North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (8 page)

He groaned, a sound so full of primal satisfaction that the nerves in her lower abdomen twitched and fluttered. Quite simply, she loved taking care of him. Loved knowing that her hands brought him comfort, eased his distress, provided him sustenance. Made him happy. She got a second cloth, wet it, returned and switched out the first, which had already absorbed Owen’s body heat.

“Thank you,” he said when the second cold towel fell across his bare skin. He lifted his head and eyed her warily. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She grabbed his empty glass and refilled it. Worried he’d feel uncomfortable if she kept fussing, she busied herself with pulling out the fixings for lunch.

The chicken salad was chunky and hearty, with coarse chopped celery, onions, and some diced grapes for a splash of sweetness. Her mouth watered. She opted to make sandwiches, thinking they’d be easier to eat outside. One for her, two for him, on big crusty Kaiser rolls. She plated them, then added potato chips and salted tomato slices.

“Looks good.” Owen sat upright again and looked more himself now. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I worried you. Just”—he lifted one big shoulder—“I’ve lived most of my life in cold places, so I get along better when it’s cool. It’s what I’m used to, I guess.”

It struck her as unusual, but Megan nodded. “No apologies necessary. Just glad you’re feeling better.” She grabbed a couple of bottled waters from the fridge. “You know what? I have an idea.”

In stocking feet, she skittered across the great room to the thermostat and reset the program. The digital display read seventy degrees, but her adjustments would lower it to sixty within a few short hours. Easier for her to bundle up than for him to strip down. Though, now that she thought about it… Hmm, yes, all that sculptured back muscle argued in favor of the stripping down. The way he’d turned in his stool to watch her popped his corded lat muscle out all down his left side. Megan licked her lips. Tried but failed to ignore the desire to taste that lean length of skin.

As she crossed back to the kitchen, an old childhood memory came to mind. She instantly knew he would love it. “I have a treat for you,” she said. “But it’s going to be a surprise.”

“No fair.”

“I’ll make it worth it, I promise.”

“No doubt.” He slid off his stool. “I’ll help carry all this out, but mind if I grab a dry shirt?”

“Help yourself.”

He retreated into the bedroom. Her gaze followed him until he disappeared through the door. She quickly gathered two big plastic cups, two spoons, a bottle of strawberry Gatorade and the bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup from the fridge door. A separate plastic grocery bag hid the surprise from Owen when he returned.

Megan layered back up, while Owen stuck to a single long-sleeved T-shirt. They collected the supplies for their lunch and headed for the door. At the last minute, Owen swooped over to one couch and grabbed a blanket.

Back in the igloo, he spread the blanket over the floor and they laid everything out on top. She sat cross-legged in the middle to be close to Owen, who leaned with his back against the block wall. He was entirely himself again, teasing, moaning and exclaiming over the food, making her crazy with his little sounds and big heart. She finished her sandwich just as he finished his second.

The minute his plate was clear, he asked, “Okay, what’s my surprise?”

“Eager, much?”

His multicolored eyes flashed from under long strands of black. “Always.”

“Stay here.” She pointed at him, waggled a finger. “I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Scooping up her plastic bag, she crawled to the entrance, glanced back. “And no peeking.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, mimicking his words with his hand.

Excitement simmered under the surface of Megan’s skin, this kind of frenetic energy unlike anything she’d experienced in so long. She chose a spot that hadn’t been disturbed by their earlier digging and brushed away the very top layer, then used spoons to partway fill the cups with fresh, clean, icy snow. She poured strawberry Gatorade over the crystals and squeezed chocolate sauce on top of that. Two more layers of snow, strawberry and chocolate topped off the big, tall cups. Her heart fluttered in anticipation and the strangest sensation of them having done this before washed over her, but that was impossible. She shook it off. She wanted to please him. Wanted to see his eyes light up and hear his satisfied—and ridiculously hot—sounds.

“Close your eyes,” she called as she knelt at the door.

“Closed.”

