by Taryn Quinn
She stoked the fire with the poker and added two more logs. She warmed her hands in front of the fire before wandering to the bookcases that lined the room. Where my brother had classics and dry business volumes, my tastes ran to murder and mayhem.
She pulled down one of my favorites and flipped it over to read the back. Dean Koontz and Joe Hill were my go-tos for horror and psychology. She brought the book over to the couch. “You sure you don’t want help?”
“I’m good.”
She curled into the corner of the sofa closest to the flame and tucked a red throw around her legs. Instead of the front of the book, she read the last page. I grinned. Said a lot about a person who needed to know the ending before she bothered to start it at the beginning.
I liked the slow build—at least I used to.
Kay was the first woman to interest me beyond a glass of wine and a no-strings-attached evening in three years. Even worse, I hadn’t felt this level of possessiveness after two years of being with Sheridan. I curled my fingers into fists, but the anger I’d been hiding from simply wasn’t there.
I didn’t know how to shuffle around it. Living with it was easier than pushing through the emotions and dealing with what had happened. I wasn’t sure what to feel without it.
Kay drew up her knees under the sweater and wore the blanket like a shawl. Her fingers poked out from the overlong armholes enough to clutch the book. Readying the bacon—a hell yes for me as well—and French toast didn’t take me long, but by the time I looked up again, she was already a quarter way through the book.
“Do you read by osmosis or something?”
“Huh?” She blinked at me, her eyes huge and unfocused under the fringe of bangs. She looked down at the book then back to me. “I’m not quite a speed reader. My dad can read a five-hundred-page book in an hour though.”
I shifted a thick piece of French toast on her plate and dropped a pat of butter on the crunchy swirls of sugar and cinnamon. “If I promise to let you finish the book, will you come back in here for breakfast?”
“Do I get an extra piece of bacon?”
“Two.”
She shut the book and stood with her blanket around her shoulders. “Deal.”
I put her plate on the table in the small alcove off the kitchen. Before I could bring out the syrup, she was at the table, her feet tucked up under her on the bench seat as she peeled the crust back with long, elegant fingers.
“Would you like a fork?” I held one up, amusement dripping from each word.
She tore off a piece and blew on it. “Nope. I like it just like this. All hot and gooey. It’s more than sweet enough.” She made a distracting humming groan as she got to the center of the thick bread. She tilted her head back a little as she chewed with a blissed out face I knew far too well. “I’d marry you just for this bread.”
The pleasure seeped out of my chest. I set my plate down and backed up to the sink full of pans. My hand shook and I fisted it to cover up the tremor. She didn’t know what she was saying, but Christ, did it have to be today that she mentioned marriage?
“Linc? Your food is going to get cold.”
I cleared my throat. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” She rushed over to me as she licked off the sugar and butter from her fingertips. Even that couldn’t deflect the sudden mood shift.
I turned away to grip the edge of the farm-style sink. The burning anger I recognized. I tried to bank it. She didn’t deserve it—she certainly didn’t know what she’d triggered. And for fuck’s sake, I was never this sensitive. It was just these particular days that messed me up—Christmas Eve and the day itself. I stayed away from people for this exact reason.
She touched my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Obviously, it’s something.”
“Just leave it, Miss Kane.”
She took a step back. “Miss Kane? Seriously?”
She pushed and it was all I could do not to snap at her more. My silence was a far better option. I just didn’t know how to tell her that.
She whirled away and went back into the living room to grab her book, then fled to the library with a slam of the door.
“Fuck.” I pushed over the heavy cast iron pan and matching griddle. When the sturdy white mug I’d had for ten years shattered in the sink, I growled. “Motherfucker.”
I stalked to the front door and shoved my feet in my boots and grabbed my parka on my way out the door.
I never should have brought her here. It was beyond stupid and my brain was chaos covered in missing parts. She deserved better than me, but I’d selfishly wanted her even when I’d known I was stupid to make the deal.
I’d been out of sorts since I’d put on that damn suit.
The angry caged animal had been tamed with a half dozen orgasms, but as usual I couldn’t get around that word. Any of them. Marry, marriage, married.
Hell, it was the idea of it even more than Sheridan. What she’d taken with her that day was far weightier than a broken heart.
I grabbed the shovel and scraped another layer of snow off the porch. Snow drifts were a neverending reality this close to the water. By the time I got to the driveway and the mailbox, I’d worked up a good sweat. I checked the mail. Some of the local papers were the only ones that would be in there. But it was something to do.
Sure enough, the community paper and a flyer about Christmas Eve festivities in the town was rolled together in the box. I crunched the colorful flyer and trudged over to the recycle bin when a icy ball of snow smacked me in the side of the head.
I turned to see a furious Kay on my porch.
“What the hell, Kay?”
“Oh, now it’s Kay?” She stood with her hands on her hips. “You had to go and ruin a perfectly lovely day after the first sex of my life.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Nothing like shouting it out to the world.”
“Who’s going to hear? A Blue Jay? If they even come out to this corner of the snow palace in the mountains.”
