by Amelia Wilde
“You having any?”
“No.”
“That’s okay.”
I handed her the drink and waited for her to sit on the sofa before following her.
“What time is it?”
I checked the wall clock. “Almost five.”
She looked surprised. “Thought it was later. Still not dinnertime yet.”
“We can eat whenever you want.” I threw a look at the two mutts watching us like spectators at a tennis match. “The girls think now would be good. I’ll debone some chicken for their dinner.”
“Oh, well, we can—”
“It’s a little early, even for them.” I lifted my arm to take a sip of my drink, but she stopped me.
“Hey. Um. Cheers.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I put my glass out, eyes trained on it. “Cheers.”
“Here’s to, uh…to spending Christmas with a…” She sucked in a shaky breath, drawing my eyes right to her face. “Handsome stranger.”
15
Christa
Micah went absolutely still, which would have been comical, given that the hand holding his drink was suspended straight out in front of him. Like what I’d said had stopped time. Like we were two flies caught in the amber light of this room, flash frozen by this moment of complete embarrassment.
Geez, Christa. Maybe try not to come on to the moody man-bear again. He was so clearly ready to be rid of her that it would have been comical. If the rejection didn’t feel so bad.
I pulled my glass away, breaking the spell in the process, and slugged back more bourbon than I’d intended. It burned a hot path straight to my belly and, despite the new tension, eased my joints a little. The pain didn’t go away, exactly. If anything, it burned hotter for a few seconds, but I somehow didn’t mind it as much.
Ready to shove that awkward moment behind me, I took another sip. This one went down easier in the shadow of the first. Good. Maybe if I drank enough, I wouldn’t notice the way he avoided me. I could pass out and wake up and, if all went perfectly, tomorrow the snow would stop and I could find someone to come up here and get me.
“So, where are you from, Christa?”
I couldn’t help the surprised look I threw at Micah. Was he actually making small talk?
“Um. Seattle. I mean, my family’s from up here, but…I just moved back.”
“To be with your grandmother.”
“Yeah. My grandfather died a couple years ago. And she had a stroke a few months back. Couldn’t leave her here. On her own, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“What about you?”
He looked a question at me.
“You always live here? In this cabin?”
“Oh. No. No. Bought the land a few years ago. Been in the cabin a couple years now.”
“And before that?”
“Army.”
“Is that where—” Crap. I hadn’t intended to go there. It wasn’t any of my business where he’d lost his leg. And probably wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, either. I opened my mouth, ready to backpedal, but apparently, after downing his bourbon in one shot, he had other ideas.
When he stood and walked to the little kitchen area, I almost followed him to… I don’t know. Maybe apologize for prying? Maybe tell him to forget about it. Possibly, I could just lock myself in the bathroom until the roads cleared. It was big enough, and there was a little seat in there…
I didn’t expect him to grab the bottle and fill both our glasses before settling back onto the sofa beside me. A little closer, even, than he’d been before.
“What you humming?”
“Was I?” Probably. I did that when I was nervous. “Oh. A Christmas song, maybe.”
“Which one?”
I hummed low and then stopped, flushing even redder than I’d been before, and hid my face. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“It’s the worst Christmas song.”
“Lemme guess. Um, the drum one.”
“No! That one’s good.”
He snorted. “Okay… That two front teeth one.”
“No. It’s Good King Wenceslas, okay? That’s the one I’m humming.”
His lips turned down at the corners. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
“You know, deep and crisp and even.”
“It’s a Christmas song about pizza?”
“Nooooo, silly, it’s…”
He changed, subtly. I couldn’t figure out how, but something about it made me go very still, blinking at his eyes focused hard on my mouth. He’s going to kiss me.
He didn’t.
Kiss me. Do it. Let me feel those hard-looking lips on mine, put those hands on me again.
“I’ll tell you the truth, Christa, because you seem like a nice person and…” He shut his eyes with a sharp sigh, took a sip, and turned away. “I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“My hopes?” I shook my head and opened my mouth to deny that I’d had any hopes.
“I spent about two years on the street.”
I straightened, my skin suddenly blazing hot. “On the—”
“Homeless.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And it’s not ’cause I don’t have family or any shit like that. ’Cause I do. I have parents who love me and four sisters. They all love me. They wanted me to move in with them. They live an hour from here and I almost never see ’em.”
He paused. Did he want me to say something? Because there wasn’t really anything, was there? His life was so different from mine. Who was I to judge or assume or even comment?
And what did he think my hopes were up about, exactly?
“I chose to stay out on my own. In the woods, mostly, though I slept on a few city streets.” He threw a side eye my way. “Seattle once, actually.”
Oh my God. Had I walked by him at some point? Was he one of those guys I’d resolutely turned away from and ignored as I stomped down the sidewalk on my way to work? I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d ever seen him before.
“Lasted about five hours in the city before I had to turn around and leave again.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“You ever feel trapped in your life?”
