Skin Tight

by Ava Gray

  Pulling into a parking lot at random, she dialed up information on her cell and got the number for the facility. The operator connected her, and within a few short rings, a perky woman answered the line. “Whispering Pines, how may I help you?”

  “I’m calling to check on Lexie Winter.”

  Thank God she remembered the name.

  “Her father is with her,” the nurse said. “If this is his girlfriend, you’d better hurry. I could get in trouble for saying so, but . . . he shouldn’t do this alone.”

  Do what? Shit, she couldn’t ask. That was something she ought to know.

  Mia mumbled something and terminated the call. A trip that had taken much longer the first time—well, she halved it. Her heart was beating like a drum when she reached Whispering Pines. The lot was nearly empty, but she recognized his Infiniti. It was almost nightfall, and the lights gleamed within like gold bars. Mia crossed the lot at a dead run, and she was breathless when she burst into the lobby.

  The nurse recognized her, thank God, or it might’ve gone another way. “It’s all right, breathe. You made it. He’s still saying good-bye.”

  Oh Christ. Now she knew exactly what the other woman had meant on the phone. “Thank you. I know the way.”

  “Wait. Your ID?”

  Mia tossed her bag at the startled nurse and hurried down the hall. She remembered the location of the room, even though she’d only been here once. God, would he be happy to see her? Or would he view her presence as an intrusion? She only knew she had to get to him.

  From several rooms away, she heard his smooth, low voice as he talked to his little girl. Mia stopped, listening, with her heart breaking. “This is the last time, min skat. I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if you ever did. I regret so many things—that I never got to know the wonderful woman you would have become. That you never met the woman I loved. I think you would’ve liked her.”

  Why past tense? Because she’s gone . . . or he thinks I am?

  Søren went on, “Please know I love you, and I always will. The doctor assures me this is best—that I’ve waited past any reasonable hope of recovery. He says you suffered irreparable brain damage and you exist in a persistent vegetative state. I’d rather believe you’re dreaming, and it’s so lovely there that you don’t want to come back to the real world, not even for me. So . . . I’m going to let you stay. Farvel, min kære. Sikker rejse.”

  Mia could take no more. She walked the last few paces and stepped into the room, where she stood by the door, drinking him in. He had his back to her, bent over his daughter’s bed. The child looked impossibly small, adrift in white sheets and wires. Søren kissed her brow and then straightened.

  She couldn’t speak; it was as if his grief had closed her throat. Instead she watched as he tapped the call button. A doctor would come to unplug the machines, now that he’d finished saying farewell.

  Something gave her away, a movement, a breath. He spun, and then the call box slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. His face was incredibly stark, more than she’d ever seen it. Lines etched his mouth; shadows cradled his eyes. And his eyes—his eyes blazed with incandescent need.

  “You’re not here,” he said hoarsely. “You’re not. I’ve finally gone mad.”

  That was why he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t even been looking. “But I am here. Søren . . . you thought I was dead?”

  I was afraid you were, too, but I wouldn’t let myself give up. Not on you. Not ever.

  He ran toward her then and wrapped her in his arms, running his hands up and down her back. “I was supposed to keep you safe. I didn’t. God, Mia—”

  His kiss scorched her lips, passionate to the point of pain. When they broke apart, she felt him trembling head to toe. She flattened her palms on his chest, feeling for the reassuring thump of his heart.

  “I told you before . . . I can look after myself. I’m not fragile . . . I don’t need saving. I don’t want a hero. I just want—more than anything—for you to love me back.”

  “Jesus. I do. I do. I wish I’d told you when we were in Tennessee. You’re in my heart so deep, it would take a scalpel to get you out.”

  “How . . . sweet,” she said dryly.

  “How? How are you here? I was there, Mia. I saw the flames coming up the elevator shaft. They charbroiled that bastard Rowan.”