I pressed my lips together. She was glorious when she was mad. I’d worked off most of my anger with physical labor, but it seemed as if she’d been inside stewing.
She stomped her foot and her foot turned a little. She threw her arm out to catch herself since she was wearing my old boots. Obviously pissed, she swiped another handful of snow off the railing.
I held my hand up. “Don’t go there, Miss Kane.” I knew I’d started a war with using her name again, but the wall of frustration and hurt in my chest had cracked again. Just seeing her on my porch with her messy flyaway hair and fury snapping in her bright blue eyes was enough to send me down a path that was probably going to be my undoing.
I bent down to scoop up a handful of snow.
I was going to do it anyway. She was my first bright spot on this date in a helluva long time.
Another snowball landed dead center on my chest. She had a damn good aim. And so did I. I threw one even as I scooped up another. She yelped and skidded behind the railing but half of it skimmed her head. “Bullseye,” I muttered as I heard her shriek.
The sound of snow going down a woman’s top. Especially her with nothing under that cloud-soft sweater.
Soon it would be my cold hands looking to be warmed up.
I packed the snowball tighter as she peeked up with two useless balls that fell apart before getting to me. She’d made them too fast.
I sent a trio over where she should have been and the third hit her in the shoulder as she peeked above the rail. “You’re a dirty cheat.”
“You haven’t figured that out?” I called back to her.
“I’m learning.”
My fingers were frozen under the thin gloves I’d had in my pocket. They were great for shoveling, not so much for keeping warm. She stood and threw two at me like a damn ball launcher at the batting cages. I stepped out of the way for one and ducked against the other as I moved back toward the house.
She
still managed to wing my ear.
“You keep playing dirty, Miss Kane.”
“Stop calling me Miss Kane!”
“You liked it last night.”
“It was cute last night.” Another two came flying at me, but they were way over my head since she was throwing blind. “This time, it was to push me away.”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, it was. I’m sorry.”
She slowly peered around the post. “What was that?”
I jammed my hands into my coat. “You’re right.”
15
Kay
I ducked back behind the post. “You’re just saying that so you can stuff snow down my sweater.” Like he’d already done.
Twice.
Bastard.
“That’s an excellent strategy, but not this time.”
My knees were wet from crouching and toppling over because his feet were in the Frankenstein league of sizes. Or maybe basketball players. I was tall—I could wear a lot of guys’ shoes if I had to. Not this guy. So, yeah, I kept tripping because I kept falling out of his shoes.
But dammit, that didn’t matter.
He’d said he was wrong. Men didn’t do that. Seriously, never. At least not in my twenty-seven years. I stood up slowly, still suspicious.
But he stood with his baggy sweatpants dotted with snowdust and wet spots from our impromptu fight. His plaid shirt was half open and that delicious chest was wet from snow, too. Even with the sun shining, it wasn’t warm out here. Snow was whipping around and I wanted nothing more than to go inside and curl up in front of the fireplace.
Instead, I’d started a snowball fight.
More because he’d been all snappy and cold after the best sex of my life, not to mention the gooey mushball feelings I’d developed thanks to his cooking skills. It had been a wonderfully sweet morning after. The man had legendary skills in the bedroom and with his griddle. He even cooked perfect bacon—then bam!
Miss Kane.
And not the sexy way he said it. That was ironic and funny with a hint of dirty in his voice. In the kitchen—not at all the same tone.
So yeah, I was mad and I’d taken it out on him with snow. And now he was being all contrite?
Yeah, I smelled a trap.
I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping for a little warmth. Too bad my nipples were frozen. I would not think too hard about how warm his mouth was and how he’d warm me up. I was still mad at him.
Mostly.
“It’s not your fault, Kay.” He climbed two steps.
I took a step back toward the door. If he touched me, I’d cave. His eyes were too sad.
“I come up here to be alone most of the time. This time of year sucks for me.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but his face did that closed-off thing again and I didn’t want to tip the scales back to growl. I admit to greed.
Selfishness.
Totally un-Christmas-like behavior, but I didn’t really care. I wanted the fun Linc back. I wasn’t quite sure what had triggered the wounded bear routine. Maybe he was like all guys and didn’t like the word marriage spoken aloud.
I hadn’t meant it.
Figure of speech and all that.
But what else could it be?
I took a step into his space as he cleared the last stair on the porch. “None of this has to be serious. I hope you know that.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“I know the virgin thing was a lot to take, but I’m not a total freak about it. I just didn’t find anyone worth getting through it for.”
He smoothed his hands down my arms. “And I was?”
“You put the candy in candy cane, Mr. Murdock.”
His jaw flexed, but the anger was gone. “I put the Lincoln in Kandy is the correct statement.”
I laughed. “Well, that too.” I lifted my arms to his shoulders and buried my fingers in his cool, damp hair. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Linc. I know what this is.”
“Well, that’s one of us, because I sure as hell don’t.” He lowered his mouth to mine and his cool lips slid over mine. I didn’t know what to say to that so I let him sweep me back inside.
