Gift of Fire (Gift #2)

Women had a talent for creating problems where, as far as a man was concerned, none existed.

Outside, Jonas took a deep breath of the night air. The little town of Sequence Springs was in the grip of winter. AH of Northern California was experiencing an unusually cold season. There had been some snow in January, and Jonas suspected there would be more before February was out.

It would be warm in Mexico—but not as warm as Verity's bed.

He groaned at the thought of sleeping without his redheaded beauty for the next few days. Then he pulled up the collar of his new fleece-lined suede jacket. He liked the jacket, mostly because Verity had given it to him for Christmas. He hadn't owned a heavy jacket when he'd first arrived in Sequence Springs; he hadn't needed one before.

Most of the places he'd been drifting in and out of for the past few years while he'd been on the run had been in the South Pacific and Mexico. Places with warm, humid climates, balmy breezes, and a relaxed attitude. Places where people drank too much rum and tequila and didn't worry much about the past.

Places that somehow drained a man of any desire to focus too intently on the future. Places where a man could hide, even from himself.

Jonas shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed down the path to Verity's cabin. He could see lights glowing warmly from the windows. A few hundred yards away, on the edge of the lake, the impressive, neoclassical facade of the elegant Sequence Springs Spa Resort was lit with powerful floodlights. The building glowed in the distance, appearing almost otherworldly. Verity sometimes went to the spa in the evenings to soak in the hot pools. Jonas hoped she hadn't decided to go there tonight.

A shadow moved behind the window as he walked up the front steps and across the deck of the cabin.

Jonas relaxed slightly. Verity was home, waiting for him. He opened the front door and went in, not certain what to expect.

Verity turned abruptly as he stepped into the rustic room and closed the door behind him. She was ready for bed, wearing a quilted robe over a long flannel nightgown, her wild red curls pinned up on her head, emphasizing her fine-boned face and huge, expressive eyes.

As always, Jonas felt a fierce, twisting rush of passion and an overriding need to protect his little firebrand. She needed him, he told himself, not for the first time. She could be amazingly stubborn, but in spite of that prickly exterior she was very sweet and vulnerable. She needed a man to look after her.

She was still a little too thin, Jonas decided, examining her critically. He had been trying to fatten her up this winter, but it was difficult. Verity worked too hard. The No Bull Cafe was hers, and she suffered all the anxieties and pressures of the small-business entrepreneur. Jonas had been her dishwasher, waiter, and handyperson since he had answered her ad last fall. Lately she had been teaching him how to cook the gourmet vegetarian food that was the cafe's specialty.

On the whole, he liked the work, and the fringe benefits were outstanding—he got to sleep with the boss. And he knew for a fact that no one else had ever slept with this particular boss. Verity had been a virgin until he had walked into her life.

"What are you drinking?" Jonas asked as he shrugged out of his jacket. He would try the calm, rational approach first.

"Chamomile tea." She clutched her mug in both hands. "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

"It's very soothing. Helps you sleep."

At least she wasn't yelling at him. Jonas risked a small grin, letting his gaze rove over her. "I've got a better remedy. Come to bed and I'll show you." He started unbuttoning his shirt. She said nothing, just stood there sipping her tea. He didn't like the hint of uncertainty he thought he saw in her eyes. The fingers of the cold fist that had assaulted him earlier returned to flex painfully on his insides.

"What time are you and Dad leaving in the morning?"

"Five. I'll get up around four-fifteen. All I have to do is throw a few things in my duffel bag. Won't be needing much. We won't be gone more than a few days." He tried to subtly emphasize the last words.

"I suppose one of the things you'll be tossing into your bag is that damn knife you carry?" she asked with a hint of renewed aggression.

"Honey, I've been traveling with that knife for so long I'd feel naked without it. Don't worry. It's just a precaution. I don't plan on using it."

"I don't believe you," she said quietly. "You and Dad aren't planning on just handling the ransom drop, are you? You're going to try to rescue Samuel Lehigh."

Jonas's mouth tightened. He slung the shirt over one shoulder and studied her for a moment. "It's just a ransom swap, Verity. No reason to think the guys holding Lehigh want anything except the cash. It's just a business deal."

"Sure."

Jonas shrugged impatiently. "Lehigh's a good friend of your father's. Do you really expect Emerson to do nothing?"

"Nope." Verity sipped her tea.

"And do you expect me to stay here while Emerson goes down to Mexico alone to handle the payoff?"

"Nope." Verity put her mug of tea on the counter. She turned away from him for a moment as she did so. When she turned back, she was smiling.

It wasn't her brilliant, melt-'em-in-their-shoes smile, Jonas thought, but at least it was a smile. It was a small, oddly gentle smile, filled with far too much wise, superior feminine understanding for his taste.

He'd caught traces of this particular smile on her soft mouth a couple of times during the past week, and it was beginning to make him uneasy. It was as if Verity knew something he didn't know.

He dropped his shirt across the back of a nearby chair and moved toward her. When he held out his arms, she walked into them and wrapped her arms around his waist. He buried his lips in her hair as she leaned her head against his bare chest.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, little tyrant," he vowed. Her sweet scent relaxed something inside him that had been wound too tightly for the past few hours. Everything was going to be all right, he told himself.

Verity would be waiting when he returned. She was a home-loving woman. She would be here.

"You'd better get to bed early tonight," she said softly, ignoring his last comment. "You'll need the sleep."

"That's the best idea you've had all day." He picked her up and started down the short hall to the bedroom. Through the fabric of her nightgown and robe he could feel the sleek muscles of her thighs. His body stirred eagerly, the familiar, powerful hunger beginning to seize him.

By the time he got her into the bedroom and slipped off her robe, Verity's strange little smile had reached her eyes.