“Keep ’em closed.”

“I am, I am,” he groused. “Hurry up already.”

Megan settled right in front of Owen, a cup in each hand, her knees just inside his spread, drawn-up legs. A thrill rippled through her stomach, in the best possible way.

“Okay,” she said, her voice higher, lighter. “Open your eyes.”

Chapter Eleven

At first, Owen could only focus on the brilliant happiness shining from every inch of Megan’s face. The apples of her cheeks so rosy and shiny. Bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation.

Something smelled fantastic. His gaze dropped to the enormous plastic cups in her hands. Mounds of icy red and thick chocolate piled over the cups’ edges.

He sucked in a breath. “You made us snow cones?” His mind reeled. She didn’t realize the significance of what she’d done. Couldn’t have known.

She smiled and nodded. “I made super-duper deluxe chocolate-strawberry snow cones, to be exact.”

“Gimme.” He snatched the cup from her hand. Lighthearted laughter spilled from her pink lips, lighting him up inside. He spooned in a helping of chocolaty snow. “Oh my gods,” he mumbled before he’d even swallowed. The weight of her gaze fell on his mouth, pulling his stare back to her. “You put chocolate on snow.”

“I know, right? It’s fantastic.”

“It’s”—he gobbled another bite—“genius. Inspired.” And beyond the gooey, icy sweetness of the treat—in itself a revelation—the snow infused his system with a nearly electrical charge of energy, vitality. He shuddered. Goosebumps broke out across his skin. Between his legs, he hardened, forcing him to shift to accommodate the tightness. Each scoop hit him like a jolt of B12, caffeine, and Prozac in one. He couldn’t get enough.

And she’d been the one to make him feel this way.

Megan Snow was perfect for him.

She sat watching him, so full of life. Her cup remained untouched.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

She lifted her spoon. “Oh, I was just—”

“Here.” He held out his spoon without thinking about it, but then his need for her to eat from his hands exploded in his chest.

Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. Those baby blues flashed up at him, setting off a twisting heat low in his gut. She leaned forward. Wrapped her lips around his spoon.

Aw, hell. His hard-on throbbed. His breathing tripped and his heart took off at a sprint. He scooped another portion into his own mouth, watched her swallow hers.
More
. Holding out the spoon, he made the offer again and again. Over and over, she accepted. He leaned toward her, and she scooted on her knees closer, and a little closer again, until one knee finally kissed the back of his thigh.

He groaned and continued to feed her, nearly panting now. She held his eyes while she ate, her own breathing audible between them, her chest rising and falling under her coat. In his gut, the snow morphed into raw power, ignited his veins, tingled through his muscles, setting off involuntary twitches here and there that felt like being tickled.

His spoon hit the bottom of the cup, scraped loudly in the confined space of the igloo against the empty plastic.

Megan didn’t miss a beat. A spoonful of her dessert appeared at his lips. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice breathy and low.

Tossing his cup and spoon aside, he devoured what she offered, savored the cold sweetness, drank it down into his belly. She was right there ready with more, then took some for herself. In her haste, red crystals spilled from the spoon down over her chin. A thin line of chocolate edged over her lip.

In a flash, he was on her, powerless to resist any longer. His big hands cupped the back of her neck, tangled in soft curls. Pulled her in. His mouth zeroed in on the flavored snow on her skin, a taste far more heady than the snow alone, all creamy vanilla and soft-scented woman. He kissed and sucked up her chin to the corner of her mouth, her warm exhalation tingling across his cheek. And then his lips found hers.

The moan she unleashed into his mouth flared in his gut. He dug his fingers into that beautiful mass of silky blonde, held her to him. Urgent, open-mouthed kisses sought her lips, implored her to want him back. When her tongue sneaked forward, flicked his bottom lip, he groaned in triumph.

For a moment, he let her lead. He wanted her to be the one to breach the physical gap between their bodies. To come to him. Finally, the tip of her tongue curled around his, explored his mouth in the most tentative way.

