Frostbite

by Moira McTark

  It sounded lame even to himself.

  He shucked his pants and looked up at her. She held the edge of the comforter against her neck in a trembling fist. He lifted it up just enough to slide underneath and pulled her into his arms.

  “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay....” He said it again and again, speaking into her hair, her neck, closing his eyes and holding her tight when it sounded more like a plea than reassurance. He said it praying it would be true. He ran every damn word he’d said to her that morning through his head and wished he could take them all back. She was so fragile, so vulnerable in his arms, and it was because of a damn fight with him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her forehead. “So sorry.”

  He held her close to him, stroking her skin until her breathing returned to normal. With her arms tucked into his sides, her palms against his chest, she turned her face up to look at him. “How did you find me?”

  “I was lucky.” He closed his eyes. It was all he could manage without his voice cracking, betraying the emotion that welled within him—guilt, fear, relief…anger.

  Ryan’s grip around her was firm, holding her body tight against the solid planes of his chest, torso and legs. Bethany could feel his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his every breath, and the soft brush of hair from his legs tickling her skin. She felt safe; safer than she ever had before.

  Freezing and lost in the woods, when she’d thought it was over, she realized how desperately she wanted to live. How desperately she wanted another chance to let Ryan show her how. And a second later, she’d heard her name, and his arms came around her.

  Now, as she peered up at him from her warm cocoon, she realized her goals didn’t have to change, didn’t have to suffer. There was a connection between them, and she didn’t want to sever it. They were alone. This was their time, their chance to be together.

  His jaw was set, lips pulled in a taut line. He wouldn’t look at her. Even without the benefit of his expressive eyes, she could read the frustration and fear etched across his face. She’d risked both of their lives because of her own stupid, rash actions.

  The bitter irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her.

  She swallowed hard and rested her hand over Ryan’s heart. “I could have died out there. If you’d turned back, I would have.”

  He looked down at her. “I wouldn’t have turned back, not until I found you.”

  “So we both could have died.”

  Ignoring her statement, he tightened his arms around her. The muscles, bunched so tightly throughout his body, seemed to loosen a bit with his next breath. “You’ve stopped shaking.”

  “Yes, I guess I have.” She rested her forehead against his cheek, smoothed her palm across his chest. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, looking down into her face. “Are you hurt anywhere? Your fingers or toes...are they numb, can you move them?”

  She brushed her fingertips across the line of his collarbone then sifted them through his hair, relishing the texture of the thick strands. She wiggled her toes then ran them up the back of his calf. “I’m okay, Ryan.”

  He swallowed, looked away, then dropped his head forward, blocking her view of his eyes. But she could feel him respond to her touch as he grew thick between her thighs. Her heart tripped in her chest.

  “It killed me to see you like that, lying there, covered in snow, nearly unconscious. I couldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, especially not because of some damn fight with me. I’m sorry I pushed. I shouldn’t—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was angry…because I knew you were right. I...I’m sorry.”

  Supported on one elbow at her side, he shook his head, staring at her with haunted eyes. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” His voice wavered when he spoke. “You don’t understand…. I couldn’t live with myself if…”

  Her heart ached with guilt and gratitude. Cupping the side of his face, she whispered, “I’m okay.”

  She brushed her thumb against his bottom lip, and he tensed against her.

  “Beth, I shouldn’t—”

  His words were cut short when she captured his mouth with her own. He pulled back, his eyes searching hers.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I need you.” She sought his mouth again, and this time their lips parted. Tongues met and mated in a wet caress that sent heat spiraling through her body.

  Ryan gripped her arms.

  She was certain he would push her way, that he’d had enough of her indecision. But instead, he took control, devoured her, invaded her with his plundering tongue. He stroked her arms, her hips, her legs, every touch like a claim, a mark of ownership. She wanted it, wanted to be his, just for this time.

