Maybe Mac was more skilled than she was in the kitchen. The chances were good, since almost anyone would be more skilled. She’d never been drawn to cooking, and working in hotel management allowed her to eat meals prepared by the chef she’d hired.
Sergei, her current chef, had offered to provide her with precooked food to bring up here. She should have taken him up on it, but in a moment of temporary insanity, she’d told him she wanted to try making a modified Thanksgiving dinner herself. He’d recommended Cornish hen as being simple and easy.
“Smells good.” Mac walked out of the bedroom wearing his jeans and shirt. He’d put on his socks, but not his shoes, and his dark hair was rumpled.
She tried not to stare, but he was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever shared a kitchen with. “I haven’t cooked anything yet.”
“Then it must be you that smells so delicious.” He walked over, drew her into his arms and leaned down to sniff the curve of her neck. “It’s you. You smell like apple pie.” He nuzzled behind her ear.
She was so easy. One little nuzzle and her body turned into soft wax. She put up a token protest. “We need to cook up these eggs.”
“I’m not as interested in the eggs as I thought.” Loosening the tie of her robe, he slipped his hands inside. “Matter of fact, I don’t give a damn about the eggs.”
As he caressed her, moving his hands over her breasts, her tummy, and finally reaching between her thighs, she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for the eggs, either. “You said you were hungry.”
“I am.” He backed her against the counter. “But I have a taste for something else.” As her robe fell open, he dropped to his knees.
He nudged her thighs apart. “I never could resist a woman wearing sock-monkey slippers.” His warm breath touched her very wet curls.
She shivered in anticipation. When his tongue made contact, she lost all inclination to resist. Not only that, but she aided and abetted, tilting her hips forward and tunneling her fingers through his hair to hold him right there…right there. He was just as skilled with his mouth as he was with his hands, bringing her to a climax in an embarrassingly short time.
As her world spun crazily, he rose to his feet and kissed her full on the mouth, bringing with him the flavor of unleashed desire. The commanding pressure of that kiss made her dizzy with pleasure.
“I need you again,” he murmured.
She thought he might carry her back to the bedroom, but instead he shoved aside the bowl and frying pan, sending the carton of eggs to the floor. “Mac, the eggs. We—”
“Don’t care.” He hoisted her to the counter and his mouth covered hers. His zipper rasped, a condom packet crinkled, and then he was there, seeking, finding and pushing deep.
His first thrust nearly lifted her off the smooth surface. Still kissing her, he pulled her to the rounded edge of the counter and held her hips as he sought her heat in a steady, relentless rhythm.
She gripped his shoulders as her body tightened. The waves of an orgasm surged closer with each rocking motion of his hips. What a glorious lover he was.
He lifted his mouth from hers, and his breathing grew labored as he continued to pump into her. “Can’t…wait.”
“Don’t stop.” Digging her fingers into his muscular shoulders, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on the delicious tension, feeling it ratchet higher, and higher yet, until…yes. The spasms shook her, sending heat rocketing through from her head to the tips of her toes.
With one last powerful thrust, he came, his big body shuddering in reaction. Breathing hard, he stood braced against her for several seconds. Finally he drew in a long, shaky breath. “That was incredible.”
Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes, still dark with passion. “You have a real knack for this.”
“You inspire me.”
She met his gaze. “That’s good.” With any other man, this would be the moment for exchanging emotionally charged statements, statements that could ruin their carefree sexual adventure. “Because I’m sure as hell not feeding you very well.”
“True.” He glanced down at the smashed cartoon of eggs. “I don’t think those can be salvaged.”
“Uh, no. And it won’t be a lot of fun to clean up, either.”
“I’ll do it when I come back.” He eased away from her and headed into the bedroom.
Beth wiggled down from the counter, being careful not to step in the gooey egg mess. Retying her bathrobe, she grabbed a paper towel from a holder on the counter and crouched beside the oozing carton.
She managed to get the carton into the garbage with minimal dripping on the floor. As she started to work on the floor itself, Mac returned.
“Seriously, let me clean it up. I’m the one who shoved them off the counter.”
She stood and handed him the paper towel. “It was a very dramatic and exciting move.”
“Maybe, but it was also short-sighted…unless you have another carton?”
“Sorry.”
“Then we don’t have eggs to work with.”
“Just as well. I’m no good at cooking them, anyway, and we’ve already established that you’re not one of those bachelors from the movies who can whip up an omelet on a moment’s notice.”
He laughed. “No, I’m not, but what are we going to eat?”
“I have chips and dip.”
“Chips with ridges?”
She walked to the cupboard and pulled out the bag.
“Perfect. Onion dip?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Not in my book.” Mac grinned at her. “Now, if you just had some beer…”
“I don’t. But I do have root beer.”
“That’s probably better.” He wiped up a good portion of the runny yellow glop on the floor and stood to throw away the paper towel in the trash can before grabbing another one. “I’ll need my wits about me so I can whip your ass at Sorry!.”
