“That depends. Is it past midnight?”
“Yes, why? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin? Or wait. Are we having a Gremlins moment here? Should I not feed you?”
“Actually, you should. Then, between us having a meal together and it being tomorrow, it’ll count as our fifth date.”
20
Nick’s lips curved in that slow, cocky smile she was rapidly becoming addicted to, and then he took a quick scan of the room. Spotting the remnants of the microwave popcorn they had decimated during game two, he scooped up the bowl, snagged one of the last few ragged bits at the bottom, and held it to her lips. “Here.”
She accepted the morsel. “What? No chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne?”
“I’ll do better next time. Right now, I need to do this.” He moved in and kissed her, and there was no mistaking the message he was sending her. I want this, want you. Here. Now. Hard and fast. His mouth covered hers, plundering as he took the kiss deeper, banding his arms around her and pressing their bodies together.
Heat flared deep inside her, and this time she didn’t need to keep some part of herself in control. Grateful, relieved, excited, she sank into the kiss. Her hands streaked under his shirt and found the wonderful contrasts of silken skin and wiry hair, of soft spots and hard muscle. Groaning, he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, the side of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Desire coiled from the points of contact, spiraling in to tighten her inner muscles, making her yearn. “Nick,” she whispered, letting her head fall back in surrender. “Yes.”
“Not here. Not like this.” He swung her into his arms in a single smooth, powerful move, and turned for the bedroom.
Jenny curled her arms around his neck and kissed his throat, his jaw, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin and reveling in the feel of being held so carefully. So much for the whole I can take care of myself thing. Apparently part of her really dug being swept off her feet.
The bedroom was dimly illuminated by a nightlight that gave off soft sepia tones, like they were inside an old tintype. The mattress and box spring wore a dark comforter, the chair in the corner held a pile of folded clothes, and the nightstand was two milk crates fastened together with a couple of zip ties. The combination made her smile—maybe he wasn’t so landlocked, after all.
“I can give you the name of a fabulous decorator,” she offered.
“Maybe later,” he said, and tossed her.
She shrieked and windmilled, but made a soft landing on what proved to be a decadent foam mattress that yielded perfectly beneath her. “Wow,” she said, stroking the coverlet. “This is . . . Wow.”
There was a low “whuff” from the door, but Rex seemed to understand that she wasn’t in any danger. More, he got that he wasn’t invited. Doing a one-eighty, he disappeared, claws clicking on the tiles as he headed back toward the living room.
After a glance at the doorway, Nick followed her down and rose above her, supporting his weight on his arms while their legs tangled and their bodies aligned so naturally that it felt like they had been lovers for years. Yet at the same time, everything was sharp, new, and bright, like the sensations had turned to colors in the monochrome room.
Leaning down, he brushed his lips across her cheek. There was a chuckle in his voice when he admitted, “I splurged on the mattress.”
“I guess you did.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a couple of test bounces, only to find almost no rebound. “It’s squishy. How is it for what we’re about to do?”
“We’re about to find out.” He kissed the side of her neck, then moved downward to lift the hem of her shirt and kiss the flesh he had revealed. Fleetingly, she thought that if she had known all this was going to happen, she would’ve worn a prettier bra. She hadn’t planned on seeing him right after her meeting, after all.
And, thinking that, she remembered what else she hadn’t planned for.
She shuddered under his touch, skin going hot-cold-hot, and moved her legs restlessly against his. “Reality check. Condoms?”
He looked up at her, eyes dark and intense. “Top egg crate.”
“Right. Boy Scout.”
He slid both hands under her shirt and peeled it off, and then took a moment to just look at her, eyes heated and approving. Then he said, “I bought them the other day, not because I was assuming anything, but because I wanted to believe we’d end up here.”
“We did. We are. Now, take off that shirt before I have to hurt you.” She caught her breath as he complied. He looked like a bronze statue in the burnished light, all golden skin and bulging muscles, but with the lean ropiness that spoke of hard work outdoors rather than reps at the gym. “And again—wow. Only this time I’m not talking about the mattress.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “You will be in a minute.”
She laughed as he lowered himself to her, and then gasped softly at the first real press of skin on skin, and the good, solid weight of his body against hers. He kissed her long and hard, and the world threatened to spin away. How long had it been since she had felt like this? Had she ever? The faint whisper of nerves that sparked at the thought was quickly lost to the desire that twined through her, following the path of his fingers, his lips.
They undressed each other piece by piece, chasing the clothing away with kisses and soft noises of pleasure. By the time they lay together, naked, her sighs had turned to moans, his hissed-out breaths to groans. Part of her couldn’t believe that she was doing this, but at the same time she couldn’t imagine holding out any longer.
She welcomed him when he rose over her, surged into her, the two of them together forging a tight fit. They found their rhythm together, slow at first as their bodies asked and answered—yes, there, like that—and then gaining tempo as the storm inside them swelled and intensified, turning primal. She clung to him, surged beneath him, matching him stroke for stroke and then racing ahead toward the peak. She found her release first, tightening beneath and around him, mouth open in a wordless cry that was echoed moments later in his deeper baritone.
