“As for safe sex … no glove, no love, brother,” Cannon said with a chuckle.
“Am I going to regret coming fishing?” He popped the top on his beer and listened to the hissing carbonation escape.
They both shrugged and said, “Probably,” in unison.
This was the first year in many that any of them had been ice fishing. Dalton’s time in prison and the accident that killed Bowie and Cannon’s mom and Bowie’s fiancée had stalled their lives for years.
At yesterday’s bonfire, they decided they had to do it now since the days were getting warmer and the ice would melt soon. They’d already wasted so much time.
Before they settled on a place, they drilled through the ice to make sure they wouldn’t end up wet by morning. The cove was always the last place to melt since it sat on the shady side of the lake, surrounded by walls of granite and aspen trees.
“Is it weird?” Dalton turned to Bowie.
“Is what weird?”
In the fading light, he could see Bowie’s scowl. He knew that Bowie couldn’t hear his thoughts, but Dalton wondered about lots of things. He’d been curious about Katie, her wealth, her heart, and their life together. Most of all, he wondered what it felt like to be a dad.
“Being a dad.”
The scowl turned into a smile. “Oh man, you have no idea what it’s like to look at a tiny human being and know she’s half you.”
Cannon slapped Bowie’s knee. “The bad half. Sad for you because babies have a no return policy. Good thing she’s half Katie, or Sahara would be in trouble.”
They took a package of hot dogs from the cooler and speared them onto sticks they’d found.
“You’re right. Everything good about Sahara comes from Katie. She’ll grow into the bad shit later when I teach her how to fight and protect herself.”
Dalton took a swig of his beer. “I’ll protect her. It’s what I do.”
They all sat in silence. “Maybe next time you can pull a different tool out of your box other than the fist of death,” Cannon said.
Dalton raised his right hand into the air. “But it’s so effective.” No one could argue with that.
How many women had cried over the death of Andy Kranz? How many let out a sigh of relief? How many wouldn’t have to find out something sinister lay under his smile because Dalton had killed him?
Bowie rotated his hot dog over the fire and glanced toward the shore.
Dalton could tell a part of him wanted to race across the lake to get back home to Katie and his daughter.
Bowie sat up tall. “You know what I can’t wait for?” He reached for a bun to cradle his charred dog. “I can’t wait to hear her first laugh.” He took a bite.
“Will that be soon?” Dalton knew nothing about babies. He knew they ate and pooped and slept. That was the extent of his knowledge.
“The book says it happens around three months. We’ll see.”
Dalton sat forward and took his dog from the flame. It was perfect, not charred like Bowie’s, or undercooked like Cannon’s. His was hot, sweating, and juicy.
“They come with a manual? When did that happen?” He squeezed a line of mustard on each side of the meat and took a bite. A good hot dog was almost as satisfying as a good kiss. Almost. He stared back to Samantha’s cabin. I’m such an idiot.
“They have this book called What To Expect The First Year.”
“Sounds like a riveting read.” Dalton continued to stare across the lake.
Cannon kicked at Bowie. “This asshole read the first tome too. It’s called What To Expect When You’re Expecting. I opened it up and took a peek. Made me want to tuck my Johnson away forever.”
Bowie eyed Cannon with a marksman stare. “You’re next, unless big brother over here knocks up number seven.”
Dalton choked on his food. “Number seven? I’ve never hit the target. No babies under my belt.”
Cannon impaled another hot dog onto a stick and let it sit on the flame. It took time for the small fire to cook, but building a blaze on ice wasn’t recommended. “I wouldn’t put can’t hit the target on your resume either. He was talking about her address. Samantha lives at 7 Lake Circle.”
“No, don’t reduce her to a number. She’s Samantha White.” If she were getting a nickname, he’d be the one to give it to her.
“Hard to believe she used to live here.” Cannon kicked back and lay on the ice facing the darkening sky. Thousands of stars flickered above them. The moon cast a glow across the white surface. A beacon leading to her door.
“I remember her mom,” Bowie said. “She was a classic battered woman. I came up behind her in the Corner Store, and she knocked over three displays trying to distance herself from me. I didn’t recognize it then, but in hindsight I see it now. I was big, and she was scared.”
Anger coiled inside Dalton. He knew that kind of fear. He’d lived it. His mom had lived it. Now he knew Samantha had lived it. She was more than the little girl from Aspen Cove who did well. She was a survivor. She was strong. He was weak because he wouldn’t survive another minute without her kiss.
Chapter Twelve
Nothing cured a lonely heart better than Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream and binge watching Supernatural. It probably wasn’t the best idea to watch a show about angels, demons, and any other nightmare an active imagination could conjure while being alone in a cabin on a lake, but after the first two episodes, she was hooked.
In between ice cream, candy, and an apple as her healthy addition, she peeked out the window across the lake and wondered which of the small fires glowing in the darkness was Dalton’s. Shadows played with her mind and imagination. Every once in a while, she swore she heard footsteps on her deck or a knock at her door. Each time she looked, there was no one and nothing but the sway of pine branches and the whisper of the wind racing between the cabins.