It was all he needed.

He sucked her in, savored the echo of the strawberry-chocolate coldness that graced her mouth. Her shy exploration turned bolder, caught on to his urgency, gave it right back.

Megan’s weight fell against his chest, the snow cone wedged between them. He pulled back, snatched the spoon from her shaking hand, and held a scoopful to her mouth. Their faces were close enough that her breath ghosted across his lips. “Take it,” he rasped. “But don’t swallow.”

She sucked the treat in as Owen set the cup and spoon aside. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his eyes trained on hers even as their lips met. She opened to him when his lips and tongue demanded entrance. The sweet snow in her mouth made him dizzy. They both swallowed roughly, not letting go, sharing the dessert between them.

Megan ran her hands through his hair, pushed it back off the sides of his face. She held as tightly to him as his gentle hands did to her. Her grasp bordered on painful, but he wouldn’t have traded the intensity of it for all the Arctic. When she scooted closer, until her knees burrowed under his thighs, he released her hair, scooped his hands under her bottom, and hauled her onto his lap so she straddled him.

She gasped. He groaned and pressed up into the cleft between her thighs, unable to heed the receding part of his mind that urged caution. He didn’t want to scare her, push her, but the sensations this body was capable of creating owned him, took over his conscious mind, disabled all rational thought. Yet, she was about more than the physical pleasure firing through his synapses and pulsing between his legs. He needed her like he’d never needed anything in his very long, very lonely, very cold existence.

“Gods, Megan, you taste so good.”

He swallowed her whimper and wrapped himself around her, his arms strapping her to his chest, his thighs pushing her forward into him. Her soft moans rang out with approval. Her hands held tight in return, clutching, stroking. Every kiss she gave him, every touch, every needy sound, filled him with the same magical strength as the snow. She’d made him. She’d called him. Now, finally, she was claiming him. And only through her claim would he become real, permanently corporeal. Only through her choice could he escape the transience of the North Wind, of the frost, of the snow.

He’d never wanted that before. Never really cared. But he clearly didn’t know what he’d been missing. Now that he’d had a taste of the wonderful riot of sensation and warmth that was life, he wanted more, wanted as much as he could have. But only with her.

Through his kisses, he willed her desire. With each groan that rumbled from low in his throat, he begged for a chance. For warmth, for companionship, for love. It was there, between them, the Christmas miracle of his appearance. Now for her to see it, to grasp the silky ribbon of his life force and pull him to her.

The things he could give her if she would just let him…

§

Even though Megan was on top, she felt completely possessed by Owen. His hands secured her against his broad chest. His mouth tugged her lips, stole her breath. Need shot out from him like static electricity—his dark gaze blazed and flashed, his lips sucked and pulled. Between her legs, his erection bucked and pressed. She opened her knees wider, slid forward, ground down against him in return. The friction they created heated her body, jolted her heartbeat. Her scalp prickled and the hair on her neck and arms raised. Her whole body jangled.

All that sensation pooled down low, right where she sat atop him. “Owen,” she moaned. She ground and pressed and kissed and rocked against him until she was dizzy with lust and need.

“Oh, Megan.” Big hands gripped her hips, steadied her rhythm against the long, hard ridge between them.

“Yes,” she whimpered. Once he’d pulled her into his lap, her body declared there would be no going back. A primal, instinctual need to have him, to claim him, invaded her soul. It
had
been a long time, but this intense pull to him, the chemistry between them, was so far outside the ballpark of her experience that she couldn’t confine it within reason or logic.

He bucked his hips against her pelvis just as his mouth devoured hers in a needy, urgent kiss. She unleashed a strangled moan around his exploring tongue, and all at once her body detonated between them. The forceful surprise stole her breath and blanked her mind. Electrical impulses rippled out from the clenching muscles of her core and suspended her body in a delicious stasis, head back, eyes unseeing, mouth open, her cries spilling out against the icy domed roof cocooning them.