His body bowed as his hips jerked against her, wringing additional pleasure. Then he eased, relaxing into her and letting his brow rest on hers, though he kept his full weight on his arms. Their breathing aligned, their bodies moving together as they had just moments before, only softly now, gently. Then, with a final, almost reverent kiss on her lips, he rolled aside, onto his back, and nestled her against him. And even though she had never been much of a postcoital cuddler, she found that her head fit in the hollow beneath his shoulder, her hand between his pecs.
“So.” The word was a rumble in his chest, followed by a pause, like he was weighing something. After a moment, he said, deeply serious, “How was the mattress?”
A laugh bubbled up alongside relief. They could keep this simple, she thought. They really could. “Superlative, really. I’m going to have to see about getting my own.”
“You can borrow this one a few more times if you’d like.”
She kissed his cheek. “Generous guy.”
“It comes natural when I’m with you.”
“I think it comes natural for you, period.”
His arm tightened around her. “Seriously, Jenny. You make things easy on a man. You don’t play games, don’t make me guess. Instead, you make me think. You make me laugh. And you make me happy.”
Her throat tightened with emotion, but in a good way. There was no sense of “uh-oh, what have I done?” because he got it. He got her. And, best of all, he liked her just the way she was.
She tipped her head up and found his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “There isn’t anybody I’d rather be stranded with, Doc. You’re something special, and I consider myself very lucky that our paths crossed.”
“We’ll have to thank Rex for that.”
“The next cheese plate is all his.”
“As his vet, I’d advise against that,” he said solemnly, then wiggled his eyebrows. “As the guy who just got lu
cky, I’ll spring for the deluxe tray with the cocktail wieners.”
She gave him a smacking kiss on the lips, still a little dazed by the sex, dazzled by the fact that it didn’t seem to have changed things between them. “Such a prince.”
Alerted by the conversation or the sound of his name, Rex reappeared in the doorway, tail making happy thumps on the frame. Are you guys coming back out here for more snacks?
Jenny glanced at the window, which was pitch-black except where snow crystals had stuck in the lower corners, turning them round and furry. “I should let him out,” she said, totally not looking forward to getting cold and wet.
“I’ll do it.” Nick rose, found his jeans, and pulled them on.
The desire to stay put warred briefly with guilt. “I should—”
“You should stay right there and build up lots of nice body heat so you can thaw me out when I get back.” He shrugged into a fleece. “Five minutes, maybe less.”
He was back in four, with a big glass of water and a soggy dog who went straight to a fallen blanket on the floor, did his two and a half circles, and plopped down with a happy sigh.
Nick eyed him, amused. “I’ll get us another blanket.”
As he draped it over her, Cheesepuff jumped up and proceeded to pace the length and width of the huge mattress, looking for the perfect spot. Which, it turned out, was directly behind Jenny’s knees, leaving her unable to move much when Nick shucked off his clothes and got back into bed.
Not that she wanted to move, really. He was snowman cold and his hair was damp, but where a couple of week ago she would’ve protected her warmth at all costs, now she curled an arm around his cool torso and rubbed her cheek on his chest, trying to bring him back up to temp. “How bad is it out there?”
“It’s snowing like crazy, and it doesn’t feel like the wind has let up any. There’s probably a foot on the ground, maybe more. You might be stuck here for a while.”
“Better here than anywhere else,” she said drowsily, then tensed, wondering if that was taking it too far.
But he just kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. That was what I was thinking. Get some sleep, darling. We’ll make a snowman in the morning.”
“Is that another Masterson snow-day tradition?”
“If not, it should be.”
They fell silent, listening to the storm. The wind lashed snow pellets against the glass with a rushing hiss, occasionally rattling something outside. It made her feel very snug and safe, being wedged between a cat and her lover, with the dog at their feet. She snuggled in, her brain gone astonishingly quiet. There was none of the usual background chatter, no flashes of things she had seen during the day, images she had filmed or—worse—missed filming. No mental list of the things she needed to do tomorrow, the places she wanted to go. There was just . . . contentment.
Lulled by his and Rex’s breathing and the warm weight of the cat, she was too comfortable to move, too relaxed to do anything but—
Sleep.
• • •
The next morning when twenty pounds of tabby thudded onto Nick’s stomach and padded up his torso with pointy paws, he fought consciousness like the devil, trying to hold on to his dreams, which had been a delicious mix of sexy skin, soft touches, and—
Jenny.
A whole-body shock went through him, and he opened his eyes and turned to find her there, snuggled into a pillow with her eyelashes fanned out across her lightly freckled cheeks.
A big orange head loomed over him, blocking out the light.
He nudged the cat aside. “You’ll wake her up.”
Or maybe not. She looked deeply under, breathing softly. They had turned to each other twice more during the night, once in the wee hours and again not long ago. He should let her rest. Granted, he hadn’t gotten any sleep, either, and he had that tired-legs, whole-body ache that came from what they’d been doing—and doing well—since just after midnight. But at the same time, he felt like he could take on the world, like a movie superhero. He was energized, loose, relaxed, and totally ready to roll. And hey, what do you know? It was still snowing—big, fat flakes that drifted down rather than pelting sideways, but wouldn’t be any easier on the roads. Which didn’t just mean another snow day. It meant another snow day with Jenny.
