Billionaire Romance: Out of The Cold (Book One) (4 page)

A
nna lay in the darkness of the kitchen, listening to the wind
snow spatter against the windowpanes. The single burner had been
turned low to conserve fuel and air, and the faint blue glow showed
her almost nothing of the room. The air was cool on her cheeks and
toasty under the down comforters. Despite that comforting warmth
and the soft breathing beside her, she couldn’t sleep a
wink.

It wasn’t fear. The fear
she was dealing with. It wasn’t the anger at this avoidable
situation, and it wasn’t the cold. It was lying there, down to her
slip, nestled in better quality bedding than she had slept on in
her life, Henry inches away from her, and still being unable to
touch him.

She wanted so much to
reach out that her fingers and toes curled. Couldn’t she just move
a little closer? Would he notice if she lay her head on his chest
while he was sleeping? Would he feel her hand if she stroked his
hair? Would he know, in spite of her doing everything she could to
hide it for months, that she loved him more than she could stand
and couldn’t stop herself from touching him now that he was so
near?

She watched the dark fluff
of his hair silhouetted against the slightly paler wall and tears
stung her eyes.
So close and yet so
far.

Eventually exhaustion
claimed her, though she had no idea how many hours she lay there
gazing at him before it did. As she finally closed her eyes and
drifted, she thought she heard him sigh, and felt him roll over, as
if finally settling in to sleep himself.

The blizzard was still
going strong when they woke, sliding awkwardly from beneath the
comforters and standing beside each other as they blinked blearily
at the whited-out windows. Somehow it was even worse than before.
Anna carried a small, cold stone of fear in her stomach as she
puttered around making coffee, while he scrambled some eggs and
browned toast one side at a time in a skillet.

“You know,” he said, after
his second cup of coffee had taken the glaze from his eyes, “I
don’t actually know that much about you and I’d like to fix that.
So tell me--how is it that you don’t have anyone to celebrate
Christmas with?”

“I’m just...shy,” she said
inadequately. “I never know how in the heck to start conversations,
especially with men. I don’t know how to flirt either. Around here,
people are pretty direct and they expect you to be direct, and
I...I’m just the quiet type. I don’t know how to be in people’s
faces. And making friends here...I was shy in Delaware. Here I feel
like a social cripple, especially in the big city.”

“
You do all right. Most
people who meet you seem to like you. I certainly do.”

She looked up at him, and
her smile was very tentative. “How...come you asked me if James and
I had something going?”

He coughed awkwardly and
poked at his eggs. “Well, he hits on you all the time, and it makes
you smile.”

She swallowed more coffee
and then said sadly, “Of course it does. I don’t exactly get much
attention from men, and even if he doesn’t mean it--”

“He means it.” And there
was such a tone of resentment and jealousy in Henry’s voice that
she looked at him in shock.

He busied himself with his
breakfast. “Well...that explains why you don’t date. You’re too shy
to show interest, and when someone else does you figure they can’t
be serious.”

She reddened and said
defensively, “Oh well, then, why don’t
you
date?”

He blinked at her around a
mouthful of eggs, chewed and swallowed. “Bad breakup. Couple years
back.”

She softened slightly.
“...Oh. How bad?”

He looked at her
matter-of-factly. “Gold digging, private eye hiring, fake pregnancy
bad. Stalked me afterward, too.”

She sat back, blinking
rapidly. “...That’s bad.”

“Technically I
don’t
not
date.
I’m just very picky after...what happened.” He took another few
bites, his expression only slightly troubled.

Well, that’s that then. If
he’s super picky and he can date anyone he wants, I’m definitely
out of the running.

“So...you’re really not
interested in James?”

She almost dropped her
fork.
No, I’m interested in you. I just
can’t say a damn thing about it.
“Why are
you asking me that again now?”

“I’m trying to figure out
what your type is.”

“Of men?”

He gazed at her steadily.
“Yes.”

She blushed furiously and
stared at her plate, unable to answer him until he let her off the
hook by changing the subject.

The storm lasted until
that night . They ate warmed over leftovers by candlelight, using
the last of the propane, and stayed in the kitchen until the
temperature dropped too much. Then they dragged their makeshift bed
to the living room and laid it down in front of the wood stove,
which Henry filled and lit.

When the white-out at the
windows faded, and the clouds started to roll away, Anna went to
the back door and opened it, stepping out quickly into the snow to
keep the heat inside the house. She sank in to her hips, soaking
her leggings, and stared around at the rolling white snow mounds
under the moon. It was as beautiful as it was freezing and
treacherous: white moonlight painting everything, stars glittering,
a few rags of cloud retreating west. Tomorrow they would be running
low on supplies, but at least they would have a chance in hell of
going for help if no one came for them by afternoon.

She turned and pushed her
way back inside--and the temperature change hit her like an oven.
Her legs stung, and she realized that she was chilled through when
her numb legs almost buckled under her.

Henry hurried over with a
blanket and wrapped it around them both. “Come here. You shouldn’t
have done that.”

“I had to see for
myself--”

“I get that, but now
you’re half frozen.” He helped her into the living room, sat her
down on the mattress in front of the fire, and kept an arm wrapped
around her as she gradually warmed. She realized that he was
holding her against his side, and that his heat was soaking into
her as much as the stove’s was. His arm around her did more for her
than any of it.

Eventually her tights
dried, and she stopped shivering. But she stayed curled against him
for a good while longer, eyes at half mast, heart beating a little
quickly, and neither one of them seemed willing to break the
intimate silence.

There was no propane to
heat water for cocoa, so he tried putting the kettle on the wood
stove, which actually worked. As they sipped their drinks, she said
quietly, “Storm’s all the way gone. It’s even colder out, but you
might actually be able to head for the next house over. It’s not
going to be easy, though. It’s hip deep on me.”

