Winter Warriors

by Denise A. Agnew

  Despite three weeks in hospital, her wind was still good and she kept up with him well.

  He slowed, still changing directions, but bringing them down to the same speed as every other tourist in town. They mingled. Walked.

  Jenna lengthened her stride and caught up with him. “We’ve lost them.”

  “For a while.” He kept his head averted, but not through shyness—he checked each store they passed. “That’ll do.” He slipped sideways into a deep door recess and pushed open an elegant art-deco door with a brushed steel handle that swooped in a shallow arc the length of the door.

  It was a clothes store, selling outerwear—luxurious stuff way out of her financial reach. Furs, suede, glowing wool, leather.

  He pulled her between the stands, towards the back of the store, glancing left and right.

  “Ah!” He dropped her hand and strode over to a wall of long coats. Rifling through them, he reached between hangers to check the size tag, then looked around for a sales assistant. “This one. I want my friend to try it on.”

  “Yes, sir.” The assistant pulled out a bunch of keys and unlocked the long chain that wove through all the garments and hangers.

  Jenna stood back, letting him do it, knowing his purpose. He would disguise her, change her appearance. She watched, hoping to see his face at last. When he had the coat in his hands and turned to face her she got her look.

  Black, black eyes that matched the hair. Tall, taller by a good six inches than anyone else around him. Clear skin, a square jaw, and a gaze that was steady…steady…she knew that gaze, recognized the source of that steadiness. It touched on dreams, jumbled impressions from her past, invoked a memory she could not bring into focus.

  Time hiccupped, and jumped out of its deep groove of consistency, then paused to catch up. In that endless moment, her senses turned around, inside out. Everything she knew, all her hard-earned experience and wisdom, her knowledge of how the world worked and her place in it, shattered in reaction.

  And for the balance of that timeless moment, she struggled to find a way to deal with it. Her knees had weakened and wouldn’t lock, and she trembled. Her insides turned watery.

  But that was just the superficial stuff. What had slammed into her and took most of her attention was a ravening, compulsive—

  The need for him poured through her like hot acid, swooshing through her body, creating the trembling, the shuddering heart. Her clitoris throbbed, swollen and demanding and she grew wet, slippery and ready.

  He studied her, standing closer to her than she normally accepted, but not nearly close enough to suit her now.

  She had to tilt her head back to look at him, aware of how it exposed her throat. She noticed the thrust of her suddenly sensitive breasts against her sweater.

  Would he notice her erect nipples pushing against the material? Would it be enough of a signal for him to touch her? She wanted him to try. She ached for him to try and would not stop him if he dared.

  And with that thought, the endless moment ended, and time bumped back into its usual channel.

  Cold fright touched her again, shadowed by amazement. This man was a stranger. She had never met him before. Yet…”You.” She took a labored breath, her chest tight. Her head sang. “I know you. But…”

  “I know.” He glanced at the assistant. “Later. Take off your coat.”

  She stripped off the nylon garment, her gloves and scarf, even as she fought with the recalcitrant memory nudging at her, trying to coax it into life. It seemed terribly important to remember.

  Down to sweater and jeans, she turned and allowed him to slide the coat onto her shoulders, and suppressed a sigh of delight as the incredibly soft, supple material touched her flesh. The dark green shearling felt like silk. The lining was silk, and gorgeous. She indulged in a purely feminine moment. I am never taking this off.

  He tested the fit at her shoulders, and tugged the fronts together to make sure the buttons closed without pulling, then nodded. “We’ll take it,” he declared to the assistant, and began snapping the unbreakable plastic leads on the tags as if they were old cotton thread. “Leave it on. Find a hat.” For the benefit of the assistant, he added, “One of those ones you can tuck your hair up inside. You look beautiful that way.”

  Jenna nodded, understanding his silent message: Hide your hair. It’s too recognizable.

  She went back to the shelves of hats at the far back of the store, in clear sight of the cash register. It took a few moments, but she finally found a knitted hat that felt like fur, but couldn’t be—not knitted. She leaned over and whipped her red-gold hair into a long twisted cable, then coiled it on her head and slid the cap over the top. The delicate touch of the material delighted her. Unable to resist preening, she glanced in the conveniently placed mirror, and found it actually didn’t look too bad on her at all. She’d never bothered with hats before. Kevin hadn’t liked them much.

  She made sure all wisps of red were out of sight, and went back to where the man stood handing over a credit card. He wore a flat-brimmed western hat now, and when she reached him, he pushed a pair of women’s leather gloves at her. Dark green. She slipped them on, while he removed the tags on her hat. He handed them to the assistant, who gushed over them and her amazing sale.

  A second assistant folded Jenna’s coat, gloves and scarf and put them into a big shopping bag. The man picked up the bag and handed it to Jenna. “Merry Christmas.” He kissed her.

  It was a chaste kiss, as kisses go, but it shocked her twice over: once because she hadn’t anticipated it, and once because her heart leapt at the contact. Warm lips, firm, against her own. How long had it been since she had last been kissed? She stared at him, her lips tingling and her breath coming a little faster.

