by Anthology
Trixie sighed. “That’s too bad.” She kissed Zeus’s bald skull.
“Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just that, well, I thought you might help me out with my son’s place up at Lake Tahoe,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to drag you away from where you’re happy.”
He sketched the curve of Zeus’s tongue, which seemed to have grown another inch. He’d heard Trixie had a few grown kids, so he didn’t know why she’d need his help with anything, but he was thinking long-term with the good neighbor thing. “What kind of help do you need?”
“Oh, no. You’re happy as a clam here. You probably hate the snow, anyway, and they just got inches and inches of it.”
Growing up south of L.A., he associated snow with the best family vacations they’d ever had. No school, sledding, lobbing snowballs at his dad. “I love snow, actually. I didn’t realize it had come so early this year.”
“My son Mark has a cabin up there. I’m worried about the pipes freezing. He hasn’t gone up and winterized it yet. He’s so busy with Rose and his work, you know? And Liam and April have lives of their own. I suppose I’ll go, even though I do hate driving in the mountains.”
He assumed the stream of names belonged to the rest of the family, people he’d never met. “I’d be happy to go.”
“What about your work?”
He pointed at his fishing tackle box filled with supplies. “It’s portable. I can work anywhere.” The thought of being up at Tahoe with fresh powder under his feet was appealing. The sting of screwing up yet another relationship lingered, and a change of backdrop might help.
And what his sister had told him about Sasha had started to bother him. It couldn’t be true. Surely he would’ve noticed. But… if it were…
An odd tightness twisted his gut whenever he thought of her. Was it guilt? Embarrassment? Regret?
Glee?
“I’d be happy to go up there for you guys. Just tell me when and where.”
Trixie beamed, her eyes as wide as the dog’s. “Really? How wonderful. You could go this weekend? On such short notice?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“I hope so, Jake,” she said with a smile. “I sure hope so.”
6
JUST AFTER NIGHTFALL ON FRIDAY evening, Sasha stomped the slush off her boots and pushed open the door to the mountain cabin. Snowflakes swirled around her, the first to fall in a fresh storm that was coming in. She’d taken a vacation day and drive up early. If she hadn’t, she might’ve gotten stuck on I-80 in her Beetle like a yuppie Donner Party of one.
She flicked on the lights and whistled.
Yes! Gorgeous honey-colored wood surfaces everywhere, all decorated with a woodsy log-cabin chic that she loved. Moving quickly to keep the wind and snow outside, she hauled in her backpack and groceries, then kicked the door shut behind her.
How could she thank Jody enough for this? And the people who shared it with her in the first place?
Incredible. She never would’ve rented a cabin like this on her own. She would’ve felt silly, one person in a big place like this, and after her engagement failed, she’d vowed to really, really get over Jake Lapinski before she dated anyone else.
Gee, wonder why she was still single?
No negative self-talk, no negative self-talk…
She left her boots near the front door and peeked into the series of doorways off the hall that stretched ahead of her. There were four bedrooms, each in a cozy snowshoe theme, before a steep, winding staircase rose up to the second floor. She left her backpack in the last bedroom before climbing upstairs to a vaulted living room and open kitchen with a panoramic view of mountains, forest, lake, and starry sky.
Score, score, score.
Hugging her insulated bag of groceries, she skipped like a little girl across the floor to the kitchen and put them away. Two days, she could be here. Two entire days.
Finding a switch near the door to the deck, she flicked it on and sighed at the sight of twinkling white snow falling past the window. The drifts were already piled up two or three feet high, blanketing the world in quiet fluff.
She breathed on the glass and doodled a heart into the fog. And then wrote her initials inside the heart.
Me, myself, and I.
Party of one.
She turned on the oven, poured herself a glass of wine, and unpacked the small dish of homemade lasagna she’d brought with her. Her home freezer was full of them, single-serving meals she could reheat after work and eat in front of the computer. It wasn’t that she was always working; there was video streaming and Facebook and Twitter and forums and shopping and—
Who was she kidding? She was always working. That’s why she’d left the laptop at home, an act that was already making her twitchy.
The lasagna pan looked tiny as she set it inside the gourmet oven. Excellent appliances for a rental, she noticed. She set the timer and brought her wine over to the patio doors to watch the snow shimmer in the flood lights. The driveway was just below the deck, and she could see the snow had already formed a thin blanket over the rounded roof of her little car.
She was just finishing her wine when he arrived.
Jake pulled his old Saturn into the driveway, peering at the number on the cabin, confused there was already a car parked there. The tire marks were fresh, showing whoever it was hadn’t arrived much earlier than he had.
After triple-checking the number, he killed the engine and got out, flinching as colossal snowflakes blew into his face. The storm was getting stronger every minute. He really didn’t like that other car in the driveway. Driving around looking for a motel in his wimpy sedan might end with him in a ditch.
Snow caked his shoes as he climbed the stairs, and he was stomping it off over a grate at the threshold when Sasha Selkirk opened the door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not looking too happy to see him.