  She shuddered, thinking about all the people who hadn’t gotten out. “I caught a ride up with some folks who staged a prison break shortly after I got there. I thought you might’ve been caught down there.”

  Shortly might be an understatement. Those had been some long, awful hours. But he didn’t need to know that. She knew him well enough to realize he’d shoulder the guilt.

  He shook his head. “I never made it. I got to the facility as it imploded.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve been desperate to find you.”

  “I didn’t believe in miracles. I do now. And I do believe you’re the cleverest woman in the world. Only you could’ve gotten out of there on your own.” His icy eyes reflected the most monumental pride, paired with tenderness, longing, and devotion, tangled into an inextricable emotion she’d call love.

  Mia smiled. “I only asked them to hold the lift.”

  Before he could reply, a man in a white coat tapped on the open door. “Are you both ready?”

  She’d almost forgotten. But Søren laced his fingers through hers, telling her silently to stay. “Go ahead, Dr. Geddy. It’s time.”

  Mercifully, it was quiet. There was no drama in the moment, just the sense of rightness and acceptance. Once it was done, the physician covered Lexie with a sheet and escorted them from the room. There were arrangements to be made and a few more papers to sign. Mia held his hand while he took care of these final details.

  There would be no funeral, just a quiet scattering of ashes. He didn’t need a marker to remember Alexis Frost; Mia knew his daughter would live forever in his heart.

  Afterward, he held her in the silent hallway, burying his face in her hair. If he wept, she didn’t feel it, but she sensed he felt easy with the decision. It had been past time to let Lexie go.

  He confirmed that with a quiet “I’m glad it’s done.”

  Mia wound her arms around his waist and marveled at the change in him. Before they left, he introduced her to Beulah, the woman who was—and wasn’t—his mother. She was a charming lady, who didn’t seem fazed to receive a woman she’d thought was dead.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you,” she said when Mia pressed her lined hand between her palms. “He deserves to be happy.”

  She gazed at Søren over the top of Beulah’s head. “He does.”

  He answered the unspoken question. “She knows, Mia. She always knew.”

  That revelation prompted an hour-long visit, wherein Beulah told amusing stories regarding the lengths he’d gone to, maintaining the fiction. “He’s a good boy,” she finished. “Do right by him.”

  “I will,” Mia promised, and followed him out.

  Outside, the cicadas sang in the trees. The night was hushed otherwise, still and expectant. He gazed down into her face. “I can’t wait. I’ve been staying in a hotel nearby, so I wouldn’t have to make the drive from Virginia. There was nothing keeping me there. Follow me?”

  “Always,” she said softly.

  They took separate cars. Once they made it to his room and closed the door behind them, Søren yanked her shirt over her head. Mia skimmed out of her pants and then helped him. Undressing was clumsy, overeager, and an incredible tease. Søren pushed her back on the bed, and she fell willingly.

  His hands skimmed her bare skin, creating delicious goose bumps. There was reverence in his touch now, coupled with relentless need. For a long moment, Mia gazed up at him, reveling in his harsh beauty: the curve of his mouth, the sharp blade of his cheekbones, eyes that shone like night-kissed ice.

  Søren kissed her then, long, lavish kisses that sank into her bones, breaking her and mak
ing her into someone new. Mia rose up in his arms and gave a little push. He fell back willingly, letting her swarm over him with lips and teeth and tongue. He moaned and arched, welcoming her onslaught with softly growled endearments.

  She bit him lightly on the ear, earning a shudder. “I don’t have any protection. I’m on the pill, but it’s not one hundred percent.”

  “I don’t care,” he breathed. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Are you sure?” In answer, he pulled her atop him. She settled, thighs framing his hips. “I guess you are.”

  He lifted up, rubbing against her heated flesh in long strokes. “Now. Take me, nothing between us this time.” It was both a plea and a demand. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. I won’t lose you again. Oh, God, Mia, you’re my breath and bone. You’re the song I sing.”