  Then she pulled herself together, remembering their audience. “I just didn’t expect this…honey, you’re so good to me.” She plastered on a big smile.

  “As you said, you know me, but you don’t.” He looked at the women behind the counter. “She always makes it sound like a complaint.” And he smiled.

  They melted.

  Gripping her arm, he led her towards the back corner of the store again, where an arch led through to the three shops that shared the common wall there. In a town like Banff, tucked away in the depths of the Canadian Rockies, being able to move from shop to shop without stepping outside too often would be an advantage.

  He chose the store directly behind the coat shop, and they found themselves in an antique bookstore. They had been off the street for about five minutes total, and in that time they had completely changed their appearances.

  He paused to stare hard through the plate glass at the front of the store, while she played her role and wandered the nearest stack of books. But she couldn’t read titles. Her heart still skittered and her hand shook as she lifted volumes from the shelves. She’d absorbed a lot in ten minutes, and a million questions had to be asked…but she kept focusing on his kiss.

  She noticed his sudden stillness, as he stared towards the windows of the store, and her heart gave another small sharp leap.

  He moved a pace sideways, so the book stack partially hid him, and kept watch for a minute more. It was a very long minute.

  Finally, his shoulders relaxed and he walked back to where she stood at the closed-off end of the stack.

  She replaced the book. “They were here?”

  “They have moved on.” He stopped very close, making her heart skitter even more, and examined her face closely.

  “What?” Why did he study her so carefully? He stood very close. The corridor between the stacks was blocked from her view by his shoulders. She’d noticed his height almost immediately, but his mass, the solidness of him, had not registered until now when he stood before her.

  His hand lifted to cup her cheek, and he gave a slow smile. “I am pleased…very pleased to find you are also beautiful.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Then he kissed her again. This time it was not a
simple kiss to calm fluttering observers. This kiss was his alone.

  For a moment she struggled with surprise that he should kiss her at all, but the mental protest died…she responded to the kiss anyway, and that was its own novelty.

  His hands came alive, stroking her face, her throat, slipping inside the coat to explore the shape of her shoulders, her chest, down to her waist, where the long fingers tried to circle her body, the thumbs smoothing a warm, tingling path over her skin above the band of her jeans.

  Coherent thought faded under the assault of his hands and mouth. His lips crushed hard against hers, demanding, and even as her lips parted, his tongue slid inside her mouth, exploring, stroking.

  A hot rush of need spread through her, frightening her a little with the strength of it. She had not felt something this strongly since…she had not felt it, ever. Not like this, not with this utter certainty of rightness, of symmetry.

  “I know you,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Yes.” His voice rumbled through her senses.

  “Who are you?”

  “Yours.” His big hot hands slid inside her coat, and drew her up hard against him. The strength of his arms around her felt feral, possessive. His lips moved over her face, her throat, his movements hurried.

  His urgency affected her, made her need surge with a rushing demand of its own. She found her hands inside his coat. Her fingers touched the softness of cotton, warmed to body temperature. Behind it lay the yielding firmness of flesh. Each breath he took lifted his chest. Her spread fingers moved restlessly against his back, feeling the width there, the play of muscles under the skin, the heat.

  His scent washed over her, wholly masculine and delicious, a goad of its own.

  Her need became sharp, ravening. Her need to have him…no, to have him take her overwhelmed her. Even though a small corner of her mind marveled at this uninhibited abandonment of good sense and reason, a more primitive part of her reveled in the freedom to express herself. She gripped his ass, hard beneath her fingers, beneath the denim, and urged him to press himself against her. The delightful answering pressure against her mons, and the deep groan that reverberated through him sent a shaft of pleasure spearing through her, straight to her throbbing clitoris. The small nub of flesh swelled, beat with life in response, and her nipples ached for his touch.

  His hand held her face steady, but the other smoothed its way up her torso, bringing her tee-shirt up with it, and she held her breath, waiting for the first touch of his hand on her breast, the first stroke of her nipple. She swayed backwards, instinctively giving him room. Access.

  But the touch did not come. His hand halted on her midriff, and he lifted his mouth from her lips and studied her, the brows coming together.

  “Don’t stop!” She clutched at his coat.

  “I’m sorry…I forgot. It has been long since I had to deal with…” Then he shook his head. “Explanations can wait. First, we must get you some food.”

  She couldn’t process his words, for the tidal surges through her body still demanded her attention and stole her senses. “I don’t understand.”

  “Find your feet.” He straightened up. “Slowly.”

  And then she realized that he virtually held her up; his arm had slid around her, a prop.

  She brought one foot back underneath herself, her inner thigh brushing against his leg, and put her weight on the foot. Slowly, he let her stand on her feet, watching her with a hawk-like scrutiny.

  “God, I’m… lightheaded.” She held her temple.

  “You’ve gone as white as a lily.” He pulled her tee shirt down, and kept his hand on her shoulder a moment longer. “Food is what you need.”

  “As long as it’s a whole buffet.” For not only did her head seem light, but her whole body felt hollow, like everything of strength and substance had been scooped out, leaving an empty shell.

  “Can you walk?”

  Alarm touched her. “What’s wrong with me?” He seemed to know what was happening to her—was clearly a long-term resident of this strange wonderland she had been dropped into.

