by Amy Andrews
Like she was.
“So what happens now?” she asked eventually when the quiet became too much.
He shrugged. “There’s nothing left to do. The blizzard’s upon us, and we can’t go out again until it’s blown over, so…” He turned slightly toward her and smiled. “We just wait it out.”
Suzanne swallowed. Exactly. Just her and him. Waiting it out. How were they going to keep themselves occupied?
“How long do you think it’ll last?”
“Figure it’ll go all night and all day tomorrow and into tomorrow night. We can follow the progress of the storm on the computer.”
Just then, another powerful blast of wind shook the cabin, and the lights flickered out. Had it not been for the fire, they’d have been plunged into darkness. Suzanne shivered and took an involuntary step closer to Grady.
“Or…maybe not.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and swiped at the screen several times. “No cell or internet, either. Looks like we’ll have to go old-school.”
Draining the last of his bourbon, he placed the glass on the mantelpiece next to Christmas Elvis riding a reindeer and headed for the kitchen. Suzanne didn’t bother to follow him, preferring to stay near the source of light. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but the howling was really ramping up outside. It sounded like wolves. Rabid wolves.
Suzanne didn’t mind admitting she was feeling quite vulnerable out here in the middle of nowhere with all that frothing, wailing nature just outside the door. She had absolutely no doubt that Grady would be able to handle any calamity that arose and that he wouldn’t let any harm come to her but, despite the solid shelter of four walls and a roof, she suddenly felt every inch the city girl.
And very, very small.
There was some clattering from the kitchen, then the scratchy crackle of static before a tinny voice grew louder and louder but fading in and out as it talked about wind speeds and temperatures. There was nothing but the voice for a minute, and Suzanne assumed Grady was listening attentively, but then there was an “Oh my god” followed by a groan.
Already on edge, Suzanne tensed. What? What was wrong? She couldn’t hear the weather guy well from here. Had he announced that an asteroid had been sighted on the satellite hurtling toward Earth? It sure as hell felt like the end of the world was nigh. She heard footsteps and turned, panic rising in her chest to see Grady advancing toward her with the baking dish in hand.
“This,” he said, around a mouthful of brownie, pointing to the gooey dark chocolate cakey goodness still in the pan, a corner missing, “is amazing.”
She blinked, uncomprehending for a beat or two, then smiled at the genuine, clearly heartfelt compliment as panic subsided to pride. And pleasure. There was something ridiculously primal about being appreciated for her ability to feed her man.
God…her man. Her rancher. What was wrong with her? Where were her feminist sensibilities? Had the storm reduced her to some kind of cavewoman? “I figured you might want something sweet when you got in.”
Suzanne hadn’t thought too much about that sentence before it came out, but his chewing faltered, and suddenly his gaze heated as it drifted to her mouth and the V neckline of her pajama shirt, and the static seemed to jump from the radio to fill the space between them.
“I didn’t,” he said, dragging his gaze off her mouth. “But I do now.”
Suzanne knew exactly how he felt. She was hungry just looking at him. The static arced between them, coursing and sizzling.
“If you want some of this, you’d better speak up, because I’m probably going to eat the whole thing.”
If you want some of this?
God…she wanted, all right, and it had nothing to do with the pan of brownie and everything to do with the man holding the damn thing. She’d been so worried about Grady, and now he was here all hale and hearty, and it was like every instinct she’d had to deny their attraction—and there’d been many—had been swept away by the blizzard.
Who’d have thought a rancher in plaid and denim appreciating her cooking would be such a freaking turn-on? Suzanne tried really hard not to think about drizzling bourbon on his body and smearing it in chocolate brownie.
“You’re going to eat it all now?”
His gaze dipped briefly again, and her nipples hardened before his eyes returned to her face. “If that’s okay. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Yeah…neither had she.