“Think again, hotshot.” There was something endearing about a rugged guy who wanted to play a board game. “I’m the Sorry! champion of the Tierney family.”
He glanced up from his work. “Prepare to meet your match.”
It was an innocent comment, which she knew he hadn’t meant literally, but it caught her off guard and she was temporarily at a loss for words.
“Just an expression,” he said softly.
“Oh, yeah.” She recovered quickly. “I knew you didn’t really mean…well, we’ve been over that. We’ve said where we each stand.”
“Absolutely.” He went back to cleaning the floor. “I love how uninhibited you are. I don’t know if you’re always so spontaneous, but—”
“Not really.” She walked over to the refrigerator and took out a carton of onion dip as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “I’m sure it’s because we’re in this unique situation where we’re confident neither of us is looking for something long-term.”
“That’s what I thought.” He dampened a third paper towel and wiped the last of the egg from the floor.
“It’s good to be on the same page.” And given the rewards of said page, she’d damn well stay on it.
WHILE BETH GOT THEIR SNACKS organized, Mac picked up the empty log carrier sitting beside the hearth. Then he put on his boots and coat and headed out the back door to get wood from the stash on the porch. The cold air might slap some sense into him.
Beth still thought they were having a no-strings-attached romp. He couldn’t argue with the romp part. He’d never sacrificed a carton of eggs because he required counter space for sex.
But he’d been desperate to make love to her again, afraid that if he didn’t change her mind about a commitment this weekend, he might never get another chance. Certainly nothing this perfect, where they were isolated from the rest of the world.
Every minute he spent with her strengthened his belief that they shared a future. She was quickly becoming his gold standard, and if they didn’t end up together, he wond
ered if anyone else would measure up.
But how to convince someone who believed just as strongly in no strings? Apparently his instinctive strategy involved lots of good sex in the hope that she wouldn’t want to give him up on Sunday. Yet he wanted her to care for him and not just the sex they shared. So he should take the heat down a notch—assuming he could. Playing Sorry! was a step in the right direction.
Some snow had blown under the porch roof, but a canvas cover protected the wood rack. Pulling it off, Mac loaded up the log carrier and covered the wood again. A hot tub sat on the other side of the porch, its vinyl lid mounded with snow.
Mac immediately thought of the fun he and Beth could have in that hot tub if the weather cleared tomorrow. The heavily wooded slope behind the cabin afforded a fair amount of privacy. Then he dismissed the idea. He needed fewer reasons to have sex with her, not more.
As he started back toward the door, he noticed two pairs of snowshoes hanging on the wall. Now, that would be a better idea than the hot tub. He didn’t know a single person who’d tried having sex on snowshoes.
Once he was inside again, he carried the wood over to the fire. Beth was crouched in front of it, trying to coax some life out of the dying embers. She still wore the robe and monkey slippers, which meant that only a terry-cloth sash kept him from touching her naked body.
He banished that tempting thought as he set down the log carrier. “I brought reinforcements.”
“Bless you.” She reached for a log.
“Wait.” He caught her arm and hunkered down beside her. If he looked closely, he’d be able to glimpse her creamy breasts through a gap in the front of her robe. He didn’t look. “Let me do this. You might get splinters.”
“Hey, Mr. Macho Man, you’re not wearing gloves, either. You could also get splinters.” She smiled at him, but there was definitely a challenge in those green eyes.
“I’m used to it.” He picked up a small log and set it on the coals.
“Me, too.” She picked up a slightly larger log and set it crossways on top of his. “In case you didn’t notice, I had a blazing fire going when you arrived this afternoon.”
“I realize that.” He added another log, balancing it so it would catch the flames starting to lick at the wood. “That doesn’t change the fact that my hands are a lot tougher than yours. See?” He took her hand and held it up beside his. Touching her without pulling her into his arms took discipline, but he did it.
“Yikes, your fingers are ice-cold!”
“And calloused.” He kissed her palm. “Yours are soft and tender.” He nibbled at her little finger. “Splinter bait.”
She burst out laughing. “Splinter bait? Where did you come up with that?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled at her. “The point is—”
“You want to do your superhero thing.” Laughter had erased the challenging light in her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then, if it makes you happy.” She stood. “Let me take your coat.”
“Thanks.” He gave her the coat, and while she walked over to the row of hooks by the front door, he sat on the couch and took off his boots. He was careful not to allow his movements to dislodge the Sorry! game she’d carefully set up on the middle cushion.
She’d found a TV table somewhere and had placed it in front of the couch to hold a wicker basket of chips and the plastic container of onion dip. His root-beer bottle sat on a coaster on the end table next to him. They were ready to party.
“But just so we’re being clear.” She tightened the sash on her robe as she walked back to the couch and sat on the other side of the game board. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, and I wouldn’t want you to change.” He knew that establishing her independence had been her focus this weekend, and he appreciated that she could still accept small kindnesses offered by a lover.
