pamela burford

We’re snowed in! The last thing wealthy photographer James Bradburn expects when he turns in after his surprise birthday party is to find a beautiful woman asleep in his bed. The last thing Leah Harmony expects after fending off an attack and succumbing to exhaustion during the party is to find herself stranded for four long days—and longer nights—with the sexy, enigmatic birthday boy at his isolated Gold Coast mansion. A record blizzard has trapped them together.

Leah traveled to New York to confront the monster whose callous brutality altered her family forever. Now all she wants is to run back to Arkansas and forget she ever heard of James Bradburn. She guards a stunning secret as she struggles to resist the dangerous attraction that crackles between them. Of all the men in the world, James is the last one she should even think of that way! Little does she suspect he harbors a secret of his own.

Originally under contract to Meteor Publishing Corporation. About 54,500 words.

Excerpt One

This is really going to happen!

That thought galvanized Leah. Like hell it is!

Mike’s sweaty face bore down on hers, his wet lips opening to cover her mouth. In the next instant he was shrieking like a steam whistle and clutching his nose, now creased with the imprints of her teeth. Not allowing a nanosecond for him to recover, she immediately struck upward with her knee, summoning every last shred of strength in one concentrated blow.

The well-placed kick left Mike in gaping, retching shock. Leah was out from under him and into the hall before he’d drawn his first breath. Blindly she bolted down the long corridor, the kimono flying behind her like the wings of some giant crimson bird, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

As the end of the hall rushed toward her, reflexively she darted through the last doorway, slamming the door and turning the lock. Her chest heaved as she slid down the door and sat there, trembling, straining her ears for sounds of pursuit. All she could hear was her own rasping breaths.

Leah stumbled across the moon-silvered room to the big four-poster bed and collapsed on the white linen duvet cover, drawing the kimono tightly around herself. A few moments of rest, that was all she needed. Then she’d pull herself together, get her clothes, and catch that ride back to Manhattan. A few moments of rest ...

* * *
Sunlight teased Leah’s eyelids until, grudgingly, they creaked open—just enough to sense the new day. She sighed heavily and closed them again. Remaining curled on her left side, she burrowed deeper under the comforter, snuggling into the warm, solid presence behind her. What a relief, she thought, to get her first good night’s sleep in so long--

Her eyes snapped open.

The powerful arm tightened around her waist, pulling her backward. Its hand drifted over the front of the kimono and gently cupped her breast. Leah swallowed hard as breath fluttered her hair in the slow, even cadence of sleep.

Who is this? her mind raged. What happened? With relief she realized her underwear was intact, so nothing had actually happened. Not in that sense anyway. Which meant this man couldn’t be Mike Carleton.

Carefully she turned her head, enough to glimpse the muscular arm that curled possessively over her while its owner slept. Slowly, so slowly, she began to ease out of the man’s embrace.

"Mmm ... Sleeping Beauty awakens." The deep, drowsy voice froze her in midescape.

James Bradburn!

He pulled her back against his long frame and let his big hand travel down her side and the curve of her hip. His breath was hot against her scalp as he slowly parted the silk kimono. "I think it’s time for me to open my birthday present."

Excerpt Two

James didn’t notice her at first. He was standing in front of the fire, scowling into it, lost in thought.

“James?”

He turned abruptly, startled out of his reverie. A bottle of cognac and two filled snifters sat on a nearby table.

“Do you happen to have a hair dryer?” Leah asked.

“I never use one myself, but there might be one in a linen closet. Renee had a few.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here. You don’t need a dryer.” He pulled her down to sit cross-legged on the thick carpet, her back to the fire. “Move over, cat,” he ordered. Stieglitz didn’t look too happy at being forced to share the hearth.

James sat next to Leah, facing her side. She felt his strong fingers burrow from the back of her neck over her head, loosening the strands of her wet hair. Her head dropped back, her eyes closed, and she groaned in contentment. He chuckled, a rumble from deep in his chest. “Tell me this isn’t better than an electric dryer,” he said.