  Ryan rolled forward and pressed her into the bed. He ran his hand from her shoulder, down her breast, over her belly and between her legs to slip two fingers deep inside of her. She clenched around him and rocked her hips to take more.

  His thick fingers moved in and out as his thumb brushed back and forth over her erect clit. Her breath came in shallow pants, and her pussy pulsed with need, trickling her juices between her cheeks.

  Through gritted teeth, he growled, “I can’t wait.”

  “Please, take me,” she urged, desperate for him to be inside of her.

  Leaning over the side of the bed, he pulled out a condom and, kneeling between her legs, rolled it over his thick cock.

  His mouth came down, demanding entry into hers as he slid into the moist hold of her pussy. She opened wide to him, eager to take his tongue and cock as deeply as she could. She wanted him to invade her with his heat, melt the core of ice she’d maintained so long.

  Caressing her palate with a soft sweep of his tongue, he shifted his hips and brushed her clit in a slow rub that sent goose bumps streaking across her superheated skin. A sheen of sweat covered them both, and their bodies moved together in a wet, sensual glide.

  Heat pulsed through her, constricting her sheath around him as he drove in and out of her slick channel. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, and her neck arched.

  “Harder,” she pleaded.

  He planted a hand at the wall above her head and cupped her ass with the other, deepening his invasion with every thrust. The sounds of their bodies meeting and parting, the wet suction of her inner walls as they hugged him with rhythmic pulls, punctuated by their breathless pants, filled the room.

  His balls slapped against her faster, his pelvis brushed her clit harder with every stroke, until she was delirious with her need for release. With every thrust she cried out, clenching around him. With every pull, she dragged the air back into her lungs. At last he drove into her and held. Rocking back and forth over her trapped clit, he growled his command. “Come with me.”

  Pleasure crashed through her with obliterating force and rushed to every point in her body, flooding her senses and drowning her restraint. She screamed his name, clinging desperately to him until his mouth again found hers and, hungrily, they swallowed each other’s pleasured cries.

  —

  They’d slept in each other’s arms, and waking to Ryan’s sensual exploration was pure bliss. Bethany couldn’t remember ever feeling so right, so good.

  He gazed down at her and stroked a tangled curl behind her ear. “Do you think we should get up?”

  Bethany sat forward, her muscles stiff and achy. “It’s probably a good idea.”

  Pushing the covers back, she stood on wobbly legs, her senses shocked by the assault of cool air on her skin. But then Ryan was beside her, a towel tied around his waist, offering a plush, terrycloth robe. The strong arms that held it around her enveloped her in warm, dry comfort. Ryan’s embrace lasted a few seconds before he shifted, and suddenly, she was off the ground, her back supported by his one arm, her legs draped over the other. She started to protest being treated like an invalid. “Please, I can wa—”

  “Be quiet, Beth.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, conceding the
re were far worse things than being swept off her feet and carried princess style through the lodge. Like dying of exposure in a blizzard. Pinching her eyes shut, she tried to banish the thoughts of what might have happened if Ryan hadn’t been so driven to find her. If that gut of his—the one she always doubted—hadn’t come through. But it had; he had. Suddenly, she felt protected and secure in a way she couldn’t ever remember feeling before, and all she could do was snuggle into the strength of his arms.

  Walking past the bedrooms, Ryan carried her into the lounge and gingerly set her in a chair close to the fireplace. Still wrapped in a towel, he hunched forward to arrange the kindling and start a fire.

  Bethany tucked her feet under her and watched him. He never seemed at a loss for what to do. Each step followed the last without a break in the rhythm of his action, no matter the task. She admired his steady confidence and couldn’t help but feel shallow for labeling such a gift ego. Maybe she’d been jealous. Maybe it was lack of understanding on her part.

  The muscles of his back flexed as he rocked back on his heels and the fire flared in the hearth. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see him for what he truly was. Mind-blowingly sexy and staggeringly capable. Funny. Smart. Successful. He was everything a woman could want. She trusted him. This was right.

