He kept his face near my neck and explained, “Do you know that old Travis Tritt song, you know the one where he talks about how there’s a hunger in her eyes that…” he stopped and drew a breath, before continuing in a low voice, “That he would recognize the moment he saw her.”
“I do,” I said and my heart pumped even more fiercely. “The one where he hasn’t met her yet…something about the porch swing…”
“That’s the one,” he whispered. “That started playing in my head the moment I saw you.”
“Mathias,” I whispered, holding tightly to him. I asked softly, “You come out here alone?” It seemed so lonely and I kissed his jaw, smoothing my hands over his thick black hair, delighting in the curls on his neck.
“It’s peaceful out here,” he said, shivering at my touch. He whispered, “I don’t mind being alone, not usually. But these days all I think about is you.”
I drew back enough to see his eyes, my hands resting on his wide shoulders, his curved around my waist. My heart was beating furiously as I regarded him. He was so serious, after all of our laughter on the way here, and it almost undid me completely.
I said softly, “I think about you all the time too. In case you hadn’t realized that.”
He grinned at my words, his dimple deep on his cheek. Unable to resist, I leaned forward to kiss it and then said, “I’m starving, where’s that picnic?”
He laughed and replied, “Your wish is my command.”
Behind the seat was an insulated food bag, resembling a cooler covered in canvas and with a shoulder strap, from which Mathias pulled two plates, two thermoses, and two containers of food, creating a makeshift little table on the bench seat between us.
“Wait,” he said, as I watched in fascination. He arranged things like a server at a ritzy restaurant, at last producing a single plastic poinsettia with a long stem, which he tucked under the edge of my plate. He lifted his eyes and smiled at me and with my whole heart I smiled back. We were facing one another, each with one knee bent atop the seat. He reached over the food and the flower and tucked hair behind my right ear, and I felt tears spring into my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “This is so beautiful.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered back. “So beautiful that it almost hurts me. Let me serve you.”
He opened the Tupperware to reveal sliced cheese, summer sausage and crackers. The other contained the cookies he had promised, which he arranged artfully on my plate.
“We’ll have to share the soup and the hot chocolate,” he said.
“This is so romantic,” I said again. “You are such a love.”
His eyes lit at my words. He said, “I love that, call me that again.”
“Are you fishing for a compliment?” I teased, stacking cheese and sausage onto crackers and getting crumbs all over as I ate. It was warm enough in the cab of the truck to take off our jackets, which Mathias tucked behind the seat. He was wearing his faded jeans that fit him like a cowboy’s and a gray wool sweater that made his shoulders look more powerful and imposing than ever. His black hair fell over his forehead as he narrowed his eyes in teasing speculation.
“Say it again or I’ll start singing,” he warned, humming the first few lines of ‘Twenty-Four Hours of Lovin’,’ again from Best Little Whorehouse.
“I like when you sing,” I told him, giggling, marveling that someone who made me ache to touch him could also have a sense of humor that so totally matched my own. He was goofy, truly, just like me, the way I acted around Clint and Tish, people who really knew me.
“You should hear me in the shower,” he said, stacking a cracker triple-high with cheese.
“Is that an invitation?” I teased back, outright flirting.
He paused with the cracker halfway to his mouth and warned, “You better watch what you ask for.”
I flushed and then laughed as he belted out the chorus. He raised his eyebrows at me as I clapped for his performance, and insisted, “That’s just a taste of what you’re missing.”
“How about a taste of that hot chocolate?” I asked, pointing at it.
He winked at me and unscrewed the top before passing it over. He said, “Careful, it’s still pretty hot.”
I sipped with caution, but it was the perfect temperature, warm and sweet.
“Did you put marshmallows in there too?” I asked.
“Of course. What’s hot chocolate without the marshmallow snowmen floating in it?”
“Snowmen?” I was already smiling.
“You mean your mom didn’t make snowmen out of the marshmallows?”