Well, he sure was happy to see her. If she’d been a stranger, he would’ve had to find another place to stay. And, although he’d already decided his sister was deranged, he wasn’t completely able to forget the secret love thing.
“Hold on, I want to get my stuff before the snow buries it in.” He returned to his car, slow going on the icy stairs, and in a few minutes was inside the cabin with her, brushing snow off his hair.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“Trixie asked me to come.” He didn’t like the way she was scowling at him, as if he’d screwed up. “What about you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s Trixie?”
“My love slave. She’s in the car but won’t come inside until it pleases me.”
“Seriously, Jake. Jody said I’d have the place to myself. I was really looking forward to being alone.”
“What does Jody have to do with it? This is Trixie’s son’s place.” At that moment, Jake realized Trixie had set them up, just as she had his sister.
Sasha’s mouth opened. After a long moment, she closed her eyes. “Oh.”
He noticed her nose was pink, reminding him of the night of the housewarming party. “Have you been drinking?” he asked.
“Enough that I can’t get in the car and go home.”
“Why would you?”
“Because—” She took a deep breath, and then the calm, unreadable expression he expected from her was back in place. “Don’t you have a friend with you?”
“A friend?”
“You know, a girlfriend.”
With his sister’s theory in mind, he studied her for signs of jealousy. And saw none whatsoever. Nothing at all. “No, I’m alone,” he said.
“Oh. Well, then it doesn’t matter, I guess. I’m going home in the morning anyway.”
“You are? You just came up for the night?”
“Yeah, you know. Lots of work to do. Just wanted to see the snow.” She gestured at the doors along the hallway. “Help yourself. I’m in the last one.”
He watched her walk
to the stairs.
Was he relieved he’d have the place to himself later? His gaze dropped to her hips, where her low-rise jeans had fallen below the waistband of her underwear.
He watched her closely until she was completely out of sight, conscious of his accelerated heart rate, the warming of his veins.
Not so relieved, it turned out.
In fact, he found the idea of her departure to be extremely unpleasant.
She’d always impressed him with her intelligence, poise, taste, and mystery. Now she impressed him with her round, sweet ass. What would it be like to unbutton her jeans, slide his hands over her bottom, and lift her into his lap, where he would—
Jesus. Dry-mouthed, he shook his head and looked into the bedrooms.
Was she really only staying the night? Hell of a long trip through a potential blizzard, just to turn around and leave in the morning. He peeked into the last bedroom and saw her large backpack slumped against the bed.
He looked behind him. Heard footsteps on the floor above. And then strode over, unzipped her bag, and looked inside at the stack of folded shirts and jeans.
So she’d planned on staying longer but had lied about it.
His heart thudded.
Had Jody been right? All these years…
Over the past year, he’d wondered if he should’ve married one of his ex-girlfriends because he’d never find anyone better.
Perhaps, in some ways, he’d been right.
Taking a deep breath, he zipped up the backpack, put his own things in the bedroom next door, and went upstairs to find her.
7
“HEY,” JAKE SAID BEHIND HER.
Sasha was taking the lasagna out of the oven, imagining sticking her own head in there. It was electric, but still; she’d do with a burn. Might knock some sense into her.
Her solitary get-over-Jake weekend was ruined. He’d had snowflakes in his hair, for God’s sake. She’d be reliving the sight for weeks. Staring off into space, imagining herself brushing each snowy morsel off with her tongue as she curled up in his lap, moaning while he nuzzled her breasts.
Kill me now.
“Hungry?” She dumped the pan on the stove, not looking at him. She’d try to avoid making any more visual memories.
“Wow, that looks great.” He came around and stood just to her right, slumping against the counter, facing her. “But I wouldn’t want to steal your dinner.”
She pivoted away, shoving the oven mitts in a drawer. The thought of eating made her queasy, but she didn’t want to show that his arrival had upset her. “We’ll share. What did you bring?”
“To eat?”
Something in his tone made her look at him. He was grinning. At her.
Oh, crap. Now her nipples were puckering.
“Well, yes,” she said, careful to keep her voice calm, pleasant, ordinary. “That’s what I meant. But it’s fine if you didn’t bring any groceries. I brought more than I need.”
He pushed away from the counter and opened the fridge and then the freezer, where she’d put her weekend’s worth of groceries and precooked meals. “Wow, I’ll say. You’d never guess you only planned on staying the night.”
Her cheeks warmed. A rational explanation she could offer failed her.
“If you don’t want me around, I’ll go.” he said, closing up the refrigerator and turning to her. He took a step closer and raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me around?”
I want you around my naked, writhing body every morning, day, and night of my life.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“But you had planned on staying all weekend until I arrived.”
Now her face was burning. She felt heat spreading down her neck, her arms, her chest.
Don’t panic. She could work this. Wanting to be alone didn’t expose her love for him; quite the opposite. “Sorry, Jake,” she said with a rueful smile. “I guess I was looking forward to having the place to myself.”
