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

by Laura Kaye

  She groaned. The words ignited the nerves between her thighs, set her body to jangling. Their strokes quickened, shortened, became more frantic. Their bodies met right where she needed. Her stomach clenched. Sensation pooled, tightened, detonated like a hundred brilliant fireworks.

  “Owen,” she screamed, then went limp on his chest as her muscles continued to quiver.

  No matter. He lifted her hips in his strong grasp, his muscled thighs continuing their dance, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy her body would provide.

  Instead of leaving her sated, the intensity of her orgasm left her feeling frenzied. She pushed up on shaky arms and rode him at a hot, hard pace. Holding his gaze, she begged him with her eyes until the words spilled out. “Come, Owen. Come. I want to feel it. I want to see it. Come.”

  He gritted his teeth, jaw ticking. Eyes flaring, he thrust faster, faster. Inside her, he swelled. She clenched her muscles, using her body to encourage his release. He groaned from deep down in his gut, and then his body seized and bucked. “For you. Foryouforyou,” he murmured over and over. Strong arms strapped her to his chest as his body pitched beneath hers. “Aw, angel,” he whispered reverently when he calmed. He pressed kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

  After a long, quiet moment, Megan scooted down his body enough that her hips settled between his thighs and she could rest her chin on his chest and look at him.

  Utter adoration shone from his gaze. He gave her a small, affectionate smile, caressed her hair, her face, her shoulders. “That was magic,” he whispered.

  I love you, she thought. She nearly choked on the strong impulse to give voice to the emotion. Her heart beat out a staccato rhythm against his abdomen, and she was glad their recent activity would mask the real reason for its current pounding sprint. Could it be true? Or was the intense pressure desperate to spring forth from the thrumming organ in her chest the product of her postcoital bliss? It would be so easy to write it off as such.

  The very thought of denying her true feelings soured her stomach, made it hard to breathe. But, then, she couldn’t share them with him either. Not yet.

  God, why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she just be normal? Woman meets man. Woman likes man. Woman and man fall in love and live happily ever after, the end. Was that really too much to ask?

  Fingers smoothed over her forehead. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  She turned her head and kissed his wrist, then pulled his hand down and kissed his palm. “Just thinking about you,” she admitted.

  One side of his lips quirked up in a sexy grin. “Is that right?”

  Still holding his hand, she nodded, her chin rocking on his chest. “Yeah.”

  Dark eyes blazed. “Anything good?”

  “Everything good.” It was true. Loving him was good. She knew it was good. Knew it could be good. Great, even.

  Owen stared at her a long moment, his eyes brimming with emotion. Then he rolled them, settling himself over her. Lingering kisses rained down over her heart, making it stutter and thrum anew. Words spilled from his lips in that odd language again.

  Megan didn’t interrupt his hushed, ardent speech, not because she wasn’t curious to understand, but because the tone of it sounded so much like a prayer. So she remained quiet, laced her fingers through the layered strands of his black hair. Finally, he laid his head on her chest over her heart. She held him and stroked his hair until the soft, shallow breathing against her left breast told her he’d fallen asleep.

  Then, she lay there, cradling a god in her arms. Choked up with the emotions she felt but was too afraid to admit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A persistent mechanical growl pulled Megan from sleep the next morning. The sound was so foreign, she bolted upright, listened.

  The fog lifted from her brain. Mr. Johansson, here to dig her out.

  “What’s going on?” came Owen’s groggy voice.

  She pecked him on the cheek, slid out from under him. “The man who takes care of my driveway when it snows.” Her skin erupted in goose bumps, the morning air so cool against her nakedness. “Usually he calls…” She tugged on clothes, then dashed to the bathroom, realizing as she did so she hadn’t heard from anybody in days. Odd.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Owen was sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet draped across his lap but otherwise bare. She wedged herself between his thighs and threaded her arms around his neck. His kisses tempted her to stay, to push him back onto the mattress, but Mr. Johansson was a talker. He’d be knocking at the door sooner or later if she didn’t come out on her own. “Sorry. Be back in a bit. Go back to sleep if you want.”

  “Nah. It’s no problem.”

  She ducked in for one last kiss, then left him with a lightness in her step.

  Opening the door, she was pleasantly surprised by the milder temperature. Granted, it was still cold, but it wasn’t biting like the day they built the igloo. The morning sun made everything glitter and shine. Winter’s beauty buoyed her spirits even more.

  From the steps of the porch, she waved a hand over her head. Mr. Johansson signaled back from his perch on the big yellow tractor, perhaps a hundred yards down the long curved drive from the cabin. Mounds of snow lined both sides where he’d already plowed.

  Since it would take him a while to get to the top of the driveway, she went back inside and made twice as much coffee as she normally would, knowing the older man would appreciate a cup. While the coffeemaker chugged and gurgled, Megan flipped open her cell phone to find a black screen. Out of battery. Of course it was. Why hadn’t she thought about it sooner?