Swallowing hard, Suzanne forced herself to take a mental step backward. What in the hell was wrong with her tonight? Just because there was an apocalyptic blizzard raging outside didn’t mean she could just throw out all her inhibitions. “Of course it’s okay,” she said, her voice way shakier than she’d have liked. Then an idea struck. “Wait. Hold that thought.”
Shoving her wineglass on the mantelpiece next to his tumbler, she headed toward the kitchen, thankful for the strong glow from the fire. Opening the cutlery drawer, she grabbed two spoons, then the roll of kitchen paper and briefly considered ice cream or the whipped cream before dismissing both as a very bad idea.
For one, the power was out, and opening the fridge and freezer should be limited to emergencies and two, she didn’t think either of them needed such a blatant sexual cue between them. In her current state of arousal, a can of whipped cream was the equivalent of bringing a vibrator into the room.
With that inappropriate thought nipping at her heels, she hurried back to find Grady had moved close to the fire again, the brownie pan still in hand.
“Rug picnic,” she announced as she brandished the spoons in the air.
He turned as Suzanne made her way around the couch, grabbing up the blanket she’d had over her knees earlier.
“That’s not a thing,”
“Of course it is.”
“Not when you’re an adult.”
Suzanne spread the blanket out on the rug. “Who says?”
“Rules of being a grown-up 101.”
“Pfft.” Suzanne’s bangs fluffed out as she made the sound. “Rules of being a grown-up don’t apply when we’re stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere.” Suzanne had been through blizzards before but in a city, there was safety in numbers.
He gave a surprised half laugh. “You’re in a house that’s been surviving blizzards for forty years. In front of a fire. Drinking wine and eating brownies. Not a tent.”
“Whatever… It’s too Little House on the Prairie for my liking.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.” She sunk to the floor, sitting lotus-style, as close to the fire as possible while still being on the rug and glanced up at him. His legs looked six feet long from down here. Man…was there an angle from which Grady didn’t look great?
“What?” she demanded as he continued to stare. “Too manly for a picnic? Will it ruin your reputation in the Surly Rancher Dude Club?”
“Surly rancher dude?”
“What, no club?” Suzanne feigned disappointment. “I was sure you’d be president.”
He clutched his chest. “Who me, ma’am? A simple cowpoke?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just sit already. I promise your secret is safe with me. What happens in the blizzard stays in the blizzard, right?”
Firelight caught the clench of his jaw as a whole world of possibilities opened up in Suzanne’s head. And if she was reading the sudden mushroom cloud of heat in his gaze right, Grady was on the same page. “To coin a phrase,” she added lamely, and then, quickly changing the subject, she held up the spoons, one in each hand. “So are you going to share the brownies or keep them all to yourself?”
For a beat or two, Grady didn’t say anything. Nor did he move. He just stood there looking down at her, his gaze like a heat wave as it raked over her body. Then he passed her the pan. “My aunt would whoop my ass if I didn’t shar
e.”
Suzanne let out a shaky breath as she took the pan and placed it on the blanket. “You want to grab our drinks?”
God knew she was going to need some kind of fortification if she was going to share a pan of brownies with a guy who looked, even now, like he’d walked out of the Wild West and whom her body had decided was just her kind of Christmas crack.
He grabbed both his tumbler and the bourbon in one hand and her glass and the wine bottle in the other. Crouching at the edge of the rug, he placed them on the floorboards, pouring another slug of bourbon for himself and topping up her almost empty glass. He handed her wine over, then picked up his tumbler before settling opposite her, also lotus-style, nothing but a pan of brownies and one very long night between them.
There was about a hand’s width between their knees, and damn if she wasn’t aware of every charged inch of that space. And how easily she could just slide her palm onto his thigh. She thrust the spoon at Grady instead, which he took with one hand, then raised his tumbler between them with the other. “To rug picnics,” he toasted with a touch of derision in his voice.
Suzanne tapped her glass to his tumbler. “I’ll drink to that.” She took a sip of her wine, placed it down on the floor next to the rug, and said, “Dig in.”