“Mmmm...”

Long minutes passed as he continued to rub her scalp, fluffing her hair as it gradually dried. “Here.” He placed a snifter of cognac in her hand.

“Mmmm, thanks.” The amber liquid spread its welcome glow into every limb, to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you, Leah?”

“Mmmm, uh-uh...” she assured him, and he chuckled again. It was hypnotic—the fire’s warmth, James’s pampering fingers, the cadence of his breathing. Leah felt transported.

When her hair was nearly dry, he turned her in his arms so she faced the fire. She leaned back, cradled against his hard chest, feeling the even rhythm of his heartbeat against her back. His long legs, bent at the knee, bracketed her body. Lazily she opened her eyes, saw the shimmering flames of the low-burning fire, and closed them again. Never in her life had she felt so relaxed. So protected.

After a few minutes he leaned forward to poke the fire, and like a rag doll, she moved with him. The muscles of his shoulder and chest flexed beneath her as he tended the blaze with one hand and held her securely with the other.

What must it be like, she wondered, to share a life with a man like this? How many evenings had Renee lounged here with her husband and wallowed in the delicious security of his arms? She must have been very beautiful to have been a model. What could she have done to so blister her husband’s memory of her?

And did he despise his father, too? Was that why he had no pictures of him in his home? She recalled what Douglas had said, that the senior Bradburn had been “real rough” on his wife and sons. Leah couldn’t help but wonder how rough.

He twisted a little so he could see her left cheek. His warm breath fanned her face. With infinite tenderness he brushed his fingertips over the bruise and followed with his lips—a natural gesture, spontaneous and devoid of cunning. He repeated the kiss, his mouth firmer this time.

In her half-aware state of languid contentment, she allowed him to turn her face, to brush his lips over hers. No alarms went off at that sweet contact. She only knew, from somewhere deep in her soul, that this was where she was meant to be, right here, right now. It wasn’t possible that something that felt this right could be tainted.

He shifted, fitting her more closely into his embrace. His mouth became firmer, more demanding, and she felt the tip of his tongue on her closed lips. “Leah...open for me...” he murmured.

She obeyed, parting her lips slightly under the pressure of his, drawing in an unsteady breath as the tip of his tongue slid between her lips. A trembling thrill coursed through her as he tasted her, opened her mouth to his. His tongue entered and retreated, each time plunging deeper, until she was left weak and pliant.

Leah had dated men who’d tried to kiss her this way, but their efforts could not compare. Never had she felt anything like this delirious pleasure. Her response was spontaneous, eager. Hungrily she returned his kiss, tasted him in turn, letting him teach her, guide her. He pulled her nearer still. One strong arm circled her back in a possessive grip; the fingers of his other hand splayed in her hair.

A warning voice intruded from somewhere deep inside. Don’t.

With an effort she wrenched her mouth from his. “James...” It was a breathless whisper.

He pressed kisses to her temple, her cheekbone, her throat. Abruptly he yanked at the neckline of her oversize sweater, pulling it down to expose her shoulder. She heard herself moan as his lips traced the line of her collarbone.

Don’t. This is wrong.

No, she thought, clutching him, arching into him. No, this can’t be wrong.

His thumb stroked the side of her breast through the downy cashmere sweater. The caress sent an electric current of desire shooting deep and low within her, to the darkest secret recesses of her body. She whimpered with need as his fingers closed around her breast, molding its softness, testing its contours, circling the aching peak.

Wrong, Leah...this is wrong...

“Leah...” He tilted her head back. His teeth lightly grazed her jaw, followed the curve down her throat. All sensation became his lips and teeth and fiery tongue, as if he would consume her.

“Leah, stay with me tonight.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. His fingertips plucked at the tight bud of her nipple through the sweater, causing her breath to catch.

She trembled. Wrong...

“James...”

