Under the Northern Lights

by S. C. Stephens

  My hands came up to dig through his thick hair, and a low, erotic exhale left my lips. Michael’s grip on me tightened, and his kiss intensified. Our breaths were quicker now, frantic pants that screamed our rising need for each other. My body was practically vibrating, and I felt like I was flying. All the reasons why we shouldn’t do this crumbled into dust as I reveled in the feel of his body against mine.

  His beard was tickling my skin, but I was too enraptured to care; every second was bliss. Michael’s hands ran up my back, then shifted directions and cupped my backside. A loud moan escaped me, and Michael’s lips left my mouth, curving up my cheek to my ear. He started nibbling on a lobe, and I fisted my hands in his hair. “God . . . yes.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud until Michael stepped away from me. I gasped as our bodies separated, but when I looked into his eyes, disappointment flooded me. What I saw there was remorse, not acceptance and excitement. “I’m sorry, Mallory. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s fine,” I told him, stepping forward. “I’m okay with this. I want you to.”

  Retreating from my advances, he shook his head. “I’m not. It’s not fair to you. I’m not going anywhere, and you . . . you’re not staying. And my wife, I still . . .” His face scrunched into confusion, like he wasn’t sure what he still felt for her.

  With a sigh, he quickly turned around, shutting the door on his confliction. My heart fell, but I knew stopping was the smart thing to do, since he was right about me leaving and him staying. I was getting tired of being smart, though.

  “Okay, Michael,” I said, schlepping to my couch bed.

  Michael turned to watch me, and another weary sigh escaped him. “Mallory?”

  Wondering if he would apologize again, I looked his way. “Yes?”

  We locked eyes for long, silent seconds before he finally pointed at my hard bench. “I’ll make you another mattress as soon as I can. I promise.”

  While it wasn’t what I’d been hoping he’d say, it was sweet nonetheless. He was such a good man, and that was what made all of this so difficult. Because I couldn’t speak, I merely nodded at him. His eyes were so stricken with guilt that I made myself smile. I didn’t want him ending everything because we’d gotten carried away tonight. Stupid as it was, I still wanted his tender touch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A pattern began to emerge over the next several weeks, a pattern of pushing forward and pulling away. I was afraid the kissing would end after our heated moment, but to my delight, Michael still wanted our limited intimacy. He just seemed guiltier about it, like he was certain he was hurting me. I tried to make him feel better by being as bright and cheery as I could be, like none of this was bothering me, but in truth, it was wearing me down. I didn’t want this to end, but the end was steadily approaching.

  But the passion between Michael and me was escalating in a way that was harder and harder to contain. It was like we kept dousing the fire but left the coals smoldering. All it took was the tiniest touch to set off the spark. I wasn’t sure what that meant for us; all I knew was I wanted him more and more. I could sense that he wanted the same, but he wouldn’t allow it for fear of hurting me, and so the looping cycle of guilt, remorse, and confusion continued. I wished there was a way for us to be together, without the past or the future interfering. If only he didn’t hate humanity for his wife’s murder . . . then, maybe, I could convince him to give life another chance, convince him to leave with me.

  “Do you think your wife would have liked me?” I asked him one night while we warmed ourselves in front of the fire. “I mean . . . if we’d met while you and her were still married, and the two of us weren’t . . . doing stuff . . . obviously . . .”

  I felt my cheeks heating as my words trailed off. It shouldn’t still be awkward to talk about his wife, but it was. It was like she was in the cabin with us. I often pictured her angelic form above us, either frowning at me for wanting her husband in all the ways I shouldn’t or smiling at me because I was making him happy.

  Michael’s eyes shifted from the fire to my face. A small, sad smile crossed his lips. “Yes, I think Kelly would have liked you a lot.” His brows creased together, and his smile curved into a frown. “That’s the first time I’ve said her name in . . . a really long time. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing . . . or a really bad thing.”

