A Promise of Fireflies

by Susan Haught

  Hands seasoned in gentleness lifted her face and he took her mouth with eager passion. The gentle power of his tongue parted her lips and slipped inside. Every nerve sang in response, emptying her mind to all thought to fill again with only those of skilled hands sweeping over her body. His heart thundered against her ribs and her breasts grew heavy with desire.

  Warm breath tickled her skin. “Is this truly what you want?”

  “More than you know,” she whispered.

  “Once we take that step—”

  “I’m sure.” She traced the outline of his jaw, the lines beautifully carved over time by the propensity of wisdom, sorrow and compassion.

  He cupped her face, tenderness colliding with urgency in his dark eyes. “God knows I want you,” he said, his breath warm and moist and tasting sweetly of wine and husky spice uniquely his. “But—”

  She intercepted the thought with her mouth. “Sometimes words get in the way.”

  Apprehension slipped from his face. He kissed her deeply, lifted the chain over her head, and let the dog tag slip through his fingers to the floor. The urgency with which he laid claim rose in her, the desire absolute.

  WITH THE TASTE of her mouth still heavy on his tongue, Logan took her hands and lowered his eyes to hers, seeking the solace in her eyes, searching the cool green pools for something to break the undeniable connection, to calm the emotions flooding through him. Tears clung to her lashes like tiny drops of dew, and the need trembling in the wake of her fingertips stared back at him through eyes a verdant sea of passion. With an inherent desire to ease the remnants of her emotion, he kissed her eyes, first one and then the other, the delicate skin a cool balm to the fire burning inside him. A faint whisper of a summer breeze rose from her skin and hair and settled in every fiber of memory.

  Her arms circled his neck. With both hands cupped to her bottom, he scooped her up, long legs wrapping around his waist. Logan crushed her against him, the proof of his desire pressed hard against the cleft of her legs, silk panties the last barrier to a crumbling defense.

  With her fastened in his arms, he carried her to her bed and held her in his lap. Every muscle trembled, every nerve thrummed where her skin met his. A wisp of hair drifted across her face and clung to moist lashes. “There’s still time,” he whispered, brushing the hair aside.

  She shook her head.

  Logan matched her hesitant smile with one of his own, her answer as quiet yet as palpable as snow falling on pine boughs. He ached to pull her closer. To mold his body around her. To fuse the very air that separated them. “If we take this step—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

  He swallowed hard. “If you honor me by giving me your body—”

  “You already know my answer.”

  The lines between his eyes deepened. “It’s not something I take lightly.”

  “Nor do I.” She smiled, one of hesitance that faded quickly. “There is one thing…” She leaned over and tugged the drawer open, placed a foil package on the nightstand (mentally thanking her wickedly perceptive friend), and wiggled back into his lap. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s not you. Or me. It’s an unfaithful ex-husband. I don’t know—”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. And she kissed him back, her consent as sweet and deep as he’d imagined, as sure as if she’d written it on his heart.

  “If you’re sure,” he said, brushing the tops of her breasts with the back of his hand. “You’re so beautiful. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

  In answer to his unspoken plea, she reached behind his neck and pulled him down beside her. “Then please, don’t stop.”

  With both hands, Logan slid the thin barrier of silk from her hips and allowed a moment to fully embrace the miracle that lay before him, and as if blinded to everything except the woman before him, his senses took over and every ounce of willpower failed.

  Harnessing his own desire, he explored the delicate skin on the inside of her thighs and took her breast with his mouth, a firm peak rising to meet his tongue. Pebbles of gooseflesh rose on his skin, her subtle movements and rousing sighs as pleasing as her moist, bare skin beneath his fingers. A short breath hissed through his teeth as she traced the dark line from his navel and her hand closed around him, the ache peaking beneath her capable hands. With a longing that drowned all sense of reason, he pulled her against the testimony of his need.

  THE EVIDENCE OF his pleasure pressed hard against her, the flesh beneath her fingertips smooth and slick and eager. She reached for the packet on the nightstand, tore it open, and covered him first with her hand and then the thin shield of protection. With a needful groan, he pulled her against him, and with his hips fitted firmly to hers, she surrendered fully, the pleasure of her smile nestled in the softly curled mat of chest hair.

  Logan’s heart beat strong and fast against her cheek and echoed her own pulse humming in places intimately roused from a long, dormant spell. Hands seasoned in intimacy rounded her shoulders and possessed her breasts with such eager tenderness, sensitive peaks rose in the wake of his touch. Fully awakened, her body molded itself to the curve of his, the touch of his hands nourishing her as his pleasure became hers.

  His hands lingered over the hollow of her back and then lowered to the swell of her bottom and with patient assurance, pulled her firmly against the undeniable proof of shared desire. The hunger of a deep sigh rumbled in his chest, and when his mouth found hers, she guided him into her, warm, wet and eager to accept his unspoken invitation. He entered her with such tenderness she drew in a breath and he answered, his presence deep and intimate, filling not only her body, but the empty spaces of heart and soul.