  Shuffled footsteps caught her attention. “Hey,” Owen said. She took in the sight of him, dressed in a new borrowed outfit—a long-sleeved navy T-shirt and a pair of khakis that had been too long on John. The shirt highlighted the difference in his eyes.

  Well, okay, there was the reason she hadn’t been thinking about the real world.

  “Hey,” she said. She hooked up her phone charger and plugged it into the phone. After a minute, the cellular provider’s logo flashed across the screen with a musical jingle. While she waited for it to start up, she lifted the cordless receiver on the landline. Nothing. Her cell beeped incoming messages. “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s the matter?” Owen wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek, peered over her shoulder.

  Megan leaned back into his embrace and worked the buttons on her phone. Five text messages. Ten missed calls. Oh, shit. “Missed a bunch of calls.” She turned in his arms, offered him a kiss. “Mind if I take a minute and listen to these messages? I’d better return some.”

  “Course not. Go ahead. You hungry?”

  Megan nodded as she read the first of the text messages. “Starved,” she said, then she frowned. The texts were from Kate, snarky at first, worried by the end. She pecked out a quick reassurance and apology, then with a grimace started in on the voice mails. Her mom, her dad. Kate, three times. Her parents again. Those were just the ones from Christmas night.

  She dialed her parents’ number.

  “Oh, thank God,” came her mother’s voice. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you answer your cell phone? The cabin number just gives a busy signal.” The words spilled out in a rush.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I, uh, lost power. And I guess I didn’t realize my cell battery died.” Megan tugged her hand through her hair as she paced back and forth in front of the breakfast bar. Guilt for worrying everyone squeezed her gut.

  “So, the power’s back on now?”

  “Yeah.” She winced at the half-truth. The power had been back on for two days.

  “Oh”—her mother sighed, a sound full of relief—“that’s good. So, everything okay? How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Good, actually.” She glanced up at Owen, his shoulders taut under the
dark shirt as he stretched to pull down some bowls.

  “Good?” The hope in her mother’s voice made tears prick at the back of Megan’s eyes.

  “Yeah,” she said. Awe colored her voice and for a moment stole her breath. It was true. She was good. When was the last time she had said that and meant it?

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Owen stage-whispered. “Which do you want?” In one hand, he held a box of Special K, with the other, he shook a box of Lucky Charms at her. He waggled his eyebrows and nodded sideways at the cartoon leprechaun.

  She shook her head at his antics. Right there. He was the reason she could say that and mean it. She muffled the receiver with her hand. “Surprise me.”

  “Is someone there?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. A friend.”

  Her mother paused, and Megan could imagine the expression she made when something didn’t make sense—arched eyebrow, narrowed gaze, lips quirked to one side. “Anyone I know?”

  As Owen poured Lucky Charms into their bowls, he popped an occasional colored marshmallow into his mouth. His eyebrows flew up every time as if he were surprised by the flavor. Megan suppressed a chuckle. “No. A new friend.”

  “A man.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, mother.” A beep interrupted the call. Then another. Kate, she guessed.

  “Megan, what’s going on?” Suppressed excitement undergirded the question.

  Butterflies let loose in her stomach. She inhaled a deep breath and prayed her mother wouldn’t freak out. “I, um, met someone?” Also not exactly true, but she wasn’t broaching the whole he’s-an-ancient-god-who-came-to-life-through-my-snowman conversation. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

  A long pause stretched out. “Oh, Megan,” her mother finally croaked.

  Megan fought back a kneejerk reaction to downplay the situation, but given her realization last night, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At a loss for what to say instead, she cleared her throat. “I’m really sorry I worried you. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay up here.”

  “I’m so glad.” Her mother’s unsaid words hung heavy on the line. “Okay, dear, well, I’ll see you in a few days, right? You’ll be back for Sunday dinner?”

  Shit, Megan hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her gaze flashed to Owen, now sitting on a stool watching her. How did this whole thing with him work? “Um, is it okay if I get back to you?”

  “Sure. I love you, Megan.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, looking away from Owen. Her heart gripped in her chest.

  Overall, the call with her mom left her feeling cautiously hopeful, lighter. She pulled up the text messages that had come in. They were from Kate, as she’d expected. Her best friend’s usual snarkiness did little to hide how badly she’d been worried. Megan fired off another apology.

  “Everything all right?” Owen asked as she slid onto her stool.

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks for making breakfast.” Colorful marshmallow charms dotted the cereal in her bowl. “Good choice,” she said. The milk was cold, the cereal sweet. Her stomach rumbled as she ate. She’d better hurry, the volume of the plow told her Mr. Johansson would soon be done.

  Owen scooped up a mound of cereal. “Box said they were magically delicious.” He cleared his spoon with a big bite.

  “Well, they’re definitely delicious, but only you are both magical and delicious.” She leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. When she sat back, his eyes blazed at her. Holding his heated gaze, she put another spoonful of cereal in her mouth, then made a big show of slowly withdrawing the spoon from between her lips.