  He looked up at me like somehow I might have the answer to that very complicated question. I didn’t. Not really. “I think it’s a . . . normal thing. You’re not physically interacting with her every day, so I think it’s natural for you to not say her . . .”

  Michael had looked away from me while I’d been talking, so I stopped. His expression was darker now, sadder. Only wanting him to feel joy, I put my hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to bring you down. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, then sighed. “Is it weird that I still miss her so much I can hardly breathe sometimes?”

  Weird, no. Painful, yes.

  “I suppose not. You loved her . . . very much.”

  Michael’s eyes flashed to my face, and his expression turned apologetic. “That was insensitive of me. I’m sorry. You’re such a good friend—sometimes I forget that you’re not just . . . a friend.” His gaze drifted to the ground, but I saw the guilt there before he hid his eyes.

  Inhaling a big breath, I leaned forward until I caught his eye. “I am your friend, first and foremost, and that means you can tell me anything. Anything.” And I would find a way to deal with it, because that was what friends did.

  He smiled at me, and for the first time since our conversation had begun, only happiness was evident in the grin. “You’re pretty amazing—do you know that?”

  Leaning back in the chair, I huffed on my nails and rubbed them on my shirt. “Yep, I know.”

  Michael laughed, and the sound was just as untroubled as his smile. He suddenly disrupted the peace by slapping his hands on his knees and exclaiming, “As nice as this has been, resting time is over. It’s time for my bath.”

  “And your haircut,” I quickly added. He’d been putting that off for far too long now. Both of his mops were getting taken care of. Tonight.

  He let out a playful groan as he rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t caving tonight or letting him distract me from my goal.

  Michael prepared the water while I searched for scissors. “They’re in that one,” he said with a laugh, pointing at one under the counter.

  “How long were you going to let me look?” I asked him, mock annoyance on my face.

  He shrugged, still grinning with amusement, then went back to his water. When the tub was full, he faced me. “Do you want to step outside for this part . . . or stay?” There was a look in his eyes, a heated expression that told me he’d be okay if I stayed.

  A part of me wanted to give him his privacy and leave the cabin for a few minutes. A part of me wanted to blatantly stare at all of his glory being revealed inch by inch. I decided to compromise. I stayed but turned around so my back was to him. I heard Michael laugh; then I heard the sound of rustling clothes. It was extremely difficult to not peek. I curled my hands into fists, then pressed my fists against my legs. Even still, my head wanted to swivel, and it was only by constantly reinforcing my willpower that I kept it in place. It was a relief when I heard clear sounds of Michael entering the water.

  Once the sound of rippling water subsided and a long, satisfied exhale left Michael, I risked turning around to look. With his legs hanging off one end, his head leaning back on the other, and his arms resting along the sides, he was the very picture of peace. He looked over at me with a calm smile, and my heart fluttered against my rib cage. God, he was everything I’d ever wanted in a man. If only he’d agree to come back with me, I was sure we’d have an amazing life together. Just as amazing as what he had up here. If he’d only give us a chance . . .

  Maybe seeing the sadness sweeping over my face, Michael lifted his head and frowned. “What is it?”

&nb
sp; Slapping on my carefree smile, I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m going to . . . read . . . until you’re ready for me.” Will you ever be ready for me?

  Grabbing one of the books I’d breezed through at least twice already, I sat on my bed and waited. I tried to read, I really did, but watching Michael bathe was too fascinating. The tub wasn’t large enough for all of him, so he had to wash himself in pieces. One leg, then the other, his chest, and then eventually, his head. He used a cup to help rinse off the soap and did a pretty decent job of getting most of the water to stay in the tub. When he was dripping wet, hair and beard soaked, he looked over my way and crooked a finger at me.

  I’d been watching him for so long that it took me a moment to realize just what he was telling me. I startled in surprise, then smiled. My turn. Grabbing my scissors and a comb, I headed his way. His eyes followed me the entire time, and my heart started pounding. When I approached the side of the tub, my eyes glanced inside before I could stop them. Michael was covering all of the important bits with his hands. Seeing that he’d been prepared for me to sneak a peek made heat rush over my cheeks, and I instantly glued my eyes to his. He was peacefully smiling at me like he hadn’t just caught me looking.

