It took him exactly sixty seconds to recognize that yes, he really had screwed things up that badly.
But that didn’t mean he ought to have to sacrifice fingers and toes for it, did it?
Gideon made his way back to the door, rubbing his arms for warmth while he tried to decide what to do next. Obviously, Carly had no intention of letting him back in. He could rip the door off the hinges, he supposed, or bash in a window, but he doubted that would make her interested in having the conversation he needed to have with her. No, he needed to get inside, get warm, possibly get into some clothes that fit, and then wait until he could catch her in a place where she’d have to talk to him.
Gideon growled. It would be best if the roads were open, but as the snow was just beginning to lighten up, he doubted it. Returning to his room at the inn was out. He might get the one way on four feet, but cutting and running was no longer an option. He closed his eyes in frustration, sighed loudly. Then he caught it on a breath of frigid air: the faintest hint of something sweet, something baking.
Her friend.
Hadn’t Carly said her baker friend lived just two houses over? He opened his eyes again and studied the sky. It was somewhere between four and five in the morning, he guessed. He knew bakers often rose before the sun, but could she really be up at this hour? Gideon shivered once, violently, and decided it certainly couldn’t hurt to find out.
t t t
Regan O’Meara lived in a rambling old Victorian, one of the crown jewels of Kinnik’s Harbor and her family’s most precious heirloom. Her great-great-greatgrandfather had built it for her great-great-great-grandmother, and the love involved in the giving of it had made it priceless to her and hers. That he had been the famous Admiral Kinnik and she his mistress (not to mention the mother of several of his illegitimate children) made the house a fascinating, if slightly tawdry, landmark for everyone else.
And for Regan, the fact that Lizziebeth Kinnik-Monroe, town matriarch and all-around pain in the ass, still refused to walk by it made it most valuable of all.
She was just sliding her first batch of chocolate chip muffins out of the oven when the knock at the door came. Regan looked up at the clock, puzzled. Had that much time gone by? Because she really needed to have some appetizing product for people to buy first thing, and it wasn’t going to happen if she made like a slug around her kitchen.
She could have gone in to the shop, she guessed, and maybe she should have … she’d heard a plow out earlier, meaning that things were lighter. Still, the weatherman had used the most dreaded words in the North Country vocabulary, lake effect, in the context of today’s weather when she’d flicked on the television earlier. And truth be told, she’d been secretly hoping Carly would call with some at least semi-juicy details of her night with the Sexy Scot. But in any case, it was just as easy to start up for the day in her kitchen here as it was at Decadence.
Coming from a wealthy family had its perks, which she appreciated every time she looked around her sleek modern kitchen with its commercial-grade oven, the sub-zero fridge, the acres of black granite countertop flecked with copper, the gleaming cherry wood cabinets and table. It had always been the heart of the house, but in remodeling, Regan had made it her own.
She was certain her grandmother, who’d left it all to her, would have approved.
And now her cozy, quiet early morning, the time of day that was always just for her, was being invaded. The clock read four-thirty. Regan sucked in a breath. Visits at hours like this were never good. Had her mother finally gone off the deep end and thrown herself under a train after her latest Mr. Wonderful had done a disappearing act? Since Regan still didn’t quite have a handle on exactly who her own father was, she hoped to hell not. And Carly … well, Regan thought with a hint of a smile, Carly was probably, hopefully, still snuggled up in postcoital bliss, if she’d done any listening at all yesterday morning.
Well, shit. She was just going to have to go see. She wiped floury hands on her comfy cotton track pants as she headed into the hallway, through the darkened house and toward the front door. She could make out a lone, very large figure through the stained glass of the window, and stopped in mid-stride. The Harbor was a small place, and the local weirdos were all sort of quaint and charming, but that didn’t mean the occasional homicidal maniac wouldn’t wander through. Then again, would a real homicidal maniac knock?
Regan slid her long, thin fingers up into her hair and tugged at it, annoyed. She could bake on autopilot this early, but actual deductive reasoning, decision-making … thinking … not her thing, not at this hour. She got moving again, right up to the glass on the door, which she pressed her nose against. Civility, she decided, was optional at this hour.
“This had better be good,” she announced, even as she got her first look at her visitor. And really, it couldn’t have been much better than the towering hunk shivering on her front porch wearing minimal clothing. Had it started snowing men?