“Uh.” Had I? I thought about it, hard, since he was giving me honesty, telling me real things, and he deserved a real answer. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I felt trapped in my job, actually. Project 54. But there’s not that much work around here, so I’ve stuck with it. Before, too, I guess. In relationships, even. My last boyfriend wanted to get married and I didn’t really want to, but…” Whoa. Was it him or the booze bringing this stuff out? Because I’d never, ever thought of myself as being trapped with my ex before. Even when I broke off the wedding, I’d made it more about our differing priorities than anything else.
“But?”
“I agreed to anyway. What kind of privileged jerk wouldn’t want what he was offering, right?”
“Why didn’t you want it?”
“Honestly?” I met his eyes, feeling brazen, suddenly, with my secrets out. “I loved him like a friend. He was funny and warm, comfortable. All of those things.” I swallowed. “But I wasn’t attracted to him anymore.” Unlike Micah, who I’d spent less than 24 hours with. This guy, I was attracted to with every hair, every pore, every nerve in my body. “Maybe never was.”
“Why were you with him, then?”
“I’d say laziness, but I don’t think it was that.” I eyed him—big shoulders, straight back, everything solid and sure. “I’d had a run of assholes before. Guys always looking for greener grass, or something? Like I was a stepping stone to some perfect vision they had. Fine for a while, but not marriage material. And my ex, well, he loved me. Like, really loved me. And I figured…” I waited for the answer to come, in a way baffled, again, by my own incomprehensible choices. “I figured he was it for me.”
“Except no sex.”
Sex. Just hearing the word on this man’s lips made my b
ody react—as if to prove how stupid I’d been to think, once upon a time, that maybe I wasn’t sexual anymore, because I hadn’t been able to get it up for my ex.
“Right.”
“And now?”
I huffed out a laugh, ignoring the heavy weight pooling between my thighs. Wetness, I’d bet, although nothing had happened between us to warrant that. “Well, still no sex.”
16
Micah
“Shame.”
“Yeah, well. I promised myself I wouldn’t settle again.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.” It came out bossier than intended. But then part of me needed reminding, too. I wouldn’t let her settle for someone like me. Someone whose brain didn’t always work right, who couldn’t quite get a handle on society. I needed solitude like most people needed water.
“Yes, sir.”
Those two words sent a tingling down my spine. Not an Army flashback, I realized after a moment, but something else. Something darker and deeper, older than the military. Something that made my pants a little tight and my belly warm. And then that thing, whatever it was, opened my mouth and pushed words out. “When I was homeless, I dreamed of a woman like you.” Even now. Tell her. Even now, you dream of it.
She gasped, the sound barely audible, though it left her mouth open.
“Someone feminine, but strong, you know? Smart. Pretty.” And then my mouth took off without me. “Woman with an ass I could grab onto.”
“I…”
“I like curves.” I didn’t dare look at her as I continued. “You’re like every one of my fantasies.”
“Oh, okay.”
I sighed and leaned back into the cushions, rubbing my face hard. “You’ve kinda thrown me for a loop, here, Christa.”
She huffed out a laugh and threw me a side-eye that said maybe I was the one throwing her for a loop.
Following some booze-bred instinct, I put my hand out, palm up, on the sofa. I stared at it, cracked and callused, between us, as though it wasn’t even a part of me, but something I put on in the morning, like my leg. For someone who didn’t spend all that much time in my head, I suddenly felt like I wasn’t inhabiting my body either.
Homeless, wandering, looking at all my overly-breakable edges from someplace else.
She laid her cool palm over mine, slid her fingers between mine, and squeezed. Just that touch and I flew back inside—my person, my soul or something, filling out my flesh to its edges.
And only then could I confront this thing I’d torn open and look at her face again. What I saw there shoved the air from my lungs and closed my fingers around her hand, in an unconscious spasm.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Christ.” I stroked my thumb along her finger, the only place I could reach without moving our hands and maybe ruining the moment. “I don’t fucking know.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze from her face, so pretty and doll-like, but also flushed and real. Warm and soft. Her teeth bit into that tender bottom lip, mesmerizing me more surely than any drug I’d tried and rejected. This woman could become an addiction.
One of the dog’s collars rattled, bringing me out of my stupor.
“You hungry?”
She blinked, like it’d woken her up, too. “Just a minute.” Her eyes flicked down to where our hands acted out all my fantasies. “I don’t want this to end.”
Those words set off an explosion inside me—excitement, yeah, but also nerves like I rarely got anymore, except when meeting a new client or something.
“This okay?”
“Yeah.” She tightened her fingers briefly. “Weird, right?”
“Oh, um—”
“I don’t mean you. It’s…this. Like, last night I’d never heard of you. And now, I’m…”
What? She what? I watched her mouth, waiting for the next word like the dogs were waiting for their dinner. When nothing came, I turned fully toward her, bent my head, and kissed her.
And shit. I was like a teenage version of myself, all nerves and excitement, moving so quickly that I smashed my mouth to hers, instead of touching it that first time. I almost pulled away before I realized she was into it. We’d pried our hands apart and hers—both of them—were on me, holding herself steady with my shoulder, but definitely pulling me closer with the one clamped around my neck.