  Opening and closing the scissors, I blurted out, “Ready?”

  Facing front, he nodded. “Yep. Do your worst.”

  A small laugh escaped me. “I’ve never actually done this before, so it just might be my worst.”

  He laughed too. “If you’ve never done it before, then it will also be your best. It’s all in how you look at it.”

  That made me feel a little better about possibly making him look like a four-year-old had cut his hair. Maybe next time it would look like an eight-year-old had done it. Assuming there was a next time. Not wanting to think about the end of us—yet again—I smoothed out his hair and made my first cut. He flinched like I’d hurt him, and I smacked his shoulder. He laughed, then relaxed into the tub. I made cut after cut, his hair getting shorter with every pass. I kept getting distracted by his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his abs . . . where his hands were covering. Every exposed part of him that I could see was like a beacon drawing me in.

  It wasn’t until his hair was as short as I could artfully get it when I noticed something I’d never noticed before. There were very faint markings on his neck, like an old, faded tattoo, one that had been as removed as it could be. And it was in the shape of a cross. I was surprised to see it, and once I figured out what it was, I was stunned. I lightly traced the design with my finger. His belief had been as strong as mine at one point, but grief and despair had ripped it away from him. It broke my heart.

  Michael tensed as he felt me tracing the mark he’d tried to remove, then hide. I could tell he was waiting for me to ask about it, waiting for me to bring up a conversation he didn’t want to have. Instead of saying anything, I leaned down and kissed the newly exposed skin. A shuddering sigh escaped him, and the tension released from his body. I shifted around so I could see his face. Smiling softly, compassion in my heart and my eyes, I cupped his cheek. I’m so sorry.

  Like he’d heard my inner condolences, he gave me a tentative smile, one that begged me not to say anything. Respecting his wishes, I turned my attention to his beard. “Now it’s time for the food trap.”

  I started in on it, and he grabbed my hand. “Leave some, okay. It’s cold out there.”

  Frowning, I nodded. “All right, I’ll leave you a blanket. It will just be a more aesthetically pleasing one.”

  He laughed, then smiled up at me. It was harder to cut his facial hair than the rest of him. His eyes glued on me were a thousand times more distracting than his body. I kept stopping and staring, and even though I knew his water was getting colder and colder, he never once said anything when I was lost in his eyes.

  Once I was finished and his beard was neatly trimmed, close to his face, my breath caught at the sight of him. “Oh . . . wow . . . ,” I murmured.

  His brows creased as he felt his new do with one hand. “What? That bad?”

  Biting my lip, I shook my head. “No . . . not at all.” My eyes roved over his face, taking all of him in. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.” He’d hidden it well behind the crazy hair and life-in-the-woods beard, but now that he was stark naked before me, there was no hiding the truth. He was gorgeous, as attractive on the outside as he was on the inside.

  Michael looked away, a small smile on his lips. “Why would I take that the wrong way?” he asked, glancing at me out of the corners of his eyes.

  Smiling brightly, I told him, “I don’t know . . . all I know is that I’m going to have to kiss you now.”

  He turned his lips toward me in invitation, and I immediately lowered my mouth to his. The sweetness and warmth enveloped me at once. For the first time, his scraggly beard didn’t tickle me, and with the smooth, trim newness, I could feel every aspect of his glorious lips. Heaven. As I moved my hand to his cheek, he ran his through my hair. Desire surged through me, faster than ever before. I’d wanted him for so long now, and I’d tried to satisfy the craving with these mouthwatering kisses, but my body was screaming that it wasn’t enough anymore. I needed all of him. But we couldn’t go there.