He couldn’t think of anything better.
Claws sank into his shoulder, and he got a loud “Mrwow!” right in his ear, followed by a “whuff” from down below and the thump-thump-thump of Rex’s tail.
“Okay, okay, I’m up.” He peeled himself out of the bed, pulled on sweats and socks, and then turned back and tucked the blankets around Jenny. Leaning in, he kissed her brow. “Don’t get up. We’ve got all day.”
She smiled and gave a sweet murmur. With the diffuse white snow-light illuminating her, she looked like a portrait done by a master, with a glow to her skin offset by her dark hair and rose-tinted lips. The image caught him, engraving itself on his retinas.
If he had been the photographer, he would have gone for his camera. But all he had was his phone, and he didn’t want to come off as creepy.
“Go on, you two.” He waved the critters toward the kitchen. “Let’s see what we can do about breakfast.” He wasn’t sure if this was a continuation of his and Jenny’s fifth date or the beginning of their sixth—or whether they had stopped counting—but he definitely wanted to do better than leftover popcorn.
• • •
Jenny woke slowly, like she was surfacing after holding her breath underwater. The sinful mattress cushioned her, tempting her to slip back under and rest some more, but when she stretched beneath the soft sheets, unfamiliar twinges reminded her of the new reality.
Opening her eyes, she looked around the room, lingering on the window, where the snow was still drifting down. She stared at the patterns made by the flakes and tested out the thought: Nick was her lover now. It tightened her throat and put a shimmy in her stomach, even though she had thought she was past the nerves. There wasn’t anything to worry about, was there? He understood her, and she thought she understood him.
Like his bedroom. Another woman might see the bed on the floor, the cobbled-together nightstand, and the shelves he was using in place of a dresser, and think that he needed a keeper. She, on the other hand, felt right at home, because it was a pick-up-and-go place. This might be his place, but it wasn’t his home yet. He was just camping out, waiting to see what happened next.
She totally got that.
The door bumped open and Cheesepuff sauntered in, testing the air and pretending he wasn’t checking to see if she was awake.
“Hey, buddy.” She patted the bed. “Come on up.”
Instead, he about-faced and headed back for the door with his upright tail curled at the end like a candy cane. He bumped the door farther open on his way through, letting in the tantalizing smell of coffee and the sounds of good stuff happening in the kitchen, just like home.
Only this wasn’t the ranch, and that definitely wasn’t Gran in the kitchen.
Pulse kicking at the thought of seeing Nick—which was silly, really—Jenny got up, pulled on the borrowed sweats, visited the bathroom to finger brush her teeth and tame her hair to not so angry hedgehog status.
Then, taking a deep breath, she headed out into the kitchen.
“There she is,” Nick said cheerfully from the stove. Wearing baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, he looked comfortable, casual, and just as tasty—if not tastier—than the thick slabs of bacon he was cooking on the front burner. The light angled down on his cheekbones and emphasized his dimples when he smiled, and if she could’ve framed the moment and clicked the shutter, she would’ve called it Hottie at Home, or maybe Beefcake and Bacon.
“Good morning,” she said, crossing to where Cheese was winding around his legs, begging. Dodging the cat, she got in close enough to smell the soap and shampoo that said Nick had already showered. She started to reach for him—
And stalled.
What now? Sh
ould she hug him? Kiss him on the cheek? The lips? She was so used to the friends-with-benefits thing that she didn’t know how to handle something more. Panicking, she stuck out her hand. “Nice to see you again.”
Really? She could just die.
Face lighting, he shook her hand. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Um. Okay, then.” She retrieved her hand. “Glad this isn’t at all awkward.”
He chuckled. “Guess I’m out of practice.”
“It’s not you. I just . . .” She shrugged, not liking how it was going to sound. “I don’t usually stay for breakfast.” And she hadn’t really realized it until just now. “I mean, I’ve had breakfast, you know, the morning after. But with a group, or out.” Not at home, with her dog under the table, licking his chops.
“Chill. I know what you mean. Guess I’ve got another reason to be grateful for the storm.” He turned away from the stove, caught her hips in his hands, and backed her up a couple of steps until she bumped into the opposite counter. Voice going low, to a sexy rasp that woke up her nerve endings and made her think of the things they had done to each other in the darkness, he said, “How about we try this instead?”
The kiss was firm and no nonsense, with a whole lot of full-body press and hands-on action that reminded her what they had been up to for the past eight or nine hours, and suggested they should try some more of it, real soon. But more than that, it centered her, settled her, brought things into perspective.
He lingered at her lips, then leaned in to press his brow to hers. “Better?”
She cupped his jaw, which was roughened with stubble. “Much.” Then she stood on her tiptoes to peer past him. “There’s my French toast! Now it feels like a snow day.”
“Sit.” He nudged her toward the breakfast bar, then placed a coffee mug in front of her. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. You can supervise.”
“That’s no hardship.” In fact, she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he moved around the small space, poking at the sizzling bacon, adding a dusting of sugar to the French toast, and loading a pair of plates.
Winter at Mustang Ridge Page 19