  “It will take time to explain that to you, and you don’t have time to spare. Come.” He tucked his hand under her elbow and walked her to the end of the aisle. She leaned against him for support. All the hard-won strength and energy she’d regained since the accident had drained away. A small breeze would blow her over.

  He glanced out past the stacks, cautiously rechecking that their escape route remained clear, then walked her to the door and they stepped outside.

  The air crackled with cold. While they had been inside, the temperature and the light had both dropped sharply…it was nearly four p.m. and almost dark. Big fat flakes of snow drifted to the ground.

  He stopped and looked up at the thick black clouds overhead. “This isn’t good.”

  “Snow? It’s winter. It snows here in winter.” She struggled to do up the unfamiliar fastenings of her coat one-handed, unwilling to give up her support.

  “And the sky was perfectly clear thirty minutes ago. This is…unnatural.” He looked around, and led her toward the mall on the other side of the courtyard. The mall would lead to back to the street.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Later. My car is a block away. You’re staying at the Banff Springs Hotel?”

  “Yes…but—”

  But he hurried her along, back onto the street, leaving her no breath for more questions.

  His car, when they reached it, turned out to be a big Scout, with wide tires, perfect for this sort of driving condition. He carefully bundled her into the passenger seat, and settled behind the wheel.

  Jenna cleared her throat, awkwardness touching her—she sat in a perfect stranger’s car. Yet he didn’t feel like a stranger. “Perhaps…you should tell me your name.”

  He smiled, a wide, delighted expression. “And you tell me yours.”

  “You don’t know my name?” Then she paused. “Why does that surprise me? Why do I feel like you should know my name?”

  “Because I know you. I have known you a very long time. But in a way that doesn’t need names. Now…we need names.” He looked at her, waiting.

  There was so much unspoken in his words, so much implied. “You have a lot of answering to do.” She held out her hand. “Jenna MacDonald.”

  He shook the hand firmly. “Rhys Cellyn.” He pronounced his last name with a hard “C” which emphasized again the touch of foreignness about him. And he made no cracks about her name, no mention of happy meals…and Jenna relaxed just a little bit more.

  Rhys started the car. “I have so much to tell you, Jenna.”

  Chapter Two

  Just as they hit the hotel car park, Jenna felt the light-headed hunger return with a vengeance. She groaned and leaned over, clutching her stomach.

  “I know. I can fix that in a minute.” He parked the car, climbed out and came around to her side to open the door and help her out. With a hand under her elbow, he walked her over to the nearest entrance to the hotel.

  This time the weakness seemed worse, and she was glad when Rhys’ hand came back under her elbow and his arm braced her back.

  It was a double-doored entrance. Four paces inside the first set of doors hung a second set, providing a baffle against the cold. Between the two sets of doors, pushed back against the wall, stood a pop dispenser.

  “Wait.” Rhys dug into his jeans pocket. He bought a can of Coke and popped the lid and handed it to her. “Drink it down. The sugar will help.”

  She took three or four deep swallows, even though the chill of the soda hurt her throat, while Rhys led her across the foyer, towards the elevators. The main dining room was on the second floor of the lobby.

  Her lethargy prevented her from removing her cap and gloves, and opening up her coat, so in the elevator Rhys did that service for her, sliding the knitted cap and gloves into her coat pockets. He did it with little fuss, as if he did it all the time. He seemed to understand her
weakness precisely.

  They were given a small table near a window, tucked behind a stone balustrade that bordered a higher floor. It wasn’t the best table in the dining room, but then they were hardly dressed for the occasion either. However, the table had the virtue of being extremely private. The two tables closest to them had no diners.

  Before the waiter could do so much as take away the wine glasses, Rhys had glanced at the menu. “Could you bring us the pan-fried salmon steak, and the green salad, with a flax seed oil vinaigrette, as soon as possible? And two big glasses of orange juice.”

  Jenna, in the process of slowly unfolding her napkin and laying it on her lap, stared at him.

  “Two, sir?” the waiter asked.

  “Yes. And as quickly as possible.” Rhys handed him the menu.

  The waiter hurried away, while Jenna let her napkin fall. “Yes…fish! That’s exactly what I want. But I didn’t know that until you ordered it just now. How did you know?”

  “Your body is screaming for sugar and omega 3 and 6 oil. The orange juice is almost pure sugar.” He touched the back of his head. “So far as scientific investigation has been able to establish, the major source of energy for what we do is generated by the brain. And the brain uses sugar for energy. So you crave sugar. But you’re not just using energy. You’re also stressing the brain cells themselves, and they are mostly made up of EFA’s. Essential fatty acids—especially omega 3’s and 6’s. Fish, and in particular salmon, is rich in the stuff. So is flax.”

  Jenna stared at him, her stomach knotting and a cold weight settling around her heart. Please let it be a misunderstanding…that he won’t take this conversation in the direction he seems to be taking it.

  The waiter placed their orange juice glasses on the table, and Jenna picked hers up with a trembling hand, and gulped it down. It was cold and delicious—she drained the sixteen-ounce glass immediately.