  He groaned. “You know—”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Hold that thought.” Eating one more heaping serving, she jumped off her seat and dashed to get the door. She’d been so engrossed in teasing Owen she hadn’t realized the noise of the tractor had cut out. Cold air swirled in when she opened the door. “Hi, Mr. Johansson. Come on in.”

  They shook hands as he entered, then he stomped his boots on the slate entryway. “So good to see ya, Ms. Megan. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too. How are things out there?”

  Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed over kind blue eyes. “This is the durndest snowstorm I’ve seen in years. Down in town there’s only maybe a foot or so, but up here on the mountain things are real bad. County just got the main roads cleared, that’s why it took me a few days to get to ya. Tried to call, but a lot of the lines are down.”

  Megan waved off his explanation. “It’s fine. Thanks for coming. I’ve got some fresh-brewed coffee.”

  “That would be just fine,” Mr. Johansson said as he took off his parka. He finally noticed Owen. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No worries. Mr. Johansson, this is my friend, Owen Winters. Owen, Carl Johansson.” Megan stepped up to the coffeepot, then prepared a tall mug of black coffee, just as he liked it.

  The men shook hands. Megan blushed a little as the older man’s gaze flicked between them. Thank God they were dressed. She handed the mug across the breakfast bar to him.

  “Why, thank ya, Ms. Megan.”

  The three of them sat and made small talk about roads and power outages, about how good ski conditions must be up at the resort. When Carl had asked about the igloo out front, he and Owen engaged in a whole discussion of how they’d made it. Megan admired Owen’s easy manner with the older man. He listened with his full attention, asked questions, made jokes that brought Mr. Johansson’s craggy face to life. When they got to the topic of the weather, Mr. Johansson found a kindred spirit in Owen, who could talk the weather like nobody’s business. Naturally.

  “Be warmer by this weekend, though,” Mr. Johansson said after a while. “I reckon the warmer temps will help clean up all this mess.”

  Owen nodded his head, dropped his gaze. “I imagine you’re right about that.”

  Megan frowned. She tried to catch Owen’s eye, but Mr. Johansson prattled on and Owen gave the older man the respect of his attention.

  “Spring seems to come earlier and earlier every year. Why, time was it wouldn’t crack forty degrees round these parts ’til late January or early February. They’re calling for fifty-five on Friday, providing them weather people know what they’re talking about. Ya never know,” he said. “Well, I best get back to it.” He slid off his stool, extended a hand to Owen. “Good to meet you, son. Any friend of Ms. Megan’s a friend of mine.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Johansson. Thanks for checking in on Megan.”

  The three of them chattered their way out onto the porch. Not having bothered with a coat, Megan hugged herself. The old man hoisted himself into the cab of the tractor. He waved, then the engine started up with a rumbling roar. As Carl drove back down her driveway, Owen wrapped himself around her from behind. His embracing body heat bolstered her against the chill.

  Megan whirled in his arms, her stomach tossing around her sugary breakfast in an unpleasant way, and voiced the niggling concern the men’s conversation had created. “Is the change in weather going to be a problem for you?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Owen gazed at Megan, her concern warming him even as he hesitated to broach this conversation. He felt the weight of his two remaining days, and didn’t really want to devote any part of them to worrying about the passing time. And he certainly didn’t want to worry her. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?” When she opened her mouth to protest, Owen kissed her. He reveled in the cold air that embraced them, drew strength from it. Long, languid kisses later, he pulled back. “I have an idea.”

  She pouted. “You’re changing the subject.”

  He pressed another kiss to her full lips. “I am. So, do you want to hear my idea?”

  She rolled her
eyes, but couldn’t totally restrain the threatening grin. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Let’s go over to Wisp. You’ve never been skiing until you’ve skied with a snow god.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She tried and failed to look unimpressed. “Is that so?”

  “Definitely. What do you say?” He willed her to agree, wanting at least one more carefree day with her before the change in weather saddled them with the pressure of her decision.

  The smile that broke over her face warmed him from the inside. He would never get enough of seeing her happy. “It’s a really good idea, actually. I’d love to.”

  Owen was so pleased he lifted her up and spun her around, earning a lovely giggle from her and a tight embrace as she held on. “Shall we get ready?”

  Megan was a flurry of activity after that, dressing, gathering gear, packing some things into the Jeep Grand Cherokee parked in the garage. After the Jeep’s engine had a few minutes to warm up, they piled in and Megan backed out. “Er, this is going to be interesting,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, Mr. Johansson usually plows me a turnaround on his way out, but I guess with us talking and all, he forgot.”

  “At your service,” he said. He hopped out and walked around her side of the Jeep. Eyes on her, he reached down and palmed the snow’s surface, willed it up and away. Snow whirled in a glittery cloud and scattered itself over the surrounding drifts, opening a rectangular clearing off the far side of the driveway.

  Megan gaped at him through her window. Her lips formed his name.

  Heart racing, power surging through him, he jogged back around and resumed his seat next to her. “Problem solved.”

  “You just…” She glanced from him to the cleared space, and back.

  He nodded, reveled in the wonder playing out over her beautiful face.