  Ryan rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together. “Give me one minute, and I’ll be back with some clothes.”

  “I’m fine. Take your time.”

  He nodded and headed toward the bedrooms. When he returned, he was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a pale blue oxford open halfway down his chest. He dropped a bundle of clothing and supplies at the side of the chair and began sorting through.

  Bethany’s brows pulled together. “A blow dryer?”

  “You need to get your head dry, and I want you to stay by the fire.”

  “Ryan, I’m fine.”

  He fixed her with a stare that all but screamed, “You nearly killed us both today.”

  She decided it was best to humor him.

  “Let’s get you into some warm clothes.”

  Bethany pulled her feet from underneath her and stood, hesitant to relinquish the warmth of one cover for another.

  “Take off the robe.”

  She dropped the garment and stood naked before him. His gaze smoldered as it raked over her bare skin from toe to head, ending at her eyes.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  To hear Ryan call her beautiful made her skin flame with more heat than the fire burning in the hearth.

  “It’s hard not to stare when we work together, but seeing you like this. Naked, free, uninhibited… I don’t know how I could ever let you put clothes on again—oh shit.” He shook his head. “Put these on. Shit, shit.”

  Was he serious? Looking at her was enough to short circuit his brain? She couldn’t hold back her smile of pleasure. And then she realized he was handing her a pair of white boxers and charcoal sweatpants. “You want me to wear your shorts?”

  He glanced back at her, the glint of challenge in his eyes. “It’s another layer. Just put them on.”

  Feeling more accommodating than usual, she slipped her legs through the holes and pulled the elastic waist up to her hips, folding it over twice in an effort to keep them up.

  Ryan swallowed hard and handed her the sweatpants.

  When she had them on, he seemed to regain his focus, and she felt a little less than beautiful. The white turtleneck was next, then the fleece, and finally, the icing on the ugly cake, a pair of huge, white athletic socks. Fully dressed, she glanced at her reflection in the window and grimaced. It wasn’t fair. Ryan couldn’t look sexier, walking around in his faded jeans, loose shirt and bare feet, and she looked like Frumpzilla. “Why don’t you have more layers on?”

  “Because I don’t need them. But I think you do. And right now, I trust my judgment over yours.”

  There it was. The zing she’d been waiting for.

  “I’ll give you that one, because you earned it saving my life. But don’t get any ideas about throwing this poor judgment business in my face every time we disagree.”

  Ryan winked at her. “I get it for two days, and then I’m done.”

  Two days to let him gloat was fair. There was no way they wouldn’t be rescued by then. “I can live with that.”

  “Good. Sit down.” He plugged the blow dryer into an outlet on the wall beside them and pulled a small, black comb out of his back pocket.

  Her brows knit at the sight of it. It was better than a fork, but running through her rat’s nest of hair with that fine-toothed instrument of torture was a task she didn’t relish. Extending her hand with a reluctant sigh, she waited for the comb.

  “I’ve got it.” Ryan circled her chair. When she tried to follow him with her questioning gaze, he palmed the top of her head and turned her to face forward. “I can see where the worst knots are this way.”

  The idea of a man jerking a comb through her hair, her incredibly unruly hair that hadn’t been combed in over twenty-four hours, made her stomach clench. Her mind race with visions of bald patches and bloody clumps of matted hair strewn around her. About to protest, she stopped when his gentle hands began to work gingerly through her tangled locks.

  Starting at the ends, he was patient, his touch softer than she would have thought possible. And, amazingly, it felt good. Soon, her neck rolled back on her shoulders, and she gave in to the pleasure and relaxation of the pampered treatment. Ryan moved through the layers of her hair, silently teasing out the strands until they hung in damp tendrils around her face.

  “A girl could get used to this,” she groaned in sleepy bliss.

  Ryan chuckled behind her and turned on the blow dryer, sweeping it back and forth around her head.

