Snow Jam (6 page)

"I don't even know what we're fighting about!" I half shouted.

"Really? Because I can recall it just fine. Shall I recount?"

"Oh, you're impossible! Can you please just tell me where I'm going to sleep and I'm going to go to b
—
sleep." Hastily catching myself before I said anything that might sound like an invitation.

"I suppose you'd like the bed," he said nastily.

I stared at him. "Where do you get the idea I'm a princess? You don't even know me. I've been on my own since before college. I've got a degree. I got here from Nevada, didn't I?"

That seemed to stop him briefly, so he went back to the part about the cold. If I didn't know better (and I didn't) I'd say he was trying to make certain there was a wedge between us.

Abruptly he stopped and ran both hands through his hair. He sat down on the futon I assumed would be my bed and indicated the armchair, though not as arrogantly as he'd been doing everything for the last couple minutes.

"What happened out there... a very old oak tree on the property next to mine that's been threatening to come down for about a year came down because of the snow."

I stared. "It's not snowing that hard."

"No," he agreed. "The tree was that unstable. But old Walt Billings is a jackass and he wouldn't take it down when everyone asked. Neighbors even offered to go in together and pay for it. His tree, his business, he kept saying."

I considered. "'Best of all possible outcomes,'" I said. "So it fell on his place?" I hadn't seen any tree-flattened cabins.

He grinned, looking mischievous rather than bossy and annoying. "Better. Old man Billings has, or rather had, a nasty little lean-to that looked seconds away from spontaneously combusting and in which he insisted on storing flammables. We've taken those out, anyway, but we'd had to have taken him to court to get the building taken down." He spread his hands, very
ta da
.

"His tree, his property, his lean-to?" I asked, starting to smile.

Rick aimed a finger at me like a gun. "Got it," he said.

"Sucks to be him. That's really what the sound was?" It had seemed so close and so much louder.

Rick shrugged. "Snow masks a lot of noise. So those it doesn't hide sound louder."

That sounded totally unscientific but I didn't care. He was laughing with me, sounding young and relaxed. I took a deep breath, let it out slow. It came out shaky, like I'd been crying. He was right
–
I could have fallen out there, could have disappeared right under the noses of a bunch of people who didn't even know I was staying there and a host who didn't know I'd gone outside.

I'm usually more careful than that.

Unbidden, my eyes went to the messenger bag with my presentation
–
what I'd do to diversify Hanlin's economy and to bring in business, how I'd run my campaign and spend my budget, technology, a think tank report on finding the correct industries for the correct regions, to capitalize on what exists, not invent it wholesale new.

I'd been so careful of that. The hole in the messenger bag was reinforced with layers of canvas inside. I wasn't going to lose anything. I wanted the job. The hole reminded me every time I looked at the bag how close to the financial edge I was getting. I'd waited so long I couldn't go get a job in fast food. I had to get something professional and get on my feet again. That's why getting to Hanlin mattered. That's why not being distracted by Rick Barnes mattered.

But I was distracted. Easiest fix would be to apologize and yawn and claim I was sleepy and go to bed for the night. Or to futon. Whatever. And definitely to sleep. Alone.

I didn't. I said quietly, in a breathy voice, "I'm sorry I worried you."

He crossed his arms over a very impressive chest. "You didn't worry me. I'm just responsible for you. I'll go get you a quilt. Will that be enough with the
–
what?"

Deep breath in through my nose. "You are
not
responsible for me. Who do you think you are? Did you tell me to run out there in my shirt sleeves?"

"Jeez," he said, backing away from me, hands up in surrender. "It's fine. You apologized. Whatever. Let it go."

"I did
not
apologize," I said loudly. Yeah, the breathy voice was gone. "I have nothing to apologize for!"

He was still backing away, apparently surrendering. "Whatever, OK? Tomorrow you go your way and I go mine. We're almost done with each other. Let's just try to make it through tonight."

I nodded. Sure, why not. Tomorrow I'd be gone and the temptation to slip into something stupid would have passed.

He went to get me the quilt and a fuzzy blanket and I went and brushed my teeth, and when I came out he was still arranging the blanket and the quilt. It didn't seem that hard a task. I looked at him quizzically and he blushed.

"I thought if I put the opening toward the back of the futon you wouldn't get any gaps where cold air creeps in. But it would be hard to get into and you said you're claustrophobic."

I did? But we'd talked a lot over dinner and dishes, before he became so didactic.

"I think it will be fine," I said. I'd stopped in front of the fireplace, letting the last of the embers warm me before I got into bed. "Thank you."
Go
, I thought at him. He'd taken his boots off, and was wearing warm gray wool socks. That shouldn't have sent shockwaves rolling through my system but apparently everything did.

"Are you OK?" he asked, and before I could answer, "Don't bite my head off. I'm not saying anything about what either of us did. But it is dangerous out there and I just." He broke off and looked like he wasn't going to finish. I wasn't going to give an inch. I waited. "Want to make sure you're OK."

He wasn't fighting. His eyes were gentle, his voice quiet. "You've seen my hands," I said. "I had my boots on and my feet were dry when I came inside."

He nodded. He looked more relieved than I would have expected. His eyes lingered on my face, going down to my mouth until I almost raised a hand to touch it.

"You've got toothpaste on your mouth," he said. His voice was husky. He moved slow, like he was trying not to frighten me off, coming across the space between us so we both stood in front of the fireplace. With one thumb he gently brushed the corner of my mouth. My eyes fluttered closed, opened again when he ran that thumb gently, softly over my lower lip, his fingers curled loosely under my chin. When I opened my eyes, they were half-lidded, heavy with want I couldn't disguise.

I met his gaze and saw his eyes smoldered as he looked at me. His lips were parted. I went up on tiptoes to meet him halfway.