  Aching at how his intensity focused wholly on her, she curled her fingers around his shaft, steadying it, and eased down. She had little experience in this position, but he didn’t seem to mind. A moan escaped her at the feeling of his hard cock seated to the hilt. Her thighs tensed, and she bore down.

  “That’s so, so good,” she muttered.

  The rhythm blossomed in the sweet and heated push-pull of his hips driving upward while she sank down. As she rode him, Søren cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples to aching nubs. He whispered to her, orders both erotic and shocking. Eyes locked on his, Mia complied; she touched her fingertips to her clit, and wicked pleasure sang in her veins.

  “Make yourself come. I need to feel it.”

  The way the tension spiraled tighter and tighter, she didn’t think it would be a problem. She strummed her clit, riding him harder. Her breath shifted from gasps to sobs as arousal stole her thoughts. When the orgasm tore through her, Mia knew only the fierce blaze of his eyes and the heat of his hands.

  “Søren!”

  “Love you,” he answered, as if it had been a question. “I do. Always, always, always.”

  Rolling with her, he gathered her close and tucked her beneath him as he took control. His thrusts became short and shallow, and she held him while the aftershocks spilled through her like liquid light. She stroked his back as he came, shuddering in her arms.

  Later, he lay on his side, studying her face as if he could never tire of it. At last he shook his head. “You’re here. You’re here. I’m not dreaming.”

  She smiled slightly. “Surely you could do better than me, at least in your dreams.”

  “Never,” he said, eyes blazing. “But . . . I have nothing to offer you. Nothing. You love a dead man, Mia. You said so yourself.”

  “You were never dead. You were only . . . lost.” Idly, she traced his sharp features, lingering at his brows.

  He went on doggedly, “I have no home. No family. There’s so much I can’t give you, like a normal life. I know you long for security—”

  She laid a finger against his lips. “Normal is overrated. I have no real urge to buy a house and start nesting. What I want, only you can give.”

  His glacial blue eyes shone as if sunshine poured through the ice. “What’s that?”

  Mia framed his face in her hands and kissed him as she’d kissed no man before, nor ever would again. It was a forever kiss. “Your heart, beloved. Your mind.” She punctuated the words with delicate butterfly kisses. “Your touch. Your laughter.”

  “It’s yours,” he said then. “All of it.”

  In that moment, she knew she wasn’t finished. There was precious little she would not do for him, and this was a relatively small thing. “There’s somewhere we need to go.”

  By his incredulous expression, she figured she’d shocked him. “Right now?”

  Mia smiled. “Whenever we finish here. Soon enough.”

  He relaxed then, nestling her closer. “Where, then?”

  “Minnesota.”

  “Pine Grove,” he guessed.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Why? I don’t want to discourage you—I understand you want to see my family, but—”

  “But nothing,” she said firmly. “I’m giving them back to you. Even if they don’t recognize you at first, I can tell them things that only you would know, until their expectations change. Until they’re willing to believe.”

  She saw slow, unwilling hope dawning. “I don’t know if it’ll work. Remember, they think they’ve buried me. I never tried because I didn’t want to frighten them. It was bad enough to have my mother open the door and tell me she wasn’t interested in whatever I was selling.”

  “I can do this for you. Let me.”

  Søren took a deep breath. “Very well. We’ll try.”

  “What’s the house like?”

  “Faded red brick. She’ll be baking something when we get there. She always was.”

  Mia could picture it in her mind’s eye, and a pang of longing surprised her. His home could be hers, too. His family could be hers. They would have a place to go during the holidays. For the first time, they could both have a place they belonged.

  They made love twice more before dawn, and Mia awoke just before first light to find him watching her. “What?” she murmured.

  “You take my breath away.”

  “I bet you say that to all the naked women.”

  “Only the ones named Mia Sauter.”

  She smiled sleepily. “That narrows the list. I do love you, Søren. And I’m not going anywhere, so it’s safe to take your eyes off me.”