“Well, we’ll have to see.
Maybe we’ll get lucky. I mean--maybe someone will come for us
before that.”

She kept blushing at the
slightest things. Maybe it was nerves.

T
hey decided not to use the wood stove while they could hide
under the comforters after realizing that their few hours up that
evening had eaten through half their store of wood. But that meant
that the cold deepened throughout the night and they only had each
other for warmth.

First they lay together,
back to back, and tried to sleep that way. She felt him breathing
slowly against her, and rolled onto her back, very shyly touching
his muscled side. He was down to his thermals, their outer clothes
piled on top of the comforters. She tried not to caress him, tried
to content herself with that small contact, but the pain gnawed at
her heart as she restrained herself. Eventually she rolled over and
pressed her cheek against his back, her eyes wet and her body
trembling a little.
I wish...oh God, I
just wish….

He rolled over, mumbling
something in his sleep, and threw an arm over her, pulling her
against his chest. She lay there blinking, feeling his heart beat
slow and easy against her cheek this time, and then slowly relaxed
and nestled against him. Her eyes closed, and she drifted softly
off to sleep, the gnawing ache inside of her finally gone
again.

She woke sometime in the
dark, the moon still high and flooding light in through the
windows. She was still in his arms, the air on her face outside the
covers freezing cold but her body burned like a furnace everywhere
she touched him. Her heart was pounding, and his still beat slow
and steady against her. But his hand was sliding over one of her
breasts through the thin fabric of her slip, and he was murmuring
sleepily in her ear. “Mm, about damn time…”

She froze, not sure what
to do. But his hand cupped her breast and his thumb slid over her
nipple through the fabric, and a jolt of pleasure went through her
whole body. She moaned, arching against him, and found her mouth
near his. “Kiss me, baby,” he murmured with his eyes closed. Anna
blinked up at him, and her whole body trembled. Then finally, she
leaned up, and pressed her lips against his with desperate
fervor.

He made a contented noise,
his hands starting to slide over her. She couldn’t hear anything
after that; her heart was in her ears and her whole body on fire.
She felt his arousal pressing against her belly from inside his
thermals, and she shivered.

“Henry….” she whispered,
and pressed against him, kissing him again.

His eyes opened and froze,
blinking rapidly. She broke the kiss and stared at him, realizing
belatedly that he had been asleep. He had been asleep—dreaming--and
she had no idea who he had been dreaming about, she had just
assumed….

Oh God.

She blushed hugely and
started to pull away from him, but he hung onto her, still trying
to catch up with what had happened.

“Wow, that was really
nice, but uh...what did I miss?”

“I...you...you were….” Her
cheeks felt like they might burst into flame, and she felt tears
threatening. It was so mortifying. How had she let herself slip
like this? How had she let herself make such a stupid mistake? “I
thought you wanted….”

He stared at her...and
then slowly relaxed, a faint, soft smile coming to his lips. “Who
says I didn’t?”

Her mortification
dissolved, and she blinked up at him. He gently feathered a kiss
onto her nose, and she felt her tension start to dissolve. “I
couldn’t tell...but...I was so happy to hear that. I just had no
idea how to say anything.”

“...Oh,” he replied
softly, sounding a little breathless with astonishment. Then the
soft smile deepened, and a gleam came to his eyes. “Then don’t say
anything.”

His kiss stole her breath.
She whimpered against his mouth and then relaxed into his arms,
trembling a little as his lips explored hers. His mouth traced
along the line of her jaw, up to her earlobe, kissing and nibbling
lightly before trailing down the muscle of her neck to suckle
warmth to the surface at her pulse point. She moaned softly,
clutching the back of his head, and whispered encouragement as he
slid the strap of her slip off her shoulder and reached inside the
fabric to cup and knead her breast.

It had been a long time
since a man had touched her like this, and her body seemed to ache
with long-starved desires. She slid her hands up his belly under
his shirt, exploring his body--and sometimes simply clutching him
as his slowly gliding mouth found a spot that sent tingles through
her. Here, at her neck; here, at her nape; here, his tongue
circling her nipple hard before he drew it into his mouth for long,
lazy suckling.

She was sore and trembling
before he switched breasts, his head half hidden under the
coverlet. She sobbed gently with desire and shimmied the slip
downward, puddling the fabric down over her hips. He grasped it and
pulled it down further, and she arched her back to help, until she
lay naked under him, her whole body awakened now and her belly
fluttering.

His hands slid over her,
exploring every inch of her skin, leading the way for his mouth’s
attentions. He was hidden under the comforters, and she couldn’t
quite see where he would move to next. Here, her breast; here, her
belly; then the curve of her hip where her thigh met it; then,
pulling her thighs open, her inner thigh. And then his warm breath
blew over the sparse curls of her sex, and she gasped and stared
wide-eyed at the ceiling, almost afraid to move.

He parted her with his
fingers, gently brushing their smooth tips along her folds...and
then followed with his lazily-exploring tongue. A harsh cry escaped
her and her hips lifted reflexively, the air turning to fire in her
lungs. He kept at her, so slow, almost lazy, his tongue lapping and
swirling against her most sensitive flesh while her cries rose
until they echoed off the ceiling. And still he teased at her,
refusing to speed his movements and let her climax.

She sobbed his name,
drugged with pleasure, her hands in his hair and sliding over his
shoulders, her body slowly, slowly growing taut with tension
waiting for release. Her head lolled back on the pillow, and she
heard her cries go harsh and incoherent. And still he wouldn’t let
her go over the edge, pulling back as she went up on her
heels.