Passion and Peril: Scenes of PassionScenes of Peril

by Suzanne Brockmann

  They could make this work. It was a long drive from L.A., but flights were cheap and his schedule was flexible. Crazy as it sounded, he wanted to pursue a relationship with her. The more time they spent together, the more convinced he became that there was something special between them.

  Meeting the woman of his dreams inspired a physical and emotional upheaval in him. He was brimming with creative energy, bouncing off the walls. He found a notebook and pen on top of her desk. For the next few hours, he alternated between fantasizing about hot sex and scribbling down ideas for a new series.

  He also tried to remember what he’d been doing on Friday just before the crash. His head ached from the effort, leaving him with a vague impression of a dark-haired woman—his mother?—that faded quickly.

  Around midnight the power went out. He didn’t think it was cause for alarm, but he stayed alert and continued to feed the fire. The storm was really raging outside. It troubled him to imagine Paige battling the elements by herself every winter.

  He finally ran out of steam and set the notebook aside. Her bedroom door was open to take advantage of the warmth from the fireplace, but he couldn’t see inside. He hadn’t heard any sounds from her room. No squeaky box springs or deep breathing.

  He’d like to check on her. She’d be fast asleep, pretty face relaxed, soft lips parted, honey-colored hair spread across the pillow. He pictured her lying on her stomach, rolling over in those see-through panties.

  Groaning, he massaged his eye sockets. She was probably all bundled up, not half-nude under the blankets. If he was going to engage in dirty thoughts, he might as well conjure an image of her buck naked, touching herself.

  A terrific crash interrupted his fantasy. It felt as if the cabin had been struck by lightning or hit by a truck. Plaster rained from the ceiling and the cabin shook all the way down to its foundation.

  What the hell?

  He leaped off the couch and ran toward the bedroom, his pulse racing. Her muffled scream chilled him to the bone. When he reached the doorway, he froze in shock. A tree branch had smashed through the roof, creating a giant hole in the ceiling. He could see snow flurries and hear the shrieking wind.

  Paige was trapped underneath the branch. Hurt badly, perhaps.

  “Colin?”

  The plaintive cry spurred him into action. He grabbed the end of the fallen branch and shoved it aside with all his might. Adrenaline must have assisted him, because the tree was huge. A layer of shingles and lumber had protected her from the crushing force. He ripped the broken pieces away, freeing her from the debris.

  Suddenly she was in his arms and he was carrying her out the door. Her entire body trembled as he set her down on the couch. Kneeling before her, he ran his hands from her upper thighs to her stocking feet, checking for injuries. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  Her sweatpants were torn and dirty, her shirt damp from snow. She had pine needles in her hair and a light scratch on her cheek. He rubbed his thumb over the cut, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. “No broken bones?”

  “No.”

  He glanced toward the bedroom, amazed by the close call.

  “I’d have been stuck without your help,” she said.

  “Good thing I was here.”

  Her blue eyes filled with tears.

  He drew her into his arms as his throat closed up. Although he didn’t believe in fate, he couldn’t fathom anything less. She’d pulled him from the wreckage so he could save her from the fallen tree. This was meant to be.

  After she calmed down, he released her to study the damage. Her bed was covered with snow and roofing materials. Cold air swirled in through the gaping hole in the ceiling, sucking all of the heat from the cabin.

  “I’m having bad luck with tree branches this year,” she said, sniffling.

  “Yeah, what are the odds?”

  “I should get my soil tested. There’s a forest of dead trees on the other side of the lake. Carbon dioxide poisoning.”

  “From pollution?”

  “No, I think it’s a natural phenomenon. Something to do with volcanic activity on Mammoth Mountain.”

  “Jesus,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Do you have any lumber? Hammer, nails, stuff like that?”

  “In the garage.”

  She didn’t want him to attempt a dangerous repair in the middle of the night during a blizzard, but he insisted. If he didn’t board up the roof, the freezing air and snow would keep coming in. So he put on his boots and she let him borrow her brother’s old parka. There was a pair of gloves in the pocket. She grabbed her coat and a flashlight before she followed him to the garage, where they found a large piece of plywood. First he had to clear off the roof and do something about the giant tree branch in the middle of it.

  He set up a ladder and climbed it, tying a rope around the tree branch. They both moved to higher ground and pulled until the branch tumbled down the side of the house. Then Colin ascended the ladder again, shoveling away the snow and nailing a couple of two-by-fours to the top of the roof. Without those steps, he’d slide right off the icy surface.

  Paige helped him lift the plywood panel. Getting the board up the ladder was a chore. His face was pelted by stinging winds and snowflakes melted in his hair, dripping chilly water on his neck. He had to take off his gloves to use the hammer. His fingertips grew numb halfway through the repair.

  She stood at the top of the ladder the entire time, holding the flashlight. When the board was secure, they climbed down.

  Inside the cabin, there was more work to do. Colin scooped up as much snow as he could and deposited it in the bathtub. She gathered the wet blankets into a pile and moved the debris out of the way. The hasty repair would keep the room dry, but not warm. She wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed tonight.