Though she’d slept alone in the house since she arrived, knowing Dalton was next door comforted her. That sense of comfort now sat somewhere on the frozen lake. Thoughts of him had invaded her dreams since that first night. How could they not? He kissed like a rock star still trying to impress groupies.
Tonight, the memory of his kisses wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was because he planted the seed of more to come. His words about knowing where this would end made every cell in her body spark with hope that he’d be right.
As she pressed play for season one, episode nine, the thump of heavy footsteps sounded on her porch. Her heart leaped inside her chest. Maybe those shadows in the dark weren’t her imagination after all.
Had her manager found her? The press? What if it was some evil entity she conjured by watching episode after episode of a show where demonic intentions ruled the day? She looked around the cabin for a weapon, but all she had was a bag of miniature candy bars and a half-finished pint of ice cream.
A soft tap on the door had her moving forward in her stockinged feet. She crept silently forward hoping she wouldn’t be heard. Maybe she could ignore whoever was there, and they would go away. When she dared to look through the peephole, her heart nearly exploded. Dalton stood on her doorstep. His hair mussed. His cheeks rosy. Sexy as ever. No way she could, or would, ignore him. He was here for more.
She swung the door wide and threw herself at him.
“Hey, good to see you too.” He wrapped his arms around her until they were glued chest-to-chest. He shuffled both their bodies through the doorway and closed it behind them. “I missed you too.”
“You did?” She pressed tighter into his hold, not wanting to pull her face from his chest. He smelled so earthy and manly. One deep inhale and the scent of him filled her. He was citrus and pine and campfire with a hint of hot dog.
“Yes, I did.” He brushed his lips to the top of her head. “I can’t get you out of my mind.”
“Do you want to?”
He placed his hands gently at her waist and lifted. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, feeling his desire press between he
r thighs. If that fire didn’t ignite her flame, she didn’t know what would. They were body-to-body and now mouth-to-mouth as he kissed her with such intensity, she thought she’d implode. His tongue slipped between her lips, causing her to melt in his arms. He made love to her mouth, giving her a taste of what it would be like when he made love to her body. Energy passed between them, raw, hungry, and carnal.
With her glued to him, he walked her to the couch and fell onto the soft leather, pulling her down but not once breaking the kiss. His hands explored her body, first over her shirt until he found his way beneath it. His rough, calloused fingertips left a blazing trail of desire wherever he touched.
Seconds turned into minutes as they enjoyed the feel and flavor of each other. A shift of her body pressed her into his hardness. The firmness she felt told her they were pressing hard and fast toward more.
There were so many things she should tell him before they crossed that threshold. She pulled back, heaving for breath.
“Dalton, there are things you should know about me.” While her mind told her to wait, her fingers pulled down the zipper of his jacket. His help was appreciated when he yanked the coat off and tossed it into the corner. She ran her fingers over the cotton covered, rippling muscles of his chest.
Quick as a flash, his hands moved under her shirt to her bare belly and grazed her heated skin from waistband to breasts. He stopped at the edge of her bra.
“Are you married?” his deep voice murmured.
“What?” It was so hard to think when his fingers skimmed under the lace. “No.”
“Engaged?” He brushed his thumbs across the soft material.
“No.”
“Then I don’t care,” he growled. “All I care about is this thing burning between us.”
“There are things you should know.”
He sat up until she straddled his lap and their chests touched. Her pebbled nipples sent code to her core, which sent the message of shut up to her brain.
He quirked a sexy brow at her. “You want to exchange resumes?” He ran his lips over her collarbone, biting down with enough force to make her gasp. “There are things you should know about me too. You want me to stop kissing you to tell you?”
Hell no, her inner voice screamed.
“Are you married?” she teased. Her hand slipped beneath the cotton of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.
He nipped at the sensitive area that sat between her neck and shoulder. “Not married, not engaged. Tonight, I’m yours … if you want me.” His breathy reply sent shivers racing across her body. His hands dipped past her waistband and caressed her bottom.
She was done. There was nothing he could say to change her mind. He was Dalton Black, her first crush. She would have him, and she would enjoy him.
“I’ve got a bed.”
He chuckled. “Do you now? I’d love to see it.” He was beastly strong. He twisted his body so his feet hit the floor, but hers stayed glued to his.
With his hands still inside her pants, he said, “You have the nicest ass.” He grabbed handfuls of it and rose while Samantha held on for the ride. He stepped between the coffee table and couch and made his way to her room.
She expected him to toss her onto the bed. Her experience was, once a bed came into play, everything went quickly from that point forward. Dalton surprised her when he lowered her gently to the edge.
Steel blue eyes once hard were now like molten glass that held a sizzling, electric heat. Although she wore an oversized shirt and leggings, he looked at her as if she wore sexy lingerie or—better yet—nothing at all.
Hungry eyes took her in, from her high ponytail to her fuzzy socks. “You’re so beautiful.”
She tried to stand, but he shook his head. “Let me look at you for a minute.”
While he stared at her, she drank him in. He wore a colored T-shirt that would become her favorite because the silver blue of it brought out the passion in his eyes. The material stretched across his broad chest. Mountains of muscle rippled to a narrow waist. Jeans that fit him perfectly hung low on his hips and hugged thighs she knew were honed from stone.