He dug in, so did she, and for the next five minutes, there was nothing but the sound of spoons scraping the bottom of the pan, the crackle of the fire, and the wind yowling outside. Suzanne stopped after eating a quarter of the pan. She was getting full, and the brownies were too rich for someone who didn’t have a huge sweet tooth.
“I’m done.” She splayed her hand over her belly as she took a sip of her wine.
Grady, who obviously did have a sweet tooth, smiled at her like she was some kind of lightweight. “That is a tragedy,” he said, faking a crestfallen expression for a beat or two before shoveling up more brownie and spooning it into his mouth.
Suzanne didn’t bother not to look as he continued to eat. He was mesmerizing to watch devouring the food she’d cooked. It was causing a happy little glow in her chest and a raging inferno inside her pajama pants. Stopping to draw breath, he took a swallow of his bourbon and moaned, which didn’t help the emergency fire situation going on inside her panties.
“Mmm,” he murmured appreciatively. “Bourbon and brownies are good together.”
“Yeah?”
He dug some more brownie out with his spoon, dribbled some of the bourbon from his tumbler onto the dark chocolate mass, which soaked it in. He held the spoon between them and said, “Open up.”
Suzanne should probably have declined. But she was no more capable of that than stopping the blizzard raging outside. She parted her lips, and he slipped it in, her mouth closing around the spoon. Shutting her eyes, she savored the taste as he withdrew the implement. The bourbon supercharged the sweetness but gave it a little kick of something else.
“Mmm,” she murmured as the flavor infused her taste buds. She swallowed, her eyes fluttering open to find him staring at her lips.
Her stomach clenched at the heat, at the intensity of his gaze. Her breathing faltered.
A beat passed. Then another. Then, before she could catch her breath, his head swooped and he kissed the corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out and lingering for long, pulse-skittering moments before he withdrew.
Suzanne sucked in a hasty breath, filling her lungs and her senses with the aromas of pine cones, bourbon, and Grady.
“Sorry…you had”—he pointed to the corner of her mouth—“some crumbs…”
Her breathing husky, Suzanne swallowed. She wasn’t sorry at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grady’s heart thumped in his chest as he stared at Suzanne. He shouldn’t have done that. He should not have done that. A buzzing noise in his head grew louder and louder, obliterating the noise of the blizzard and every modicum of common sense. All he could see was Suzanne’s mouth, and all he could think about was kissing it—again.
Longer. Deeper. Wetter.
Everything since he’d stepped inside the warm, welcoming cabin tonight had felt like it was leading to this moment. The fire and the bourbon and the brownies. And the woman waiting up for him. Worrying about him. It had irritated him a couple of days ago, but tonight…
This wasn’t Grady. He wasn’t the kind of guy who craved all that home and hearth bullshit. He’d resigned himself to going without those trimmings years ago, and he’d never allowed himself to think about what he might be missing. Not even with all the guys tonight talking about getting home to a warm house, a warm meal, and a warm woman.
Grady had been looking forward to a drink in front of the fire and spending a couple of hours in his office following the progress of the storm. But then he’d opened that door and Suzanne had been there, worried and cranky, alternating between yelling at him and hugging him, and the desire to come home to this every night—to her every night—had slugged him right in the center of his chest, making it impossible to breathe.
To think.
It was utterly ridiculous even entertaining such a thought. Grady had never met a woman more city than Suzanne—except possibly her mother. And as much as she seemed to have taken to the whole fake rancher girlfriend role, Grady would bet his last cent she bled concrete. So even if he did suddenly want to ditch seventeen years of tightly leashed control, there was nothing that could possibly ever come from this.
But there was a little voice whispering, What happens in the blizzard stays in the blizzard, and it was lethal. Ever since they’d slept together, he’d been trying to convince himself it had been a one-off thing, but the truth was, he wanted Suzanne St. Michelle so fucking badly, he could barely see straight.
“Did you…” Her voice was a ragged whisper, breaking into the silence stretching taut as a bow between them. Her throat bobbed. “Did you get it all?”
