Something to Prove Read online

  It easily could, for the moment, anyway. Until he woke up beside her in the cold morning light with reality stretched before him in the form of her red-blinking voice recorder.

  She sighed and climbed out of the tub. With her body glistening from the hot bath, she dripped across the tiles and fluffed open a bath towel from a low shelf. He hadn’t even noticed their surroundings, he’d been so wrapped in their soul-racking test. But she came back to him, wrapping the towel around her shoulders.

  “Come on, honey,” she said, her skin smelling of the lavender oil she’d poured into the tub. “We need to go to bed.”

  She really wanted to climb into bed with him? She was crazy. He’d nail her in her sleep. He could not be trusted.

  “You’re taking care of me, remember?” she murmured. “You need to watch for my head injury. We need to keep warm together.”

  Yeah, the indoor temperature was about forty or fifty degrees Fahrenheit and they were stuck in a snowstorm together, in a house with no electricity or working telephone service. She’d turned the tables back so neatly on him, hadn’t she?

  “Right,” he said. “I’m in charge.”

  “At least I know you don’t snore.” She winked at him. She never lost her good humor, no matter how bad it got, and he did love that about her.

  He set to work. He found her dry clothes to sleep in, a pair of warm sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt from a drawer of clothes that looked as if they belonged to Sarah—Hans’s wife—and yeah, he would have to call and thank them tomorrow. There was a fireplace in the master bedroom, so he had no choice but to settle her there, under a down comforter and a pile of blankets. The fire was quick to start, since dry logs, kindling and a box of matches were already set out.

  Now there was nothing left but for him to climb into bed beside her. A tight queen-size bed that sagged in the center of the mattress, where Hans and his wife cuddled together, rather than in two separate furrows the way he would have preferred to sleep with Amanda.

  He couldn’t sleep with her. It was impossible. They had barely slept last night, and he wouldn’t close his eyes tonight either, though for a very different reason. Now that he was forbidden from tasting and touching her body, there was a rift between them. A huge red stop sign.

  He was scared as hell of the decision he had to make. She was right—her story angle was the perfect solution, though not for the reasons she realized. If he told her that truth, he wouldn’t have to tell her the other, more critical thing that must never be named.

  Hell, he couldn’t even voice the words in his own conscience. Harrison had to do it for him.

  And as Harrison said, Amanda could never know. No one could. Instead, if he let her follow this other path, the one that lay with his father, then she would lead everyone else there as well.

  Problem solved.

  And yet, he couldn’t imagine taking this path. He pictured his father’s face in his mind, and bile rose in his throat. It came to a choice of purgatory versus hell, and Brody wanted nothing to do with either one.

  I can’t do it. I won’t do it.

  He could never show her his angst or the truth of the decision he had to make. That was probably the worst of the bargain.

  “Good night, Brody,” she whispered, the crown of her head snuggled against his shoulder—they’d fallen into the well together, into Hans and Sarah’s cozy little pit. “Everything will be better in the morning, you’ll see.”

  He felt a laugh shotgun out of him and into the cold darkness. “How can you say that?”

  “My mother always said it to me, and though I didn’t realize it at the time, she was essentially right.” He felt her arm snake hesitantly around his waist. Thankfully they had no skin touching, but this was bad enough.

  “No offense to your mother, but things keep getting worse and worse for us. Haven’t you noticed that?”

  “If we trust each other, we can’t go wrong,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

  But that was exactly what they couldn’t do.

  Her sigh was quiet in the darkness. “You’ve been good to me, Brody. I appreciate it.”

  “I don’t know about tomorrow.”

  “Hmm.” She stifled a yawn. “Then think of the now. Just the now.”

  A spark crackled in the fireplace and he turned his attention toward the glow. Something lit within his heart and he could feel a small part of the joy of the moment.

  A woman in his arms. A woman who’d promised to be careful with him.

  BUT SOMETIME BEFORE DAWN, a nightmare woke Brody in a cold sweat. He’d been standing on a mountaintop cliff, terrified of the sheer drop below him, when he’d lost his footing and slipped. The weightless feeling of falling had rushed up to hit him, so real his stomach dipped and then slammed. He woke with a start, moisture on his brow.

  The embers from the fire had died out and the room was cold. He and Amanda clung to each other, her dark hair spread over his pillow.

  He inhaled her scent. So like her. As unique as any perfume.

  He slept again for a while and didn’t leave the bed until the sun rose, then crawled out from beneath the covers and soundlessly zipped into his jacket. She murmured and stirred, but was so exhausted from yesterday’s accident that she didn’t fully wake. He was glad. He’d checked on her hourly, but now he would let her rest. This morning would be their last time together and then they would part ways. He couldn’t do this with her anymore.

  Sick with regret, he made his way downstairs. The only thing left was to make her remember him as fondly as possible. He stepped into his boots and fought his way through the snowdrifts. He would bring up her luggage and her carry-on bag. Then he would feed her, tell her as gently as possible there could be no interview—not now and not ever—and then usher her to the airport and New York.