“How do they stick together?” I asked skeptically.
“Toothpicks of course,” he said. “But don’t worry, there’s no toothpicks in here. Just marshmallows.”
“I’ll have to try that for Millie,” I said, taking another sip. I passed it back to him and as he drank I found myself thinking that our lips had touched the same spot, just like with the coffee mug.
“There’s chicken noodle too, Ma made some this morning,” he said. “It’s my favorite.”
“Are you a little bit spoiled?” I teased him, watching as he poured soup into the thermos lid for me. It smelled amazing.
“What would make you say that? Because I’m the baby boy after three girls? That I was an adorable little shit? Or maybe because my mom still does my laundry?”
He passed the soup to me with a slow grin lifting the right side of his mouth. My eyes moved between his cupid’s bow and his dimple. His mouth was so sexy that I felt hot all along my limbs, my own lips tingling to be pressed to his.
“Thank you,” I told him, taking the soup from his hands. I added, “I can’t even talk because Grandma takes care of laundry at our house. But you could if you had to, right?”
He grimaced, eating another towering stack of cheese and crackers. Mouth full, he said, “Possibly. I think you separate darks and lights or something. It sounds like a pain in the ass.”
I rolled my eyes at him, my mouth also full.
“But I can cook the shit out of a steak,” he said, eyebrows lifting again. “I am a master on the grill.”
“Can you make this?” I asked, lifting the thermos lid to indicate the soup. “Because it’s incredible.”
“No, but Mom’s got the recipe in the kitchen. I bet she would love to teach you,” he said, grinning again.
“If you learn it with me,” I said.
“I am willing to learn anything for you,” he said, his voice light, but his eyes were serious and sincere. He added, “Anything at all.”
“You are such a love,” I said, matching his tone despite the fact that my heart was throbbing in my ears. I heard myself say, “But I do know how to make these sandwich cookies. We always had these as kids.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he said, holding my eyes in his. He added, “You called me a love again. I’m just reveling in that for second here.”
My cheeks were bright pink; I could literally feel the blood pooling there. I said, “Well you are, even if you were spoiled as a little boy.”
“I don’t suppose you want to come closer after we eat?” he asked innocently. “I mean, if you’re chilly…I’m pretty warm over here…”
“Nah,” I teased him, keeping a smile from my face with effort. I said, “I hate cuddling actually.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said in reply, calling my bluff. “I hate all that snuggling stuff too.”
“I especially hate having my neck kissed,” I said, and I was trembling again, as he began clearing the way between us.
He scooped up our plates and capped the thermoses and settled everything on the floor. My heart increased in speed with his every movement; he held my gaze steadily, his eyebrows wicked as he regarded me with nothing between us but the smooth bench seat. I could hardly catch my breath; I was on fire. There was perhaps no more than eighteen inches separating us.
His voice was a little hoarse as he said, “How abo
ut if I just touch your leg? Is that all right? I’ll stay over here…”
I nodded wordlessly; I was sure he could hear my heart beating. He cupped my left knee, which was still bent on the seat. His hand was strong and warm and his touch there ricocheted straight between my legs. I twitched a little, everything inside of me begging to leap towards him and kiss him until my jaw ached. But I stayed still, letting him tease me inch by inch. He held me prisoner with his eyes, smoothing his hand gently over my knee. My entire body pulsated.
“Maybe you could…” I was embarrassingly breathless and a smile lifted one corner of his lips and glinted in his eyes. I whispered, “Maybe it would be all right if you…came over here. With me.”
He scooted just a fraction closer, bringing his left hand to my other knee. He asked, “Are you sure…”
I nodded and yet he still moved in small increments, easing closer as his warm hands moved up my legs, until our faces were close and he was cupping my thighs, just lightly. He said softly, “I love looking at your eyes. They drive me crazy.”
I could smell his breath, which was like an intoxicant. And then, overwhelmed by need, I whispered, “Mathias.”