His mouth was hot, his lips soft, the kiss delicate. Just our lips met, sliding gently across each other, the faintest brush and we both pulled back, searching each other's eyes. We sank back into the next kiss, mouths meeting harder, breath hotter. His tongue caressed my upper lip. I licked out and caught the tip of it, then let his tongue go in favor of sucking his lip, biting gently.

His hands came down lightly on my shoulders, stroking down my arms before pulling me closer but somehow chastely, as if he held the distance between us on purpose. When the kiss broke, I opened my eyes slowly, looking up into his face. He was watching me, waiting to see how I'd react, and I turned my face up to his, waiting for more.

The spell broke then. His mouth was suddenly hot, his tongue everywhere. His hands tangled in my long dark hair, and he made a fist of it, tugging gently. My head went back and his mouth found my throat. He licked and sucked his way from my collarbone to my earlobe, making me laugh and squirm against him, reaching for him and when he came into my arms, not sure what I meant to do with him. He was beautiful, his mouth smoking hot, his eyes telling me everything I needed to know.

The kiss deepened. Another tree could have gone over. Another cabin could have smashed. Neither of us would have noticed. His lips played against my jawline. His mouth covered mine, hot, deep kisses. His hands stroked up and down my arms, sending chills racing through me, pleasurable heat building where before there'd been fear and cold.

I moved closer. I forgot the inhibitions that were always with me, the past I never quite forgot. There was Rick and there was me, and there was heat building.

We got from the living room into his bedroom without breaking the kiss. Hands fumbled at clothing, laughing because winter means way too many clothes, and then not laughing, because we wanted it so much, wanted each other so much and so much faster.

He pulled my sweater off, the long-sleeved t-shirt going with it. My earrings caught, pulled, got removed, my hair shoved back out of my face. I tried pulling his flannel shirt over his head with his Henley, let go, freed his arms, laughed while he pulled it off and threw it on the bedroom floor.

The bedroom was cold, the floorboard heaters not up to the task of warming it. His hands on my naked upper body were flashes of heat along the ice of my skin. I felt my skin go to gooseflesh and shrugged away from the sensation, heading for his bed, one last look to see that was all right.

He was right behind me, stopping only when he reached the enormous, down and micro fleece covered bed, and struggling with jeans that had gotten wet from snow. I'd already stepped out of my sweatpants, convenient things even if not sexy, and kept my socks on, feet curling away from the floor as it was.

I reached out to tug at his jeans, forcing them down his legs, and understood the danger of having gone outside unprepared. Even after all the time we'd been inside his legs were ice cold.

"You're freezing," I said. I ran my hands up and down his legs like he'd done for my hands. It did nothing. "I'm going to turn on the shower."

He nodded. "Wasn't cold until those jeans started to cling."

He followed me into the bathroom, the doors closed and the baseboard heaters working overtime against the cold. The water ran hot, steam billowing up, and he dropped his underwear, giving me only a flash as he climbed behind the curtain. I gave him a minute, shivering in my underwear, then followed him in.

By the time I stepped over the side of the tub, steam was rising thick in clouds. Rick leaned under the spray, one hand against the shower wall, his head down, his body exposed in shifts of light and obscured again in billows of steam. He had a broad, strong back, lined with muscle, and the arm that braced on the shower wall showed triceps in sharp relief. His back tapered down to slim hips and a beautiful ass, round and perfect, and legs like most men don't have, strong and well formed, not the forgotten workout part that stay too thin or turn too fat.

He turned around to me, his arms out as if we were about to dance, but he was moving me sideways past him, getting me under the shower spray and suddenly showering together was a terrible idea because I didn't think I could ever relinquish this heat. Then the heat was coming from another place, his mouth on mine, his arms around my waist, mine around his. Our lower bodies came together, hip to hip, slick with shower water, hot now with shower and inner heat. I could feel him hard against me, trapped straining between our bodies, and I moved my hips, appreciating the feeling of contact.

As soon as I could I moved him back into the spray, reaching down to run a hand along his thighs. They were thawing.

"You missed," he said, taking advantage of my proximity to kiss my ear.

"I wasn't aiming."

"Pity," he said, turning us again so I stood facing the shower nozzle and he spooned me from behind, pressing against my backside, hard and hot.

"That can be changed," I said.

He didn't answer, just kissed my neck, and reached past me to turn off the shower. He grazed one breast on the way. "You missed," I said.

"No, I didn't," he said, and I laughed.

His towels were bath sheets, huge and fluffy warm. Rick pulled one around his shoulders, then wrapped me in another, drying my hair and my back, my arms. His eyes lingered on my breasts, my belly, between my legs, but it didn't feel uncomfortable, just as if we were anticipating, together.

His bedroom wasn't any warmer than it had been. The bed was, though. We raced for it together, threw ourselves in, both of us with the same idea, eschewing the sheets to tuck our bodies between layers of micro fleece blankets with the down comforter over top.

That was going to be more than we needed in no time. We generated heat and caused sparks as we burrowed under the covers, the light coming through the blankets warm and dim.

Our mouths came together again and instantly came apart. We were too busy exploring to kiss, our mouths on each other's bodies, mine sliding from jaw to ear lobe, down slope of shoulder to the cap of muscle there. My hands followed my mouth, then ran down before it to flatten themselves in pleasure against his pecs, along his abs, down and down and reaching.

But he held me off, his own explorations taking precedence, he was kissing my mouth, my cheeks, my eyes, making love to my neck in a way that sent hot and cold through me all at once, making me want to buck against him, making me want him to never stop. His hands circled on my back, down to my hips, they cupped my ass and pulled me close, they cupped my breasts and pulled them up so he could lick and suck, bite, taste, kiss.