“Stay with me, Leah. Let me love you tonight.”

This can never be. Never.

Suddenly his hand was under her loose sweater, gliding upward over her rib cage to capture her breast. She gasped at the intensity of sensation, bowing into his heated touch.

He started to lift her sweater, and it took more strength than she knew she possessed to make herself pull away from him. “Oh, James...I can’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t say you can’t, Leah.” He seized her hands. “There’s no one here but us. It’s just us.”

She wanted to say, You’re wrong, James. It’s not just us. It’s you and me and James Senior and a young girl named Annie. And there can never be an us. It’s unthinkable by anyone’s standards.

But all she could utter was, “No.”

“There’s someone back home.” He released her hands.

“No—it’s not that.”

“Is it what happened last night? With Carleton? Leah, you must know I’d never hurt you.” He tried to turn her face, to make her look at him.

“I just can’t, James. That’s all.”

After a moment he said, “I see.” He stood and grabbed his snifter, downing the contents in one swallow. The low-burning flames highlighted his bold features, making him look almost sinister. The snug jeans he wore did little to conceal his state of arousal.

“Tell me something, Leah. Why did you come to New York?”

“I—I told you—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I don’t believe that tourist crap for an instant. You’re not a very good liar.”

She swallowed hard. “My reasons for doing what I do and going where I go are my own. It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when someone gets herself stuck in my home and proceeds to feed me lies.”

“You’re riled because I won’t sleep with you, that’s all,” she blustered, coming unsteadily to her feet.

“How did you end up at my house?”

“I met Mike Carleton and he...he was coming here and he invited me. It was a date. You know that already.”

“So.” He started pacing. “A lovely young woman comes to New York on vacation. Alone. She wanders into the Carleton Gallery. Mike Carleton—a man with the personality of a wet toilet seat—miraculously turns himself into Prince Charming long enough to talk her into accompanying him to a surprise birthday party for the gallery’s featured photographer.”

She looked past his shoulder—anywhere but at those blue eyes that seemed to burn through her. “I don’t know why you find that so improbable.”

“On its face it’s not, but as I said, you’re a lousy liar. And a bit too nosy about things that are none of your concern.”

“Curiosity’s not a crime.”

“A word of advice. Before you waste any more time or effort on your little scheme, whatever it is, let me warn you. You picked the wrong sucker. I have too much experience with lying females who are after something and think there’s one tried-and-true way to get it.”

Her mouth dropped open at the ugly implication. “I told you I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His smile was malicious. “Not tonight maybe. You probably figure you have the next two or three days to string me along, get me all worked up, ripe for the plucking.”

“What on earth do you imagine I want from you?”

“Money or some variation thereof usually tops the list. Followed closely by fame.” He eyed her appraisingly. “Though if you have your heart set on being the next supermodel, you should’ve started a few years ago.”

Was that what James’s late wife had done? Used him to further her career?

“You know, I thought you were different,” he said, his tone regretful. “But you were just inept. That’s what threw me off. You’ll have to polish your act—learn how to look a man in the eye when you lie to him.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, but there was no warmth in the caress. “Keep that air of guileless southern charm, though. It’s very effective.”

“It’s not like that, James,” she whispered.

“Then tell me you haven’t deceived me.”

She tried to hold his gaze and failed. Her silence told him all he needed to know. He yanked his hand away as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.

“You’re right. I did seek you out,” she said, knowing she should have told him the truth that morning and gotten it all out in the open then. She’d wanted to spare him the hurtful knowledge of what kind of man his father had been, but her good intentions had backfired. “I kind of tricked Mike into bringing me here. I was after something—something I can no longer hope to attain.”

“You’ve got that right,” James said, and held up his palm when she started to elaborate. “Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. All I want is for you to stay away from me till we get dug out. Understand?”

“James, please—”

“I mean it, Leah. I don’t even want to know you’re in the same house.”

In the next instant she was alone.