  And then suck it up and never think about her again, or about what could have been between them, just as he never thought about his father, or the places they’d lived and the times they’d had to leave. He would lock those feelings away in their compartment where there was no reason to ever bring out a key.

  He wrestled open the RV with a lump in his throat.

  The whine of an engine appeared from the direction of the road. He stared, and two uniformed men roared up the driveway on snowmobiles.

  Italian Carabinieri?

  His heart sped up. But maybe they were officials assisting with the road being cleared.

  “Hello!” he called in clear English. “How is the pass?”

  “Closed, sir,” the younger official answered, with just a slight accent. “We are under avalanche warning. No traffic allowed through. None at all.”

  What? “For how long?”

  “Three days. And then we will see.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AMANDA SAT UP, STRETCHING. Outside, a few flakes drifted from overcast skies, though the flurry was gentler.

  Safe, was her first thought. Brody kept me safe through the storm.

  Turning away from the window, she rested her palm on the indent beside her. The space where he’d slept was still warm. She’d loved sleeping beside him, falling asleep to the rise and fall of his breathing and the heat of his body. It felt good not to have to sneak away from him because she needed to get to Jeannie. It felt good to actually stay.

  And now she smelled coffee brewing downstairs. She hoped it was a sign he was ready to agree to work with her.

  Go easy on him until he does, her instincts said.

  She climbed out of bed and found that Brody had lugged in her suitcase from the RV. Smiling, she quickly showered and dressed. By daylight, she could better see the cozy mountain bungalow Brody’s friends owned. In addition to the deep soaking tub, there was also a European-style shower stall with water jets at foot, midsection and over-the-head levels. All the amenities to treat a skier with post-workout muscle soreness.

  Or a driver who’d survived a frightening blizzard accident.

  She felt
remarkably fine, considering. The mirror showed just a small cut and a slight bump on her forehead. Not even a bruise to speak of.

  She opened Brody’s tube of antibiotic ointment and applied that to her already-healing cut, then rummaged in his first-aid kit, carried in from the RV, and tore open the smallest bandage strip. She rearranged her wet hair around it so Brody wouldn’t be alarmed.

  Patting herself dry, she turned to examine the contents of her suitcase, thankful that her clothes had been laundered by the hotel before she’d packed. She pulled out a comfortable pair of jeans, thick woolen socks and a soft gray cashmere turtleneck. With any luck she’d be interviewing Brody this morning by a blazing fire. Then they could scrounge up a late brunch before getting on their way.

  She opened the door and was hit by the aroma of frying bacon.

  All this and he cooks, too, she thought, padding down the carpeted staircase to the kitchen.

  When she rounded the corner, Brody was using a spatula to flip something onto a propane-fired griddle. She stopped short. Were those…pancakes?

  “Oh, my God, I love pancakes,” she moaned, sliding into one of the seats in the small eat-in kitchen table, and giving him a smile.

  His blue eyes raked her from the bandage on her forehead to her pupils and back again. “How does your head feel?”

  “I’m fine, Brody.”

  He grunted, putting down the spatula. “We don’t know that yet.”

  So he was still uncomfortable with the accident. His hair was in his eyes and he smelled of man and snow. His boots were beside the door, clumped with more snow, and by his windblown hair and red cheeks, she could guess he’d been outside shoveling them an exit path.

  “I have no pain, and no dizziness.” She pointed to her forehead. “All that’s left is a slight cut. Not even a bruise.”

  “Let me see.”

  She sighed, sitting still as he peeled back the bandage. The closeness of his body to hers and the brush of his fingers against her skin reminded her of the intimacy they’d shared. She found herself gazing into his eyes.

  He didn’t notice. He inspected the cut, tilting her head first to one side, then the other. Tension seemed to seep from his shoulders.

  “Happy?” she asked.

  “No. After we eat breakfast, we need to get you evacuated.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  He frowned, dishing out two plates of pancakes and bacon, and then sat across from her. “Because an official stopped by to tell us we’re under avalanche warning. The roads are closed for three days. Nobody’s allowed in or out.”

  “There could be an avalanche?”

  He smiled faintly. “It’s a safety precaution, standard procedure.” He sighed and passed her a bottle of maple syrup. “Though I should have anticipated the road closure. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Amanda tried to wrap her mind around the situation. She opened the syrup—real maple syrup, from Vermont—and poured it over the hot pancakes Brody had cooked for her. They were delicious, fluffy and light. He’d also coddled some eggs in a pan of boiling water. If she had to be trapped by a snowstorm with anyone, she was glad it was him.

  “Are you saying we have three days alone together until the avalanche ban lifts?” she asked. “Just you and me?”

  “You’re not staying here with me, Amanda.”

  “Of course I am. Imagine what would’ve happened to me if you’d let me drive into the snowstorm alone. The same goes for you staying here alone.”

  He stared at her. He wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t argue with her logic.

  They ate without talking. Surely he was realizing that he would have to give her the interview now that they were trapped together. What else would they do? She looked up and found him gazing at her, his expression thoughtful.

  “Are we okay with supplies for three days?” she asked politely. “Food, water, fuel?”