  He was too good to be true. “Don’t even tell me your extensive resume includes a stint as a hairdresser.”

  “No, afraid not. Comb and dry is as far as I go. Lean forward. I want to get underneath.”

  Bending as instructed, she felt his fingers run through the heavy mass at the base of her scull, pulling the strands up to let the air circulate beneath. “You do this for all the girls you get trapped with on the side of a mountain? I’m serious,” she said, adding a little volume to be heard over the blowing air. “Where did you pick up the salon skills?”

  “It’s just sense. That, and I’ve seen it done a few times.”

  “You pay attention to everything?”

  “I guess so. I like to know why people do the things they do; what makes them tick.”

  Even as the hot air blasted through her hair, a shiver crept over her skin.

  There was a part of her that wanted to know what he thought of her, wanted to hear what he thought was good. If there was some warm spot she didn’t know about that he had the insight to recognize. If he could help fix that cold, hard part of her she couldn’t seem to stop forcing to the surface of her personality.

  Chapter Five

  January 23

  It was morning again. Only this was a morning unlike any Bethany could remember. Sprawled across their bed, she was naked, her legs intertwined with Ryan’s, her body held in his solid embrace, the rhythmic drum of his heart the only sound to permeate her consciousness. It was heaven; something she could get used to rather easily if she let her guard down enough. Something she would be certain not to do during the course of this liaison.

  She still had a plan, and while a pit stop to smell the roses or soak up the attention of an incredible man was a part of it, she wasn’t ready to forget her goals altogether.

  She liked the limited intimacy. There were no strings, no commitments, no worry her life would be thrown off track. This was a brief affair, a long-suffering itch at last getting a good scratch. They could make love over and over again, he could give her a taste of physical intimacy she’d been so deprived of, and anything else he wanted...until the snow stopped. And then she would resume life and business as she knew it. Ryan might be behind her every unexpe
cted smile, but she had a plan to stick to, and the sexy man she was currently wrapped around wasn’t part of it.

  His chest rose beneath her cheek with a deep breath and slow shift of skin. “Morning, baby.”

  “Morning. Sleep okay?” She pushed up from his chest and leaned into his shoulder as he nodded with a sleepy smile.

  “You hungry?” he asked, rubbing at his stubbled jaw.

  They hadn’t eaten much more than a plate of cheese and fruit last night before they got distracted and found themselves back in bed. The hallway and then the bed. So the answer was her resounding, “Yes,” followed by the soft rumble of her stomach sounding approval at the thought of food.

  “Yeah, me too.” Kicking off the drowsy haze of sleep, Ryan flipped around so he was half leaning on top of her. Skimming down her body, he dropped several kisses across her breast before sucking the nipple into his mouth with one long draw.

  Bethany writhed under his attention, relishing the contrast of his silky tongue and prickly scruff against her skin until he popped off and looked up into her eyes. “How about you go take a shower, and I’ll start some grub?”

  “You’ll make breakfast? Pulling out all the stops, huh?”

  He backed off the bed and winked. “I’m a closer, what can I say?”

  Watching him tug on the faded jeans with nothing underneath, she couldn’t think of a comeback.

  —

  The fridge was stocked. Ryan riffled through the drawers, salivating as he took inventory. Three bottles of chilled champagne, smoked salmon, fillets, asparagus, baby carrots and zucchini, caviar, foie gras, lobster tails, and an assortment of other prepared sides with illegible scrawl across the plastic-wrapped tops. His stomach growled as he tried to decide on which delicacy to indulge in first. Maybe lobster with a champagne sauce for lunch? He couldn’t wait to get a peek at the pantry.

  He tucked the eggs, butter, cream and a basket of fresh berries into the crook of his arm and dropped the selection on the counter. Turning for the pantry, he grabbed flour, sugar, salt and vanilla. He’d make his world-famous crepes for breakfast.