Her little mouth was perfect—all soft lips and hot breath. I wanted to pull her onto my lap and eat her, but I calmed that beast right the hell down, or shoved it back or something.
Fuck, what was it about the taste, the smell, the feel of a woman? It’d been so long, it was like learning all over again, but I knew how to do this. Like riding a bike or climbing a tree, it was that initial hesitation you had get over. I grabbed her face with my hands—not too tight, though I couldn’t help steadying her, holding her still for my mouth—and I tasted her with my tongue. She let out these gasps; hot, shuddering breaths against me.
“Shit.” What a sweet talker. “You taste so fucking good.”
She’d stop this now, surely. I’d somehow tricked her into thinking I was something I wasn’t. It was the savior thing. Being yanked, last minute, from a falling car would do that to a person. Make them want you, or at least feel like they owed you something.
But she didn’t stop and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make her. Instead, she did what I’d pictured: climbed up and onto her knees, scooted forward, and got on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. For a few hot seconds, she leaned back enough to give me a look that I had no idea how to read, her shadowed eyes moving from the top of my head, down, side to side, from one eye to another, then back to my mouth. I let her look, my hands resting lightly on her hips, just waiting.
CHRISTA
Good Lord, this man was hot. Not just hot, but sort of…perfect. Hard and eager, with hands that demanded, without forcing. The way he watched me watch him right now, like an animal waiting for a sign before going in for the kill.
Going in for the kill? How was I even thinking this crap?
But even when I tried to scoff it away, that feeling remained, of being watched through the glittering eyes of a wary beast. There was stuff in the look he gave me—instincts or something—that I could’ve sworn were predatory, despite the fact that he didn’t budge, didn’t hold me down and attack, teeth first.
Whoa. My breath got all crazy just imagining that scenario.
Because, man, the guy could do whatever he wanted. I’d never met anyone stronger, never had my hands on muscles like these—not bulging like those Instagram assholes, but thick, supple—real. The man who saved my ass. Literally. And who kissed me like he wanted to eat me.
His hands went to my hips and pressed down, grinding me against him.
Following my own unexpected desires, I leaned in, not to turn over and show him my belly like some kind of prey, but to run my cheek over that beard and the skin above it, to smell his insanely hot man-smell, to meet him on almost equal footing, like the female of his species. Like this was right.
Or something.
Geez, what was with me? I let out a half giggle.
“What?” When he started to turn toward me, I kissed his ear to stop him, nipped it, and ran my lips along the hot skin below.
“I can’t stop thinking of you like a…” I bit his neck and he grunted, the sound like a fist reaching inside me to twist up my insides, to set them on fire and push the truth from my mouth. “An animal, or something.” I huffed out a nervous laugh, because my words sounded wrong once they were out. Insulting. “Not… Crap.” I swayed back to find him watching me, mouth flat, eyes narrowed and wary, like I’d said exactly the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant.” He smiled. The expression turned the savage beast thing up about a hundred watts, but shoved a sharp wedge between us.
I considered shifting toward him again. He made that impossible by pushing me off him—albeit gently—and rising.
“Let’s have dinner.” Go
ne was the wild man I’d wanted to dig into seconds ago. This guy was remote. Had I hurt him? Or just come off like a creep?
“Right.” I blinked past a jolt of embarrassment and regret and something like shame, and followed him. Things had been going so well and I’d had to go and ruin it all with my big mouth.
He handed me plates and silverware and I set the table by the side window, then turned and watched him carve the chickens. His hands were deft and capable and now that I’d touched one, I knew for a fact that they had rough, sharp calluses. I unconsciously rubbed my fingers to my own soft palm, wondering again how I could fix the weirdness between us.
“I wasn’t fetishizing you.” Except maybe I was? Was that what I was doing? Turning him into some bestial fantasy, when he was just an introvert, living on his own? “That wasn’t what I meant.” Nor did I mean to open my mouth and say that just now. But I could never let things lie.
He stopped cutting and met my eye. “Fetishizing me?”
“Yeah, you know…” Why couldn’t I stop talking? Things had gone from really, really good, to slightly awkward, and I was dragging it down into unbearable, wasn’t I? Probably. “The animal thing was a…a compliment. It was good.”
“Okay.” He ripped off a wing and set it on a serving dish.
“It’s just that, while we were kissing, I felt…like…” His brows rose above those light, shimmering eyes and for just a second I wondered if he knew exactly what I meant and was messing with me, letting me shovel my own stupid hole. “Animalistic. It was intense for me. I don’t usually… It was like we were both…wild animals. Like you were dominant…and I was…” Shit, Shut up, Christa. Shut up! “Oh, God. What am I talking about?”
His head tilted to the side and he watched me, hard. “You liked it?”
“Well, you know…” I shut my mouth on a string of words he didn’t need to hear and I didn’t need to say. “Yes. Yes, I liked it very much.”
After a last assessing look, he nodded once and went back to carving, the knife glinting in the low light, his movements so freaking precise, so well-practiced, something an awful lot like fear twisted in my belly. I glanced out the window at the eerie blue light. It was still coming down, hard.