He threw aside all teasing and took me instantly into his arms, his strong arms that caught me to his heart, which was pounding every bit as thunderously as my own. I thrilled at that, my arms tucked against his chest. He snuggled me close, breathing against my hair, smoothing it from my temple to press warm kisses there too. I closed my eyes and clung to him, letting him hold me.
“You feel so good,” I whispered. “I really don’t hate cuddling. I actually love it.”
“Me too,” he whispered back. And then, “Your hair is so soft. I’ve wanted to put my hands in it since the night I first saw you at Shore Leave.”
“You have?” I marveled.
“The moment you walked up to our table that night I had a funny feeling,” he said. “And by ‘funny’ I mean fucking amazing. All my instincts were screaming at me that this girl is for you. Like I told you the other night, I feel like I’ve known you forever. I don’t know to explain it other than that. But you looked over at me and it was like someone snapped a huge fist and cold-cocked me.”
Emotion was rippling through me, causing tears in my eyes even as I giggled and said, my voice slightly choked up, “Did you just say ‘cold-cocked’?”
He laughed then too, resting his chin on my hair as his arms tightened around me. He said, “Yeah, I also use the word ‘shuttlecock’ whenever possible.”
I laughed harder, pressing my face to his chest. And then I said his name again, because it felt so good on my tongue. Certainly I had said it countless times in my mind. I said, “Mathias. I felt the same thing. I had what my Aunt Jilly would call a ‘notion’ when I looked at you.”
“I kept trying to get your attention that night,” he said. “In case you didn’t notice.”
“I could tell you were surprised to find out that I had a little girl,” I said, though not in an accusatory way.
“Yeah, I was a little surprised,” he admitted. “Just because you’re so young to have a daughter. I was scared then too, that maybe you were married or at least in a committed relationship with her dad. I was trying to be all subtle and ask Jake questions about you on the way home, without being rude, but I was so worried, Camille. I’m so happy you weren’t with anyone. I’d have fought him, if you were, fought for you. I’d have done anything.”
“Mathias James Carter,” I said then, loving that I knew his entire name, happiness pouring over me even as I affected a stern tone. I scolded, “Don’t say such things. I thought you weren’t a violent man.”
“I’m not, usually,” he said. “But if I thought someone was trying to take you away, I would become the most violent man on the face of the planet. I’m telling you, we knew each other in another life. Probably lots of other lives.”
I lifted my face to kiss his neck, getting my arms around his waist. It was crazy, overpowering and beautiful, this desire to melt into him, get as close as humanly possible. I felt the truth of what he said. I licked his neck with the tip of my tongue. He shivered and shifted with a fluid motion, and then claimed my mouth with a sweet, stroking kiss, lifting my chin with the tips of his fingers. We kissed and kissed; I climbed atop him and he settled me against his lap, his hands clutching my hips as I cupped his jaws. My tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him, feeling the sleek texture of the interior of his cheeks, as his own tasted me, voluptuous in my mouth.
When I lifted my face, breathless, my blood riotous within me, his eyes blazed into mine with a nearly-untamed intensity that caused jolts of fire to flare between my legs. He breathed raggedly, his voice hoarse as he said, “Camille.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I whispered, anchored to earth only by his firm grip on my hips. “But I…”
He drew in a deep breath and then said intently, “I never want to stop kissing you either. Holy shit. But I won’t have you thinking that this is all I want from you…I want you to know that. I don’t want to rush you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do know it,” I said back, keeping my hands upon his face. “I really do.”
“Maybe one more though,” he said then, pulling me back to him, tilting my head into his kiss, one hand buried in my hair as his tongue circled mine and stroked the sensitive skin of my inner lips. I had never been kissed this way, so absolutely that longing overtook every breath, each nerve ending. I curled my fingers into his hair, smoothed my palms down his neck, over his shoulders, and he made a low, groaning sound in his throat and abruptly broke the contact of our mouths, tipping his forehead just above and between my breasts; I was so wet and there was a feral part of me, growing ever stronger, that envisioned what would happen if I unzipped and yanked down his jeans.