His grin faded. “Oh. Right.” He moved away, running long fingers through his hair. “Of course you did. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll just have to make the best of it.” She found two plates in the cabinet and divided the meal into uneven portions. Her stomach was clenched like a fist. “Help yourself to the wine.”
“Thanks, I will. Mind if I put on some music?” Phone in hand, he motioned to a new-looking speaker on a shelf.
No, please don’t. Music unraveled her even more than wine. A sentimental pop song or brilliant classical piece could turn her into an emotional bowl of quivering dessert gelatin.
“Be my guest,” she said, gritting her teeth.
In a few minutes they were sitting at the large oak dining table under a snowshoe-shaped chandelier, food and wine on the table, cello music in the air. He’d gone with Bach. He might as well have stripped to the waist and rubbed olive oil over his pecs while gazing into her eyes and whispering her name.
She crossed her legs, pretending her body wasn’t hot and moist for him. The lasagna was like a warm, savory slug in her mouth; she had to force herself to swallow.
“This is really good,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Yo-Yo’s cello rose and fell like the snowflakes outside: up and down, sideways, soft and drifting in the wind.
“So, you were engaged for a while, weren’t you?” he asked.
Oh, God. He was going to get personal. She took another bite and took a moment to answer so he would get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Yeah.”
“What was it like?”
Nobody had ever asked her that before. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean breaking it off,” he continued. “I’ve had a lot of experience with that. I mean, saying yes. Being willing to take the leap, at least for a while.”
“You can’t imagine making that much of a commitment?”
“I can totally imagine commitment,” he said. “I imagine it all the time. Just can’t figure out how to get there.”
Suddenly annoyed, she drained her wine glass and poured another. “Maybe it’s because you date women who are all wrong for you.”
He took the bottle from her, his fingers brushing hers. “Is that so?”
“Mm.”
“You don’t think I’m the problem then, just the women I’ve dated?”
“Oh, you’re the problem, all right. Your taste is the problem.”
He scooted his chair closer, and their knees bumped. The table was round, without any corner to separate them. “I really want to hear this,” he said, studying her. “I appreciate hearing your perspective.”
The scent of his snowflake-kissed hair was distracting. “You’re not offended?” She heard the disappointment in her own voice.
“Do you know how old I am, Sasha?”
Thirty-two years, six months, thirteen days. “Older than me,” she said. “Thirty-seven?”
He flinched and withdrew, drawing his wine glass up to his mouth. “Not quite,” he muttered.
Her victory in driving him away didn’t warm her as much as it should have. “I know. I was just kidding.”
“I never know with you. You’re such a mystery.”
She snorted. “Hardly.”
“You are. I never know what you’re thinking.” He met her gaze. “And I wish I did.”
The back of her neck tingled, then sent tendrils of dancing excitement down her arms.
This was all wrong. This was dangerous.
She jumped to her feet, bumping the table with her hip. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Holding her gaze, he stood up and took a step closer. “Was it something I said?”
“I’m just really tired.” Her lungs weren’t working. She was suffocating.
He loomed over her. “I’m going to do something now, Sasha, is that all right?”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table behind her for support. “I don’t know.”
“Let me know afterwards, then,” he said,
then hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
The first time she’d imagined kissing Jake Lapinski, they were in the backseat of his parents’ Cherokee, pressed up against one another while heading to the beach for the day. Although his sister had been enthusiastic enough to invite all her friends, he’d been annoyed about the trip, telling everyone he wasn’t a surfer, hated surfers, and just wanted to stay home. Many of the other boys at their high school in Huntington Beach fit the California stereotype, but he was an artist and a black-clothes-wearing rebel and he hated everything about surfer culture—the clothes, the language, the attitude.
At that moment, enchanted by his adolescent discontent, Sasha had decided she loved everything about him—his clothes, his language, his attitude.
But the kiss she’d imagined at thirteen in the backseat of a crowded family SUV wasn’t anything like the real thing.
For one, his body was much stronger. Much harder. She hadn’t expected him to slide his palm into the small of her back and press his pelvis into hers. She hadn’t expected his kiss to be slow and tender, then hurried and demanding as his tongue slipped past her teeth and stroked the inside of her mouth as if it belonged there.
Her moan of pleasure and immediate surrender—that she’d imagined perfectly.
“Sasha,” he breathed against her lips. “Oh my God.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs, straining to get closer to him. Was it really happening? Was he really kissing her?
She didn’t want to think. Closing her eyes, she stretched her hands up around his neck and held on. He embraced her, pulling her body fully against his, exploring her back and hips and ass with strong, confident hands, making her knees buckle.
He slanted his mouth over hers, diving his tongue deeper as his hands found both breasts and kneaded, squeezed, teased. She pulled away from him, chest heaving with the struggle to breathe, hooked her fingers under her sweater and T-shirt, then dragged both over her head.
Now wearing only the white comfort bra she never would’ve chosen that morning had she anticipated this moment, she put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Hi.”
He rubbed his mouth. “Hi.”
“Ready for this?”
“Oh, yeah.” His breath was unsteady. “You?”