  In the refuge of heightened sensation they became as one flesh, their movements as slow and easy as the words of a lullaby. As they moved as one, the world dissolved around them, and took with it the reservation of doubt, burying the painful ghosts of haunted memories, their bond complete.

  The moon rose above the mountains and bathed the room in subtle light. Her head lay in the crook of Logan’s arm as she dozed, her breath a whisper on his skin, and the feel of her against him natural, as if born by innate design. He raised himself to one elbow, content to simply watch her dark eyelashes kiss the faint suggestion of freckles above the delicate slope of cheekbone, the placid smile buried in the corners of her mouth, and with each breath, the peaceful rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sheet. But it was the curl of moist lips, the echo of her laugh, and the sparkle of green eyes that tugged at the places in his heart he thought dead.

  Her eyelids fluttered, the intimation of dreams hidden in the surf of those passionate green eyes. Dreams he wanted to know. Eyes he could be lost in forever and never grow tired of the infinite passion that lurked behind them. “Dormi, la mia tresorina preziosa,” he whispered, touched the tip of her nose with his finger, and slipped away to clean up.

  Moments later, Logan slid quietly back beside her and covered her shoulder with the sheet. As if shielding her and refusing to concede to the dissonance infringing its way into his thoughts, he pulled her closer—covering her with his body, his own blanket of protection.

  Ryleigh stirred, her toes a cool flutter against his ankle. The glow of lovemaking had blushed her cheeks and he tightened his embrace. But even skin to skin would never be close enough. Traces of amber highlighted her light brown hair and he let the fibers slide through his fingers. She opened her eyes, the color as deep and paralyzing as a cabochon emerald, her drowsy smile a tempting simper against his skin. This woman wore passion like he’d never known, and God, it looked good on her. She had branded his soul with the whole of her, and without a doubt had staked her claim. And he’d given it freely, and without pardon.

  WITH A LEISURELY sigh, Ryleigh traced the lines of his jaw to the cleft of his chin. Soft stubbles with a dusting of silver aroused the ache to sink into the safe ha
ven of his embrace with nothing more absolute than their bodies joined as one.

  Logan closed what little distance lay between them and she welcomed an intimately lazy kiss. Intensely aware of the desire stirring in him again, she nurtured every exploratory touch with a selfless one of her own. And as she reacquainted him with the pleasure of applying protection, his restless sighs matched the touch of her hands. No words were exchanged; there was no need. Their needs, their desires, their movements, were written in silent song.

  With the memory of him still fresh on her skin, she immersed herself around him, threaded her fingers through his hair and eased him inside her.

  They made love again as the quiet stillness of a winter storm lay perfect and untouched just beyond their world.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  SUNLIGHT PLAYED OVER her eyes, rousing her to the blissful pleasure of half sleep. Ryleigh stretched an arm across a jumble of blankets, the bed still warm where he’d slept beside her. During the night she had reached out only to find him waiting, his body a warm, solid fortress and eyes pleasuring her in the same way his hands had. And he had reached for her, pulling her to him, the rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby against her skin.

  With the sheet curled under her nose, she breathed in. The masculine, heady spice stirred the recollection of his touch and the intimacy of giving wholly, not only of the body, but mind and spirit and the consummate relinquishing of her dreams.

  Reluctantly, she pushed back the blankets, rose, tied his robe around her, and followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. The sight of him wrapped only in a towel teased something deep inside her. She paused to cherish the sensation and the view.

  Logan’s back and arms tensed with each tap, tap, tap as he made a fierce attempt to obliterate whatever was on the counter. She approached from behind and skimmed her hands over his chest. He turned and pulled her against him.

  “Good morning, Cabin Number Three,” he said, and brushed her nose with his index finger. She warmed under the pleasure of his concentrated gaze, memories of the night clearly written in his.

  “It’s a grand morning, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said, peeking around him and then raising an eyebrow at the remnants of strawberries and mango that looked as if Jack Torrance had taken his infamous ax to them. She scrutinized a strawberry slice carefully before popping it into her mouth. “You haven’t been to The Stanley Hotel this morning, have you?”

  Logan bent to her ear and dropped his voice to an ominous tone. “Heeeere’s Johnny!”

  “Smart-ass,” she said and smacked him lightly on the arm. “I’m quite impressed you’re fixing breakfast, even if you are using a rather sinister-looking butcher knife.”

  Logan laughed. “Not so much fixing as mutilating, perhaps.”

  The sound of his laughter purled in her belly and spread its warmth over her body. “Well then, you’re using the appropriate knife.”

  “Max put together what he could, but the power hasn’t returned and the kitchen has minimal usage. No croissants today. Fresh or otherwise. But there’s plenty of fruit.”

  “Someday I’ll show you what I can do with fruit.”

  As if pondering the implications of her words, a slow smile settled in one corner of his mouth and met the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “If it’s anything close to what you do to me, Cabin Number Three, it will be a most painful wait to find out.”

  She tucked her lip between her teeth. “Do I smell coffee?”

  “I can’t boil water, but lattes are one thing I’m good at.”