  She glanced through the kitchen doorway into the sitting room. Brody had fired up the woodstove, but how long would it last?

  “I’ve already taken care of that.” He stood and fished out the eggs from the pan, offering her one. She shook her head, so he piled both onto a piece of toast for himself, then sat again. “My RV is stocked with food and water. Hans has gasoline for twelve hours on the generator, and firewood for weeks on the woodstove and fireplace.”

  She thought of the romantic fireplace in the bedroom last night and knew she was blushing.

  Quickly, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Are, uh, Hans and his wife okay with us being here?”

  Brody swallowed, nodding to his phone lying on the counter. “I sent him a message. He said to make ourselves at home.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a minute. “So we have cell reception?”

  “No, but the Wi-Fi is up. I hooked up the generator to run electricity for the morning, anyway.”

  Wow. She licked the maple syrup from her fingers. If the Wi-Fi was up, she could do some background research. Read more about Brody and see what was on the internet, if anything, about his foundation and his father.

  He put down his fork. “But it’s a moot point, Amanda, because you’re leaving after breakfast. And I’ll be fine here alone.”

  “I won’t be fine.”

  He blinked, and she was treated to the sight of his powerful forearms flexing as he crossed them. The slow rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

  She looked down at her plate. “Will you go with me if I’m evacuated?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got race equipment in the RV,” he said gently, “plus all my food. I can’t abandon it.”

  His race was the most important thing to him; she knew that. Just as her job was the most important thing to her.

  They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. He’d made another pot of coffee, so she sipped at a cup. He joined her, seemingly relaxed on the surface, but beneath it, there was an undercurrent of tension at what was being left unsaid.

  She wanted to stay. He didn’t want her to stay.

  And yet, what if she did spend the next three days here with him? Sleeping next to him, eating with him and pretending there hadn’t once been something physical between them?

  He made a sudden intake of breath, and all she could do was stare at his broad chest, remembering how it had felt against her.

  She stopped chewing and just…looked at him. He wore jeans and a checked flannel shirt, open over a light blue T-shirt that matched his eyes. Even after everything, he made her want to crawl into his lap and make out with him like a teenager.

  “Don’t you want to go back to New York?” he asked quietly, setting down his coffee.

  “No!” Her vehemence embarrassed her, and her hand shot to her mouth.

  His lips tightened. “Three days is a long time.”

  She shrugged, doing her best to look noncommittal even though her heart was pounding. “I’d enjoy spending them with you.”

  “For your article?” he asked sharply.

  “I wasn’t talking about that, but you’re right, we do need to discuss it. Set some boundaries, since we’re going to be here together for so long.”

  “Boundaries, huh?”

  He stood, and at first she thought he was reaching for something in the cupboard, but when he unzipped a duffel bag and brought out a jumble of small white bottles, placing them one by one on the table, she sat up straighter. “What are those?”

  He glanced at her, his intense blue eyes showing his naked caution. “Off the record?”

  What was wrong with him? “Of course, we discussed that last night. I have an angle to my story, and I’ll stick to it. We agreed.”

  “We haven’t agreed to anything yet.” He laid his palms on the table and stared at her.

  You were going to decide this morning. But she clamped her lips together and shifted her gaze to the remains of the breakfast he’d made. He was spooked and the worst thing she could do was call up his defenses. “Why don’t we talk about your
concerns?”

  “Concerns?” His brows shot up. “Amanda, don’t insult me—we’ve shared a bed together. Twice.” His voice shook with emotion. “You think I want to wake up one day and find you’ve used what’s happening now…everything…for a million people to read as entertainment?”

  “Oh, Brody, no!”

  “And the accident…and the…fight with your father at the wedding…and the…supplements I take…” He pointed to the bottles lined up on the table. “Will that be fair game for your article, too?”

  “No! I said it wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

  “Even if it’s in line with your interview angle?” He stared at her. “You tell me to trust you, but if you don’t leave now, then we’re going to be on top of each other for the next three days. And frankly, I don’t think I can take it if I let down my guard and then find out that everything’s fair game for your assignment.”

  “I said I wouldn’t do that to you!”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that. You come down here, all chipper and happy to see me, and it’s easy to be fooled. But I need to know, is that part of an act?” He stared at her, his eyes desolate. “I used to be good at reading people, but with you, my instincts have been proven wrong. Constantly. You’ve already faked me out once for a story.”

  “I am not acting.” Her voice shook. Not anymore. “I don’t want anything to be fake between us. Not since…” Not since I took a risk and slept with you. She felt her face heating.

  She looked down, and her hands were trembling.

  “Not since when?” he asked quietly.

  “Th-this is more than a job assignment to me.” I’m into territory I don’t understand. She stood, her throat raw, and busied herself with carrying her dirty plate to the sink. “You’ve affected me, Brody,” she said to the running water. “I care about you way more than I should.”

  He didn’t say anything. Not one word.

  Blinking, she cleared the rest of the table, taking his plate from him, too. He needed to say something. She wasn’t going to gloss over this and then forget about it.