  I was just about to pull back, take a breather, when he shifted his position in the tub. Sitting up, he wrapped both arms around me, then pulled me inside with him. A shriek of surprise left me as the nearly lukewarm water saturated my clothes and spilled over the sides. There was barely any room for me on his lap, but it felt completely natural to be there. Michael laughed as I squirmed, then pulled my mouth back to him.

  As I grew accustomed to the water, I settled in to the kiss. It felt different kissing him from this angle—more intense. And with him being completely naked beneath me, I could feel, for the first time, just how much he wanted me. “Michael,” I murmured, my hand running down his chest to his hip. God, I want you.

  Michael’s breath was fast as he kissed me. The desire running rampant between us was almost enough to make the residual water in the tub start to boil. As my fingers inched down his hip, Michael’s drifted up my chest. His hand cupped my breast, and a groan escaped me. Yes.

  I shifted my mouth so I could kiss along his cheek, heading for his ear. Michael’s eyes were closed, and the noises leaving his mouth were pleased and needy. I ground the side of my hip against him, wishing there was more room in this damn tub. As my lips closed around his earlobe, his hand slipped under my wet shirt. Just as I started sucking on his lobe, he pulled aside my bra and swept his thumb over a rigid peak. Another groan escaped me, and I moved my hips just far enough over that my hand could wrap around him.

  Michael stiffened beneath me, and he dropped his head back with a groan. While I gently stroked him, he whimpered my name. His eyes were conflicted when I shifted to look at him. Passion and pain were playing across his features. “We should . . . stop,” he panted. His fingers squeezed my breast as he said it, though, and I squeezed him in return.

  “I don’t want to,” I said, breathless; then I lowered my mouth to his. Our kiss was frantic, passionate, crazed. His hand worked across my breast while I worked mine over him. I wanted out of this tub. I wanted to lie down and feel every single inch of him. “I want you . . .”

  My words made Michael groan. His hand in my hair pulled me tight. “I want you too,” he whispered. His words ignited me, and I removed my hand from him so I could get out of this damn tub. His next words froze me in place. “We can’t, though.”

  Pulling back, I stared at him. He swallowed and pulled both of his hands away from my body. “I’m sorry . . . we just can’t. You know why.”

  Like I was stuck in tar, all I could do was stare at him. He was the one who’d amplified this, and now he was pulling back? Now that I was on the edge of not caring about anything—consequences be damned—now he was bringing us back to reality? I supposed one of us had to.

  “Yea
h,” I murmured. Setting my hands on the sides of the tub, I carefully removed myself from the water. I couldn’t help but look at him as I got out. He was magnificent, rock hard, pulsing with need . . . for me . . . but still . . . he was right. We had to use our heads here because our hearts would surely lead us in the wrong direction.

  Quickly averting my eyes, I walked over to my stuff so I could change into dry clothes. I heard Michael sigh, then heard the water sloshing as he got out. I couldn’t look at him again as I dried myself off on one of his towels. I could hear him changing, heard him putting on his boots, but I kept my eyes averted. “I’ll go wait outside so you can . . . change,” he finally murmured.

  My body was still flaring with desire, so I had to imagine his was too. I didn’t want him to go outside. I wanted him to grab me, toss me down on his bed, and take me. But he wouldn’t, and I had to accept that. “Thank you,” I whispered, still not looking at him.

  His boots clomped over to the door, and I heard the wood creak open. Michael sighed again, then told me, “I’m so sorry, Mallory,” before heading into the darkness.

  Tears sprang to my eyes, and silence blanketed me. “I’m sorry too,” I whispered to the empty room. I never should have opened my heart to him, never should have agreed to limited intimacies that would both test and strain us. I should have kept my distance from him. But I hadn’t, and it was too late to go back now. Because I was fairly certain I was falling in love with him.

  Chapter Twenty

  As time surged inexorably forward, I began to notice something that made my soul feel heavy with trepidation. Every time I went to the river to fill the five-gallon buckets, there was more water showing and less ice. It was getting warmer; spring was on the way. Spring—and separation.