in the darkness, she glimpsed the illuminated hands of the clock next to her. 2:13 a.m. Vaguely, she was aware that her heart was pounding, her forehead damp, that the sheet was twisted around her.

“You hear me? If you don’t come down, I’m coming up.”

The voice was a low, lazy baritone, delivering the threat in bored tones. In fact, she heard the yawn that followed it.

Hart. Unmistakably.

Heart still thundering, Bree frantically untwisted the sheet and groped for a robe. There wasn’t one. Naturally. She hadn’t anticipated needing a robe or a nightgown; she’d gone to bed naked because the night had been hot. There was certainly no reason not to, when she was positive she had bolted both doors.

“Bree.”

She tripped on the quilt, trying to reach the wardrobe in the dark.

“Honey. You really shouldn’t try my patience at two in the morning. At the count of ten, I’m coming up.”

Her fingers frantically touched cotton, polyester, linen, silk and finally the quilted fabric of her robe, grabbing it from its hanger. Hurriedly wrapping the short garment around her, she rushed barefoot to the loft stairs, groggily aware of a dim, flickering light below.

She took one step down, and two more-enough to be able to bend over and look, blinking hard. The tears were already dried on her cheeks, forgotten; and if her body was still trembling slightly, she put it down to rage.

“Now, let’s not panic. I put on my pants, see? Nothing to get nervous about. Get down here,” he ordered irritably.

Nothing to get nervous about? A double sleeping bag was spread out on the floor by the wood stove. Two candles were flickering in tin lanterns. The rich bride cake she’d spent the evening making was still on the kitchen table-but had a distinct and massive dent in it. And an almost-naked man was glowering at her from the bottom of the wooden steps-and never mind his jeans.

Hart’s massive chest was bare, his shoulders the color of hot gold by candlelight, his chest sprayed liberally with silvery curling hairs. His hair was tousled, his cheeks dark with stubble and his midnight eyes glinted at her like wet blue stones. The civilized veneer was gone; he could have been a mountain man, as primitive and amoral and rough as any of the hermits who stalked the back hills carrying their shotguns.

“Honey, don’t climb down a flight of stairs in a robe that short for anyone else, would you?”

He lowered his head. She scrambled down several more steps, even though she never for a minute believed he could see what he was claiming to see. “What the devil do you think you’re doing here? How did you get in?” The questions tried to tumble from her lips, but though her mouth moved, she had no voice at all.

For a moment, there was no sound at all in the cabin. Hart just looked at her, his eyes rambling with devilty over her wildly curling hair, the faint dampness on her cheeks, the vulnerable pallor of her face by candlelight. Bree flushed, for no reason, tucking the robe closer around her in a protective gesture that produced a desultory smile from Hart.

“Unfortunately, I finished the hooch when I came in. I checked around-thought you’d at least have a beer in the fridge, but no. Not even wine. God save us from teetotalers,” Hart said disgustedly. “I can hardly believe we’re stuck with milk.”

He disappeared through the open door of the lean-to, and Bree let out an impossibly huge sigh, combing her fingers hurriedly through her hair. He was such an exasperating man…yet in some murky corner of her head, she wasn’t totally miserable about his being here. The ache in her heart lessened, the post-nightmare trembling had stopped…Every time Hart was around she was too busy being furious to feel depressed.

“You left your window screens unlocked. Doesn’t do much good to bolt all the doors when a bear could push a paw through the screen and get in.” He returned from the lean-to and thrust a glass of milk in her hand. A lazy grin split his face; that teasing smile below intensely dark eyes still seared on hers from above. “Now, don’t throw it, honey-not that I’d really mind. Milk may be a bitch to clean up, but I’ll take that look in your eyes any day over the way you looked a few minutes ago. So you had another little nightmare, did you? More alligators under the bed? I would have been here last night if I hadn’t had so damn much to take care of. Just sit down, and we’ll have a little talk.”

She jabbed a furious forefinger at the sleeping bag.

He nodded. “You didn’t really think I was going to leave you alone here to scream your heart out all by yourself? Besides, it was hot up at my place.”

A blatant lie. His house had central air conditioning, and her nightmares were her business. Bree’s lips tightened as she motioned even more angrily to her cake.

“Terrific stuff. It was still warm when I came in. I could smell it when I was ten feet from the door. Now, I know I took a little piece, but that was hardly my fault. You shouldn’t bake like that if you don’t want it eaten. Incidentally, you’ve got quite a contraption there.” He motioned to the “bubbler” she had set up in the corner by the dry sink, where she’d played with a formula for perfume hours before.

“I had such high hopes when I first walked in here that you were making a little moonshine-it is a still, isn’t it? But that smell isn’t remotely related to liquor. In fact,” Hart drawled lazily, “the scent has distinctly aphrodisiac qualities. One of the first things I noticed about you on the plane was that scent you wear-nothing heavy, is it, honey, just whatever it takes to drive a man over the edge. Are you a witch in secret, Bree? Woops. I forgot the lady isn’t inclined to talk back.”