He swung me up enough for me to wrap my legs around him. He accepted my weight like I was one of those cute little girls who got thrown around like human dolls.
I had to confess, I loved how strong he was. The thick ropey muscles of his arms and shoulders made my teeth itch. Enough that I went with instinct and bit his shoulder, pushing his shirt out of the way to get to his neck.
God, he never ceased to amaze me with his stamina and recovery time. His skin was still frozen under my mouth, but his cock was hard and hot between my legs. He pushed down my sweater to get to my shoulder, dragging the front down to get to my breast, but the neckline wasn’t that big.
He dragged it up and over my head, tossing it over his shoulder. Distantly, I hoped it didn’t land in a puddle from our boots. I loved that sweater and would definitely want it in…like twenty minutes.
He dragged his teeth over my breast and I hissed as he sucked my cold nipple into his hot mouth.
Okay, thirty minutes.
My head slammed into the door as I arched to give him more access. His mouth seemed even hotter thanks to my nearly numb skin. The tingles were even more intense as he drew me deeper and flicked his tongue along the tip.
My hands slid into his hair as I was helpless under the onslaught. He pinned every part of me against the wall and table. He dipped one cool hand down my pants and I yelped. He smiled into the kiss.
“So hot. No man would have frostbitten fingers with this around them.” And he slid all the way inside me.
I shivered. It was like a thick icicle sliding through my folds. At least for the first few seconds. I warmed and softened for him as he slowly pumped inside me. His thumb was just as cold as it circled my clit.
The direct difference of heat and coolness confused my brain enough to skip those anxious moments when he first invaded my body. I simply reacted and accepted what he so easily gave me.
The one thing he gave me.
His body.
If a tiny part of me wanted more, I had only to stuff it down under the pleasure to make it quiet down. At least for now. Maybe later I’d be in trouble.
He pushed at my leggings until I managed to roll them off my hips. He groaned and dropped to a crouch. He pressed my thighs wider and fastened his mouth over my pussy. My hands went right into his hair. There was no moving him when he decided to taste me. And I wasn’t dumb. There was nothing more intense than Lincoln’s mouth on any part of my body, but most of all there.
He swung my leg up over his shoulder and thrust his tongue into me. I arched off the thin table and almost toppled us. It was sturdy, but not made for this kind of action. He leaned back and I started to hop off. “No. You simply have to stay still, Miss Kane.”
I shivered. An hour ago I hated when he called me that, now it created only liquid fire.
He lightly licked under my clit, then circled it and released it. “Think you can do that?”
“Probably not, but I’ll try.”
He tucked his thumb inside me and pulsed lightly. “Try really hard. I’m not ready to let your taste out of my mouth.”
“Sweet mercy,” I whispered.
What was it about this man looking up from between my legs that made me insane? It had to be how direct he was. My fingers sank into his shoulders. He winced a little, but didn’t slow down, circling and circling until I was wild to move.
“Please, Linc.”
His eyes flared a bright blue in the distilled light of the foyer. He didn’t stop. The endless shallow thrust of his thumb and his busy tongue drove me insane. I soaked his face, but he didn’t stop.
The sounds were lewd and I wanted to back away from it even as my body poured out more and more moisture for him. In the beginning I’d needed it, but now my body knew him. It was made for him.
And I needed his cock inside me.
“Please, Linc,” I said again. My breath was a mere whisper against the raging heartbeat that had arrowed down to my clit and up to my nipples and between my ears where the filmy blackness was encroaching.
I hated that he could bring me to a place that was so fuzzy and unclear. That he became every sense in my body.
But I loved it too.
I had no choice but to surrender to him, only because I knew he’d soon be doing the same to me. I dragged my hands over his shoulders, into his hair, down his neck to his back. Anything to make him push me over. I shouted his name and couldn’t help but arch up to his mouth as his tongue and fingers worked in tandem.
I splintered like the fragile icicles outside the door.
I was dripping under his heat, just like the sun outside.
My thighs trembled and he only pushed me harder, demanded more. My cries turned to sobs and he quickly stood and swung me off the table to the couch. He fumbled for the candy dish where we’d stashed condoms last night.
Then I was split wide on the edge of the couch as he knelt in front of me and thrust inside me. I wound myself around him and took each punishing blow of his body inside me. The first few times felt like he was trying to split me in two. I tilted my hips and there was nothing but bliss.
He slammed against every wall inside me, figurative and real. I had to let him inside.
I had no defenses for this man.
Two days and I was doomed.
Dear God, help me.
He shuddered in my arms, and I scratched my nails up from his lower back and down to his delicious ass to hold him inside me. I loved the pulse of him, just when he was about to let go. He pulled back a little and our lips met a second before he cried out into my mouth.
My name.
A broken, scarred, whispered version of my name.
I held onto him so tight my muscles locked in reaction to the intense release. Then we were nothing but a sweaty heap on the couch.
My knees lowered and my foot bumped into the coffee table in front of the fireplace. I rested it there and slowly trailed my fingers over the maze of muscles along his back, then down the curve of his spine and back up. He made a delicious little moan and turned his head into my neck.