“Come here,” he said then, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He pressed a soft kiss upon my sweater, on the fullest part of my left breast. And then my right, his eyes closed. I could see the pulse beating in his throat as he leaned back, matching the pace of mine. His eyes were blue flames. He said, “Camille, you are the most beautiful and desirable woman on this earth. Jesus, if you knew how you look right now. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to suppress my animal urges.”
Shockwaves of equal parts desire and tenderness tidal-waved through me. I bent and traced my tongue lightly over his dimple, then said softly, “You are a total love.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll be grateful until the day I die,” he said then, passionately, holding me tightly. “Stay here, in my arms. The lights are already starting.”
He shifted us so that we were both facing the windshield, keeping me on his lap. I linked our fingers and rested them upon my belly, delighting in his arms wrapped around me. His chin was just at my left temple, my head on his shoulder. Outside in the frozen night the northern sky put on a hot-pink and neon-green wonderland of a show for us, curling and twisting like living entities up there in the icy-clear black heavens. It was breathtaking out here with no streetlights to dim a thing. We kept the radio low, tuned to the country station out of Bemidji, and Mathias rubbed the backs of my hands with his thumbs, which was as sensual as it was endearing. He pressed soft kisses to my hair, the side of my forehead, and I turned my face against his shoulder time and again, letting my lips touch his neck, breathing in his scent.
We talked and talked as the lights danced and flared and bloomed like giant tulips, intertwining their colors.
“How did you pick Millie’s name?” he asked.
“It’s supposed to be like my nickname,” I explained. “Milla. Mom always called me that, and then her middle name is Joelle, after my mom. Millie Jo.”
“It’s cute, it suits her,” he said.
“I think so too.”
“What’s your best Christmas memory?” he asked, snuggling me closer.
“There were a lot of great ones when I was little, but last year with Millie
Jo was special since it was her first. She had this little footie with curly elf toes.”
“She was almost a year old?”
I nodded. “She opened a few of her presents on her own, but she was more interested in the wrapping paper. Everyone spoiled her and Rae with presents, same as they did last night, but it’s so fun to watch them.”
“That’s Justin and Jilly’s little girl?”
I nodded again. “She and Millie are the best of friends. I’m worried that they’ll get into more and more trouble as they get older. Mom says they remind her of Aunt Jilly and her as little girls.”
“I can just picture you alone last Christmas. I wish I would have been here,” he said. “I didn’t even get home for Christmas. I couldn’t get the time off.”
“I was so exhausted last year,” I told him. “Millie didn’t sleep through the night until just last spring. Grandma and Aunt Ellen helped me as best they could, but Millie has never taken to a bottle.” And then I flushed a little as I sensed Mathias smiling behind me.
Sure enough, he said quietly, “Well, I can understand that, when the alternative is so much better. I mean, a hundred times better.”
I turned my cheek to him again, giggling a little. He kissed my hair and squeezed my fingers with his, held securely in his hands. We watched the lights in silence for a time, snuggling close, before I observed, “Back home you couldn’t even see the stars on any given night. Too much light pollution.”
“Do you miss Chicago?” he asked. “That’s where you grew up. It doesn’t seem right. I mean I can’t imagine you there, in a crowded, dirty city.”
“I miss it there now and again, the way you’d miss the place you were raised,” I said. “But when I think back to those days I almost can’t imagine it either. Private school, stupid snobby friends, like the guys you talked about from college, who couldn’t bait a hook. I hated that pretentious mentality, but I didn’t understand that I hated it until I moved here and things changed so much. Oh God, they changed so much. It’s been hard, but I’m not sorry it happened.” Words spilled forth as I reflected on the past two and a half years. I said, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Page 18