  He handed her a steaming mug. “Only one?” She sipped the latte, her eyes fixed on his. “I can think of a couple of things you’re pretty good at.”

  “Oh?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Smart-ass remarks for one.”

  “And the other?”

  “That’s for show. Not tell.”

  Logan’s sly half-smile tickled that place low in her belly and she buried a smile in her mug. “How are the roads?”

  “Snowplow has been through. They’re passable.”

  “Too bad.” She smiled playfully. “I favor having the place to ourselves. Except for Rose and Max, of course. They’re handy to have around.”

  He gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “And I’m not?”

  “Eminently,” she said, nestling herself into his chest, the mat of curls a soft landing against her cheek. “Your hands are extraordinarily nice.”

  The deep timbre of his laugh rumbled through her and her heart leapt at the sound. She immersed herself in the power of his embrace as his hands moved over her with gentle assurance, sequestered memories tucked safely between them.

  Inside the Rocky Mountain resort suite, their souls had been adrift, yet they’d weathered the storm, a palette of turbulent color in the hands of a skilled artist whose brushstrokes had blended them together into the subtle hues of a watercolor landscape.

  The day blossomed brightly, spilling sunlight over the sofa where they sat together, the warmth of the fire still a welcomed necessity in the absence of power.

  Ryleigh stretched her legs across Logan’s lap, nearly spilling his coffee. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t look up, and he grinned at the inadvertent simper she made when his fingers crept under her fleece socks and stroked her ankles. He fought the niggling urge to continue his path up the back of her leg.

  The lights above the fireplace flickered indecisively, and then settled for good. Logan’s iPhone chirped. “Power and cell service are back.” He tossed the phone to the end of the sofa.

  “I prefer moonlight and the sounds of silence,” she said, brushing a palm against his clean-shaven face, “even without fresh croissants.”

  “I can find no fault in your observation.” Logan closed her laptop, set it on the flokati, and pulled her under him. “But I fear Rose’s wrath after being cooped up for two days not knowing what’s going on, the nosy old woman.”

  “Surely not our Rose?”

  He laughed and kissed the palm of her hand. “And if I don’t leave now, she’ll think we got buried in an avalanche.”

  “It’s not far from the truth. When you’re near me, I seem to forget to breathe.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I told you not to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned in, her face a breath away. “Breathe, mia bella, breathe,” he said, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  “Indisputable smart-ass,” she said, the words mingled with their combined laughter.

  Disentangling himself, Logan tugged at the collar of his shirt and mumbled something in a futile attempt to straighten the wrinkles as he disappeared through the double doors.

  Logan’s laughter echoed in that place deep inside where all the feelings, all the pleasures, the whole of him dwelled, and for a long time she stared at the double doors, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. He was an accomplished businessman, extraordinary employer, and consummate, sensual lover, and she pushed thoughts of leaving him—of leaving this place—out of her mind. She cringed at the thought of facing Chandler to tell him there could be nothing more between them except their mutual love for their son. It seemed ages ago now, but she had once loved him deeply. Feelings didn’t switch on and off, but their passion, their love, had dimmed—imperceptibly fading to a cool ember and then like a puff of air on a candle flame, extinguished. She would always love him—the father of her son would always hold a special place in her heart—but she hadn’t been in love with Chandler for quite some time.

  The difference was palpable.

  Ready to work on the epilogue of her story, she took a deep breath and settled in. A few hours of quiet and an absurd amount of coffee and her fantasy would be complete, the ending as tragically sweet as any love story. As for her real life, starting over seemed an incredible adventure. Like dreaming awake. Her eyes blurred, thinking how this could be the beginning of her own personal Neverland.

  In the
short time since the roads had been cleared, the resort flurried with activity. The remainder of the staff had arrived and everyone bustled about. Carlos barked orders and Rose had returned as boisterous as ever with a renewed disdain for weathermen. And snow. Nestled at the base of the Rockies, Whisper of the Pines was fast becoming Logan’s favored resort with its sheer beauty and laid-back nature. But it was eminently due to a certain writer who had wandered into his life and placed a bookmark in the center of his heart.

  As a sense of normalcy returned, Logan spent most of the day in the office under a never-ending flood of paperwork with his iPhone stuck to his ear. Carlos wasted no time insisting—in emphatic Spanish—that the generators be delivered pronto, and at Logan’s request, he procured six more snowmobiles (they were “crazy cool”).

  Karina passed by his office with a furtive glance inside and plastered her hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully covering a giggle. Logan winked and nodded back as if they shared a secret. By this time, he was sure it wasn’t.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like you made it unscathed through the storm.”

  Logan leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Welcome back, Rose.”

  Rose parked her hands on a pair of over-abundant hips. “Welcome back my foot! Snow is piled up past my chiappa, there are no tomatoes for Max’s marinara sauce, Shepherd is out of oats for the horses, and the automatic watering thingies,” she said through puffed cheeks and waving her arms, “on the north side of the barn froze and are spewing water like Old Faithful.”