For a second, Grady was confused as to her meaning, but then her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he was back at ground zero. He shook his head and whispered, “Nope.”
He wasn’t sure who made the first move; if he’d been forced to guess, he’d swear they’d both moved together, reaching for each other simultaneously, their mouths meeting in the middle, their tongues melding in an instant. Then he was pushing aside the cake pan and his hands were palming her ass, and he didn’t know if he yanked or she scrambled, but she was in his lap, straddling him, her hands pushing into his hair, rocking against him and moaning as the seam of her jeans rode the bulge behind the seam of his, and it felt so fucking great. He thought he might just come from that alone.
“Suzy,” he murmured, breaking off their kiss, his lips on her neck as he held her tight and they rutted against each other, enjoying the heat and the friction and her wanton abandon.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted it all.
With Suzanne still clinging to him, he rose to his knees and tipped her backward, guiding her gently down to the rug, her head and shoulders and back flat on the floor, her ass still anchored firmly on top of his thighs as he sat back on his heels.
“I want to look at you,” he said as he pushed the flats of his palms under the hem of her shirt, over her stomach, and up her ribs to her breasts, taking the shirt with him. His hands found the soft satin of her bra but didn’t linger—not yet anyway—just moved inexorably north, leaning forward slightly as he removed her shirt inch by inch until it was close enough for her to duck her head through the opening and he could pull it off her arms and toss it away.
“Yes,” he hissed.
Firelight played on the pale hue of her skin and emphasized the two firm mounds clad in ice-blue satin. His fingers traced the edge of her bra cup all the way down to the front-opening claspnestled in her cleavage.
Christ…he loved a front-opening clasp.
Grady’s gaze locked with hers, his breathing ragged as he t
wisted and the bra sprang open. She gasped, arching her back a little, and Grady’s gaze dropped to the spill of her magnificent breasts, her nipples tipped rose gold in the firelight. He sucked in a breath, his hands automatically reaching for all their ripe fullness.
She shuddered as his hands closed over her, and Grady could no more have stopped himself from leaning in to suck her nipples than he could stop the world turning. Her moan and the desperate clutch of her hand at his shoulder as his mouth closed over a taut peak stoked the fire blazing out of control in his loins.
“Grady,” she said on a pant, her back arching more as his tongue flicked back and forth over the hard tip. But he wanted to hear her yell it. Hell, he wanted to hear her scream it as she scratched up his back.
It wasn’t like anybody was going to hear her over the racket of the blizzard.
He switched to the other nipple, and she moaned again, louder this time, her back bowing at the pleasure. He sucked it hard, reveling in the rasp of it against his tongue.
“Grady,” she said again, her hands grabbing at his shirt, dragging it up his back and pulling it over his head, breaking his lip-lock on her breast. He straightened to rid himself of the shirt, looking down at her, looking at the flames dancing patterns on her belly and the hard, wet peaks of her nipples, the red marks just below her breasts where his whiskers had rubbed and the soft flare of her hips. Her hair was loose around her head and her mouth was full and red.
She looked wrecked, and he hadn’t even started yet.
Easing her ass to the ground, he stripped off her pajama pants and her ice-blue panties until she was lying in nothing but her birthday suit and the firelight. And holy fuck, his balls ached and his loins ached and his eyeballs ached at the sight of her before him like some pagan sacrifice to the gods.
Hell, his heart was hammering so hard, his chest ached.
“Your turn,” she said, tipping her chin at his jeans.
Grady heaved in an unsteady breath to match the unsteadiness of his hands as he undid his belt, then the button of his fly, then made short work of his zipper. Rising on his knees a little, he eased his jeans and his underwear down in one move. His cock sprang free, and the way her gaze latched on to the rampant jut of his dick was like a squeeze to his balls. With nowhere near as much finesse as he hoped, Grady wriggled out of the denim without falling on top of her or face-planting into the floor until he, too, was naked, kneeling between her spread thighs.