He hesitated before he spoke again, not wanting to ask the question, but feeling as if he should, anyway, now that they were talking about it. “Am I messing up your plan by being here?”
She looked into his eyes for a moment. “I think you’re becoming an extension of my plan.”
“Oh?”
“I never wanted to abandon the idea of sex, even if I abandoned the idea of marriage. Being here with you demonstrates that I don’t have to give it up, especially if I find like-minded men who agree with my thinking on the subject.”
“I see.” He thought of her hooking up with other “like-minded” guys, and wanted to punch something. It fit her view of the future, but it sure as hell didn’t fit his.
“Which colors do you want?”
He glanced down at the board. Right. They were going to play Sorry!. “Red and yellow.”
“Perfect. That’s how I set it up, so I could have green and blue. Draw a card.”
He lost the draw and she got to go first. She chortled like a little kid, and right away, he knew this would be fun.
Was she truly blind to how well-matched they were? She might be if she thought they were only getting along this well because they had no expectations of each other. She’d been working up to this conclusion for years, and she seemed proud of her insight and determined to hold on to it no matter what. He sighed, not sure how to change her mind without ticking her off in the process.
Obviously misunderstanding the sigh, she grinned and threw a chip at him. “Get used to it, dude. I warned you I’m awesome at this game.”
“Don’t get cocky, dudette.” He used the chip to scoop up some onion dip. “I will prevail.” Somehow, he would get her to adjust her thinking. She might not be able to see it yet, but they belonged together.
CHAPTER SIX
MAC PLAYED SORRY! LIKE his hair was on fire, but despite that, he lost the first game. Beth watched for any signs of male petulance over that, and found none. Instead, he suggested a rematch.
He wasn’t about to give up, but he wasn’t crabby about his poor showing, either. She’d known men who couldn’t lose without sulking, but Mac didn’t appear to be one of them. He won the second game, so she campaigned for one more to break the tie as they let the fire die down.
Toward the end of the third game, she drew the Sorry! card and sent one of his pieces back to its starting point. “Sorry!”
“No, you’re not.”
She smirked at him and scooped up a handful of crumbs from the bottom of the chip basket.
When he drew the Sorry! card two moves later, he gave an evil laugh as he returned her token to her home base. “Revenge is sweet.”
But his revenge didn’t last, and in the end, she was the victor. Picking up the cards, she began shuffling them as she chanted and bobbed her head in time to the rhythm. “I won, oh, yeah, I won.”
“No gloating, smarty-pants.”
“Gloating is part of the fun.” She glanced over and discovered him watching her with amusement. “If you win—which won’t happen in this lifetime, but let’s imagine that it could—then I give you permission to gloat.”
“Thanks.” He held her gaze a moment longer before turning his attention to the game. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never enjoyed a snowstorm this much.”
“Me, neither. And I haven’t thought about work in hours.” He’d told her this afternoon that she’d make time in her life for a man if it mattered enough. Apparently, Mac could make her forget all about her job. That was more than a little bit scary.
Mac put the lid on the game box. “This is the point where I should head home, but I don’t think I can get my truck out and I’m not crazy about walking back.”
She stared at him in confusion. “You were planning to go home?”
“Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do?” He rested the box on his knees and looked at her.
“Well, I—” What was going on? They’d had some excellent sex followed by three rowdy games of Sorry!, and she’d just assumed that he’d spend the night in the king-size bed with her. True, she was somewhat
worried because she really wanted him there, but she’d decided to deal with her growing attachment later, after the weekend was over. “I…just thought you were staying.”
He glanced up. “Are you inviting me, then?”
“Of course! I didn’t think I needed to. I expected…” She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, boy.” She looked at him. “We said no expectations, right?”
“That’s what you said.” But there was no condemnation in his voice.
“And I meant it, too. I truly did. So forget about what I expected. I’m inviting you to stay, and I hope you will, not just because you’re snowed in and have no choice, but because you want to.”
He smiled. “Oh, I want to.”
“Good.” Her heart beat faster. “That’s good.”
“But I’m not taking anything for granted.”
“I won’t, either. Is it okay to leave the fire, do you think?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” He stood up, the game box in one hand.
“Then I guess we should…”
“Go to bed?”
“Yes.” She picked up the empty dip container and the chip basket. She must still have expectations, because she kept thinking he’d sweep her into his arms and take her there. But he didn’t. He seemed to be waiting for her to direct the action.
So she did. “You go ahead. I’ll get the lights out here.”
“All right.”
“You’re sure you want to stay?”
His hot gaze left no doubt. “Absolutely.”
So kiss me! Ravish me! “Then I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Great.” He walked into the bedroom, depositing the game on the kitchen table on his way past it.
The dynamic between them had changed, and she felt off balance. In fact, she was shaky, as if she’d had too much caffeine. How silly. She’d already had wild sex with this guy twice, and the prospect of climbing into bed with him again shouldn’t feel like cliff diving. So why did his sudden distance matter?
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