  “I’ll make some more cocoa,” she said, shutting the door.

  He stood in front of the fire and tried to thaw his hands. She heated water over the fire, shivering. Her clothes were damp, like his. They should probably get undressed and huddle under her sleeping bag again.

  He stared into the flames, reluctant to suggest it.

  “Now I’m thinking I was too eager to turn my brother’s room into an office,” she said, handing him a mug.

  “I’ll take the floor. You can have the couch.”

  “How long were you planning to stay?”

  “In your cabin?”

  “In Twin Lakes.”

  “Another week.”

  “Then you have to go back to teaching?”

  “No, I don’t have another class until January. My schedule is flexible.” After a short hesitation, he said, “Maybe we can go out to dinner when the weather clears.”

  Smiling, she sipped her cocoa. “You’re sweet.”

  “I’m not that sweet.”

  She crawled under the sleeping bag on the couch and tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. Her sweatpants followed. He knew what was left: those pretty little panties. “Well?”

  His gaze rose from her bare shoulders. “Well what?”

  “Are you going to stay in those wet clothes?”

  He sat on the opposite end of the couch to remove his boots. His shirt and sweater were wet around the collar, his jeans soaked from the knee down. He took off everything but his boxer-briefs, which were still dry.

  She scooted over to share the sleeping bag, bringing her cocoa mug. He tried to ignore the feel of her slender, mostly naked form curled up against his side. The fire blazed bright. Soon his entire body was warm.

  “Who taught you how to fix things?” she asked.

  “My grandpa.”

  “You don’t have a stepdad?”

  “Now I do. My mom remarried a few years ago.”

  “Tha
t’s nice.”

  She set her cocoa on the end table, her breasts brushing his arm. He responded in a predictable way, already wound up from the night’s adventures. Heat suffused his neck and he forced himself not to look at her.

  Instead of returning her arm to her side, she placed her fingertips on his jaw and tilted his head toward her. Guarded, he studied the flare of desire in her eyes, the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat.

  To his surprise, she lifted her lips to his.

  * * *

  PAIGE WASN’T SURE why she’d changed her mind.

  Maybe because he hadn’t lost interest after she’d refused him. He’d sat and enjoyed the movie like a gentleman. He actually wanted to go out on a date with her. For a professor, he was quite handy with tools.

  And...he’d been there when she needed him.

  She was disturbed by the thought of dying a slow death, trapped under rubble. His dangerous trek on the rooftop had rattled her further. She realized that she cared too much about Colin to let him slip away. Perhaps she’d made a mistake by shutting herself off from the rest of the world. It hadn’t prevented her from developing feelings for him. Whether they slept together or not, she was already hooked.

  So why deny them both the pleasure?

  She knew he wouldn’t make the first move again after getting shot down, so she took matters into her own hands. When her lips brushed his, he went still. He might think she was toying with him, but he didn’t push her away. Instead he found a better angle to return her kiss and picked up where they left off, covering her mouth with his.

  This time Paige gave as good as she got, kissing him back hotly. She moaned as their tongues met and tangled. She needed this. All of this. Every inch of him, all of his heat and taste and touch. Mouth to mouth, skin to skin, heart to heart.

  But he paused, panting against her lips. “Is this gratitude?”

  She twined her arms around his neck and slid her naked thigh along his. “Does it matter?”

  “Well, it’s not a deal breaker.”

  “I don’t want to analyze anything,” she said, kissing his clenched jaw. “I just want you to touch me.”

  He groaned in compliance, pressing her into the couch cushions and devouring her eager mouth. Her bare breasts brushed against his chest. Heat exploded between them and the sleeping bag fell to the floor. She clung to his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch beneath her fingertips. He tasted hot and hungry and a little wild. She didn’t know if their sexual chemistry had been amped up by her emotional breakthrough and the dangers they’d faced this evening, but it was off the charts. His raw intensity made her swoon.

  With a low growl, he shifted his weight on top of her and settled between her spread legs. Hello. His erection nudged the notch of her sex, bumping a very sweet spot. She gasped into his mouth, awash with sensation. His keen observational skills translated nicely here. He lifted his head to watch her face while he repeated the action.

  She bit down on her lower lip, shuddering.

  “Can you come like this?”

  “I usually need...direct contact.”

  He made a sound of approval, ready to give her exactly what she needed. His mouth trailed down the side of her neck and his thumb stroked the hollow at the base of her throat. As he flicked his tongue there, he continued the lower-body assault, stimulating her with the ridge of his erection. She arched her spine and dug her nails into his back, her breathing ragged. Her nipples were tight beads, her sex aching.

  “What else do you need?”

  She brought his hand to her breast.

  He stared for a few seconds before he dipped his head, flicking his tongue over one ripe tip, then the other. The light rasp made her wet. She felt the cool air caress them and quivered, taut as a bowstring.

  Her panties were already damp.