“Sorry to bother you,” came a deep, husky male voice through the door, its timbre so rife with pure animal sensuality that Regan felt a lovely chill work its way down her spine, “but I know you’re Carly’s friend, and as she and I seem to have had a bit of a …” The voice paused, and then started again, this time with a definite chatter in it. “I’ve put her in a bit of a position, which she didn’t exactly, er …” He gave his arms a brisk rub, stomped his feet. Bare, Regan noted with a natural curiosity that was quickly displacing any fear she might have had. Interesting.
Sadly, her visitor didn’t seem to be in much of a mood to let her consider him from behind the glass.
“Oh hell, I’m freezing my ass off out here. Do you think I might explain inside so I don’t die of exposure?”
Good Lord, and was that a Scottish accent? Regan peered more closely at her visitor through the glass, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips. So this was Carly’s conquest. Damn. Well, Regan thought with a sigh, this at least explained why her friend had herself all tied up in knots. She probably would have done the same thing herself in pretty short order if he’d shown up on her doorstep looking for a place to stay. Not that she had that kind of luck. Although considering that this particular specimen of pure male beauty was camped in front of her door at four-thirty in the morning without her so-called lucky best friend, there might be less luck involved on Carly’s part than it had appeared.
But there was always the appeal of watching him grovel.
“Why don’t you give me a quick summary before I decide?” she asked sweetly. “Because there’s always the possibility that you deserve to be out there freezing.”
At that point, he did what people rarely managed to do. He surprised her.
“I may, at that,” he growled, obviously impatient. “But I’d like the opportunity to fix it, which will be a bit more difficult if I’m dead.”
“Mmm, true. Which is why if I were you, I’d summarize quickly.” Yep, Regan decided as she watched his jaw tighten while he gave his arms another quick, angry rub. Definitely a lot to be said for having the power. And from the looks of this one, he wasn’t used to anyone having that but himself. Well, he was going to have to learn, if he wanted to be allowed in, much less anywhere near Carly again.
“You two being friends, and women, I expect she’s told you about me.”
“Yeah, yeah, tourist, Scottish, busted car. Blizzard. Old news. Continue.”
He gave her a strange look, but after a moment he continued, albeit with gritted teeth. “Yes, well, she agreed to let me stay with her until the storm passed, once I assured her that she would be in no danger from making that decision. And I didn’t,” he shoved his fingers through the shaggy hair that was falling in his face, “truly didn’t think she would be. How was I to know there was going to be a bloody snowstorm? And that they’d heal quickly enough to track me? And now she’s gone and locked me out, and I’ve no way to explain, to protect her.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, buddy.” Regan was beginning not to like the sound of this at all. And the fact that she’d been pushing her best friend to sleep with this guy … Regan grimaced. The guilt, when it landed, was not going to be good. “Let me get this straight. You lied to Carly, and in doing so, somehow put her in danger.” Through the glass, she saw a grim nod. Regan blew out a breath, completely nonplussed. Where Carly was concerned, this was all a new one on her. “No wonder she’s pissed.”
And really, the thought of Carly locking this guy out in the cold? Not only was he gorgeous beyond words, but he had a deliciously dangerous something about him. She must have been cataclysmically pissed, Regan thought with a touch of wonder. She hadn’t known that mild-mannered Carly Silver had it in her. Go Carly.
He sighed. “It sounds bad, but I didn’t feel that she needed to get mixed up in it. My intentions were good.”
“Yeah, well. You know what they say about the road to Hell and what it’s paved with. So what is this? Are you in trouble with the cops? A gang? Jesus, did you murder someone?” Regan could feel herself winding up with quickly deepening horror. Carly often accused her of having an overdeveloped imagination, which she vehemently denied. This would have to be the one time she proved Carly wrong.
The stranger’s hands flew up, as if to ward off her accusations. “No! No, good Christ no, slow down, woman! I’m an upstanding citizen. I don’t kill people. This is more of a … family problem. Directed at me and unprovoked.”
Regan eyed him suspiciously through the glass. “Family. La Cosa Nostra?”
He went stock still then, and the glare he fixed her with had an unnerving yellowish cast to it even in the relative darkness. Must have been the tint of the glass, Regan decided. Although she felt suddenly, oddly light-headed. That rich, dreamy voice seemed to fill her head when it spoke again, and as it did, Regan could feel all of her misgivings and apprehension simply evaporating into thin air.
“I’m sorry to impose upon you. I won’t harm you. But I need to come in. Now.”