She collapsed against his shoulder, face buried in his neck. His pulse raced against her lips, and she pressed a succession of little kisses there. As she panted, she breathed in his scent—all cool and fresh and male. Around her back, his arms comforted, warm and secure.

As she lay there, boneless and breathless—and completely stunned—she knew without question something inside her had shifted. While a small corner of her heart panged at the thought of John, her mind was at peace with what she’d just shared with Owen, what more she still wanted
to share.

Just three months ago, she’d let Kate talk her into a double date to a Baltimore Orioles game. A Sunday afternoon in the sun, surrounded by crowds of people—it was supposed to be a low-pressure, low-risk reentry into the world of dating. Kate’s friend had been nice, cute, the quintessential good guy. So much so that she’d felt bad at the idea of turning him down when he’d asked if he could give her a kiss at the end of the evening. The moment his lips touched hers she’d panicked, and icy regret had sloshed through her gut. That night, she sobbed herself to sleep.

It’s time. You’re ready now
.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes flew open. She wrenched back from Owen’s shoulder, knowing he hadn’t spoken those words, knowing she hadn’t either.

She’d barely processed the return of the mysterious voice before another oddity assaulted her senses. All around them, it was flurrying. Tiny, gentle, perfectly formed snowflakes settled on Owen’s black hair, his clothes, her eyelashes.

“It’s snowing in here,” she breathed, holding out a hand to catch the flakes.

Owen’s utter stillness drew her attention away from the glittering crystals swirling in the indoor air. Her heart ticked up in her chest again when their eyes met. His…nearly glowed, like they were backlit. Gold and bronze flicked through his brown eye; teal and sky flashed through the navy. Beautiful. Impossible. Like the voice. Like the falling snow inside their igloo.

Like his appearance in the middle of one of the worst blizzards she’d ever experienced.

He blinked at her and the effect disappeared. But his expression told her she hadn’t imagined it. He stifled a wince, twisted his lips. His eyes skittered over her face, avoiding her direct gaze. The flurries still fell.

“What’s happening?” Megan whispered.

He released a long breath. “Magic,” he whispered back, looking at her again.

She half expected that response, but the word still unleashed a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature. “But…I don’t believe in magic.”

For being so big, his hands were soft and gentle when they curled around her neck. “You must.” He swallowed hard and nodded.

What she was seeing, what he was saying—was totally crazy. Opened doors of possibility she’d never before considered. That just weren’t real.

A snowflake tickled the end of her nose and she shook her head. The flurries were few and far between now, nearly gone. “It was snowing in here, right? I didn’t imagine that? But, how?”

He watched her for a moment, then his lips lifted into a slow, tentative smile. “Sorry. You…affect me.”

His tone skittered over the sensitive skin between her legs, made her realize he was still hard beneath her. Intriguing as his arousal was, and it damn well was, she had to focus or she’d never understand what was going on.

She looked up at the last of the tiny flakes, and then turned toward him. “So, you’re saying, you…?” Her heart thrummed against her chest.

Watching her, he nodded.

Anticipation fluttered through her stomach. “And the voice?”

He shook his head, eyed her. “Not me.”

“I know, but do you know—”

“Yes, and so do you.”

Tears bloomed behind Megan’s eyes, stinging but not falling. “John?”

Owen stroked her jaw with his thumb. “Wants you to live, to be happy.”

Her whole body shuddered, then wouldn’t stop. The truth of his words settled somewhere deep, deep down into her psyche, until she knew it like a reflex, like breathing.

Still, she needed Owen to put the pieces into place. “You…know him? You’ve…met him?”

“Just the once, when he came to ask for help…for you.” He spoke cautiously, his dark eyes scanning her face as if watching for her reactions to his words.

She released a shaky breath, her mind whirling to determine what he was saying without actually saying it. “So you’re saying…what? Like, in heaven?” She peeked up at him, feeling stupid even as the words left her mouth.

His big hands surrounded her smaller ones, warm despite his lack of gloves. “There are many names for it.”