  Impatient, she threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth back to hers for a steamy kiss. Her breasts flattened against his hard, hair-roughened chest. Squirming with excitement, she reached down with her other hand. Slipping it inside his briefs, she encircled his steely erection.

  “Ooh,” she said. Her inner muscles clenched in response to his thickness.

  He jerked in her hand, the blunt tip of his penis thrusting against the front of her panties. She knew he could feel her moisture through the sheer fabric. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

  She had a whole box, never opened. Giving him a push, she scrambled off the couch and padded to the bathroom to retrieve it. When she returned, he glanced at the box and set it aside, in no hurry to suit up.

  “Where were we?” she asked, climbing on his lap.

  While she took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his, he trailed his fingertips down her spine. Her tummy fluttered as he lowered the ruffled waistband of her panties. He filled his palms with the soft flesh of her buttocks and traced the sensitive cleft. She flexed her hips, rubbing herself along his length.

  Faster. Harder. More.

  As if sensing her urgency, he flipped her onto her back. Hands still buried in her panties, he stripped them off. She was too aroused to feel any shame about her splayed legs or the wet heat between them. He stared at her glistening center, mesmerized.

  She curled her hands into fists and smothered a moan, desperate for relief. Instead of reaching for the condoms, he dropped to his knees in front of the couch. Her breath caught in her throat as he placed his hands on her inner thighs, spreading them wider. She watched his mouth close over her, vibrating with sensation. He used a light touch, a butterfly kiss. It wasn’t the firm pressure she craved, but the sight was so erotic she groaned. When he introduced his tongue, penetrating her opening and tasting her slit, she couldn’t take it anymore. She lifted her hips off the couch, begging him to finish her.

  Smiling a little, because he knew very well what she wanted, he brought his mouth up to her clitoris. He alternated between circling the little nub with his tongue, kissing it and sucking gently. This broken rhythm kept her on the edge of orgasm—by design. He was enjoying this. Every soft cry, every strangled sob. If she let him, he might hold her captive to his delicious torture all night.

  “Please,” she said, twisting her hands in his hair.

  He gave in easily, gliding his tongue over her until she screamed his name, bucking wildly against his mouth.

  After so much buildup, her climax seemed to go on forever. When it finally ended, her skin was flushed, her heart thumping. She relaxed her grip on his hair, aware that he’d just given her the best orgasm of her life. If she hadn’t already decided to take a chance on him, this would have convinced her.

  “How was it?” he asked, rising to sit beside her on the couch.

  “Mmm. A plus.”

  “That good?”

  “Don’t get smug, professor.”

  She would have gladly returned the oral-sex favor, but he tore open a condom package and donned protection. Focusing on her pleasure seemed to have caused him some discomfort. He was throbbing with arousal, wincing as he rolled on the latex.

  She took pity on him. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she straddled his lap. He let out a slow hiss of agony or ecstasy as she enveloped him. She was very wet and swollen. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes dark with lust.

  “How’s this?” she asked.

  He looked down at where they were joined, his fingertips digging into the soft curves of her hips. “It’s good.”

  She brushed her lips over his, tasting herself on them. He kissed her back with fervor, spearing her with his tongue and his body. She moved up and down on him, riding him slowly, relishing the hot slide. They melded together, touching with hands and mouths and skin. She’d never felt closer or more connected to a man. He came with a muffled shout, his shoulders quaking and his fist locked in her ha
ir. She milked him to the last shudder, drinking the passion from his lips.

  After it was over, they curled up like spoons on the rug by the fire, her back to his front. He covered them with the sleeping bag, kissing her bare shoulder. She drifted off in his arms. Safe, satisfied, content.

  Chapter Seven

  COLIN WOKE IN the same state he had the previous morning: fully aroused with a naked woman in his arms.

  This time he knew who she was.

  Paige was curled up on her side in front of him, facing the fire. Memories from the night before assaulted his senses, urging him to roll her over and kiss her, to wake her with his tongue and hands. His erection nudged the soft skin of her buttocks. Smothering a groan, he eased away from her, admiring her bare bottom without disturbing her. They’d stayed up late repairing the roof, and she’d suffered a traumatic experience. He cared more about her need to sleep than his need to sleep with her.

  He rose to his feet and pulled on his discarded clothes, which he’d laid out to dry in front of the fire. It was oddly quiet and bright inside the cabin. A glance through the front window revealed a winter wonderland, sparkling in the cold sunshine. The storm was over, having left a thick blanket of pristine white snow.

  In the bathroom, he discovered the power was back on. Now that the sky was clear, he could probably access the internet.

  To his bewilderment, he had no interest in doing so. Sure, he’d come to Twin Lakes to unplug, but he lived and died by email. He still couldn’t remember if he’d sent his editor a copy of his latest manuscript. That was pretty damned important.

  And yet it wasn’t.

  Today work could wait. Logging on would connect him to the outside world. He’d rather avoid the intrusion and stay connected with Paige. Instead of turning on her laptop, he found her phone on the kitchen counter and sent a quick text to his mother.