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “Don’t be. Not anymore.”

  Light spilled across the windowsill, prompting her to get moving. After all, they had a long way to go.

  EPILOGUE

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  “It was Collins, wasn’t it?” Mia asked the question as they pulled off the highway, exiting into the Minnesota neighborhood that was every bit as faded suburban as Søren had described.

  It had taken a while to convince him of the wisdom of this plan and then longer to persuade him they shouldn’t wait. He was a little reluctant to leave Beulah, but Mia knew that was just an excuse. She had developed a great fondness for the lady and was grateful that Beulah had offered Søren enough comfort to keep him from doing something drastic in the days when he’d thought Mia was dead.

  Today she read fierce tension in the line of his shoulders. He still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but he was willing to try, for her. They’d talked about what they might do, going forward. With his myriad skills, he could pretend his way into almost any job, but he didn’t want to lie anymore. She’d suggested he turn his talents toward helping people, and he was mulling the idea over. Nothing so formal as a private investigator but more of a troubleshooter, solving problems that fell outside everyone else’s purview.

  Money wasn’t an issue, but she didn’t think he would enjoy sitting idle any more than she would. They both thrived on challenge. Hell, maybe she’d handle the business end. God knew, she had the contacts.

  He flashed her an appreciative look. “When did you know?”

  “About two states ago. I’ve been crunching the numbers in my head and going over all the data. He’s the only one who makes sense.”

  “That’s why he didn’t want to hire you,” he said. “The man knew you’d find out, sooner or later.”

  “So, not a racist, then.”

  “No, just a convenient pretense for a white man.”

  She grinned. “Funny. What are we going to do about it?”

  Søren made the turn, heading into a quiet neighborhood. They had to be getting close now. “I’m inclined to let him rob them blind and then take off for the islands. It will slow the Foundation’s ability to resume their research, if nothing else.”

  A chill coursed through her. “So you don’t think we stopped them for good.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. “They’re like the hydra. You cut off one head and two more grow in its place. That probably wasn’t even the only lab, love. Just the only one I could find.”


  “That’s . . . beyond horrible.” She watched him in silence for a few moments, wondering if he wanted to continue the search.

  But he seemed to guess her thoughts without even looking at her. “I’m done. My life is with you now. Whatever we make of it.”

  Her heart warmed and steadied. The man loved her enough to live. Given the way he’d been only a short year ago, that seemed miraculous.

  He angled the car onto a tree-lined drive. Dirty snow lay on the ground, mounded up by the curb. It wasn’t pretty, but she could tell by his expression that they had arrived. Søren parked the car on the street, and she followed his gaze to the house with the red and white gingham curtains.

  “That’s the kitchen,” he said. “I can see my mom in there.”

  “Baking,” she guessed.

  “Probably. It’s that time of year.”

  A few weeks before Christmas—it was the perfect time for a family reunion. How much would it take before they believed her? Would they cry?

  “Did they know about your ability?” she asked.

  “Not really. It only affected them in small ways before—”

  Before Lexie’s accident. Before he drove his car into a wall.

  “It’s my turn,” she said then, gazing at the house where he had spent his formative years.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You gave the last quote at dinner. We’ve been a bit busy since.”

  He half smiled. “A bit. Is this a game we’re going to play forever?”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Yes,” he said gravely. “Please.”

  “Then we will. Here’s your quote: ‘It will not change now/ After so many years;/ Life has not broken it/ With parting or tears;/ Death will not alter it,/ It will live on/ In all my songs for you/ When I am gone.’ ”

  “Sara Teasdale.” There was no doubt in him, no hesitation.

  “You’re sure.”

  “Positive. The poem is ‘It Will Not Change.’ ” Søren took her hand, sober and focused as only he could be. When he leveled that look on her, she felt like the only woman in the world. “I bought a collection of her poetry, after . . .”