He could take all the minutes he wanted because the view was damn fine from where she sat.
“I thought you were staying the night on the ice.” Her voice barely registered above a whisper.
“That was my plan, but every time I looked across the lake and saw the light on, I knew this was where I wanted to be.”
“What about your brothers?” She inched back on the bed until her entire body rested on the soft mattress.
“They’re men. They get it.” He bent forward to unlace his boots. Once he toed them off, he climbed onto the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, making her roll toward him. She didn’t fight it. She loved the feel of being next to him. He was so large. She was so small. Together, they were perfect.
“We’re breaking the third-date rule,” she said.
He splayed his hand across her stomach and pressed her to the mattress. “I don’t like rules.”
As his palm inched up to cup her breasts, she let out a sigh. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. She nearly wept with joy.
“Our rules, our way.” She pulled the hem of her shirt over her head and threw it aside. Dalton groaned at the sight of her. One good thing about having money was being able to afford nice underthings. The black lace bra was made from the finest, softest material. Though her breasts were small, his palm seemed to like the weight.
“So pretty.” He leaned down and breathed heat over one tight, aching nipple. Her back arched, forcing the lacy cup against his lips. “There’s no hurry. We’ve got all night.” He left one breast and moved to the other to repeat his hot, tortuous tease.
Being all about equality, Samantha tugged at the hem of his shirt until it bunched around his chest. “I want to see you. I want to taste you.”
A slow, sexy rumble vibrated through the air. Dalton reached behind him, grabbing a handful of cotton and pulling it forward and over his head.
She tugged it from his arms and lifted it to her nose. “I love the way you smell.”
He shrugged. “It’s a body wash Abby makes.”
“Abby?” She had no idea who that was, but a thread of jealousy twisted inside her. “Who’s Abby?”
“Is that jealousy in those pretty eyes?” He lifted his body and straddled her hips.
The heavy hardness of him rubbed against her, the friction was better than anything she’d felt in ages.
“No, I don’t have a right to be jealous.” She bit her lip, thinking about Abby and conjuring all sorts of images. Pretty blondes. Dynamic redheads. Tatted up biker chicks. She released a telling sigh. “All right. I’m a little jealous. This is my first time with you, and I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”
With his palms flat against her body, he caressed her skin with long, soft strokes. “There’s no one here but us. Abby Garrett is a local woman who raises bees and makes soaps and stuff. It’s only you and me.” His hands floated over her skin. A shiver of pleasure raced through her cells, slamming straight to her core.
She sucked in a cleansing breath, trying to settle her nerves. It was sex. She’d done it before, but somehow this was different. Dalton wasn’t stripping down or impatient for her to do the same. He was enjoying every second.
Rather than rush through the mechanics of joining their two bodies, Samantha got in touch with the emotions she was feeling.
Fear.
Passion.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
Love.
The last one floored her. I don’t love Dalton. She loved the way he made her feel.
No matter where he touched—her stomach, her hair, her arms, her face—the needy ache inside her grew. Her body was already humming, and they’d barely begun.
“God, I still have my pants on, and I’m close to being finished,” she panted.
He chuckled. “We’re on
ly beginning.”
She traced the lines of his tattoos. “Boston? When were you there?”
A smirk of a smile graced his face. “Not the city. The band.”
She needed the distraction of conversation, or she’d erupt in seconds. “You had the name of a band tattooed on your arm?” She wondered if some poor fool was sporting the name Indigo on their body.
“Bad decision. Too much alcohol.” He fell forward, catching himself on his arms. While one held his weight, the other snaked around her back to unhook her bra. Dalton was dexterous—one try, and it was loose. But he didn’t strip it from her in one quick movement. He peeled it from her body inch by inch. She was a gift he unwrapped, revealing the treasure slowly.
Her nipples were hard and painfully tight. His lips covered one, and the heat of his mouth sucked it in. She no longer felt the tingling discomfort. It was replaced with the most amazing sensation created by his superior oral skills. A frenzied fire that raced through her body.
Her hips pumped against him, trying to find the release she craved.
“In such a hurry,” he said. His lips touched her breast. The vibration of his words coursed through her. “Don’t rush to the end when the middle is so much fun.”
Dalton showed her how much enjoyment floating in the middle could bring. He spent minutes raking his whiskers over her breasts. Little nips and sucks added in between for her pleasure. He moved down to make love to her belly button with his tongue. Who knew that she would quiver and shake so hard? He leaned back and put his thumbs into the waistband of her pants and tugged, stripping her naked. She was grateful for the distance from his tongue, and yet she couldn’t wait until it returned to torture her again.
Her labored breath slowed as the cool air rushed over her skin. She was on fire, and all she wore were fuzzy socks. Scratch that, Dalton pulled those off with his teeth and climbed up her naked body.
“Feel good?” His hands were back on her. They seemed to be everywhere. His lips and tongue teased her from her collarbone to what he’d referred to as her anvil-sharp hips.
One Hundred Wishes Page 9