In From the Cold

by Meg Adams

  She must have noticed my tense reaction, because she smiled softly and touched my knee. “I shut him down, Drake.”

  “Good,” I choked out, more harshly than I meant to, my rage threatening to erupt again. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news.”

  “I know.” She turned and gazed out the window, a pensive look in her eyes. “Believe me, I can tell.”

  I wanted desperately to reach across the space and drag her onto my lap, to enfold her and keep her safe, from all the Jims and Mileses of the world. After our afternoon together, the last memory I wanted intruding was her past with Jim or my past with Miles and Wanda. I wanted her focused on us, on me, on what we could be. The car started to slow; we were almost home. I leaned forward and touched her hand, twining my fingers gently with hers, squeezing them lightly.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

  She smiled. “We’re here, you mean.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Claire was still with me, and she hadn’t retreated back into her shell. The car pulled up in front of the guesthouse, and Claire and I stepped out. I scooped Yvette into my arms and handed her to Claire, then turned back and picked up Suzie.

  I changed the subject. “Wearing them out seems to do the trick.” I hefted Suzie higher on my shoulder, feeling a little ache in my back from the skiing earlier. “I can’t remember, before this week, when Suzie’s been asleep before seven p.m.—and certainly not several days in a row.”

  “The cold, the altitude, a constant playmate—maybe you should adopt Yvette and move to Wyoming.” Claire smiled, hoisting Yvette tighter in her arms, and a vision of doing this often—Claire and me and the girls—shimmered enticingly in my mind. We carried the girls up the stairs, took off coats and boots, then tucked them into their beds, clothes and all. When she shut the door, I pulled Claire close, slipping my arms around her. She leaned into me, and finally, I relaxed. Other than seeing Miles, I’d had a wonderful day.

  Maybe everything was okay after all.

  Maybe even more than okay.

  “A constant playmate, hunh? For her or for me?”

  “Why not both? Seems to me you both need more playtime.” She looked up at me through her lashes, flirtatious, and I grinned. She slipped her hands around my neck, her fingers fiddling with my hair, and I felt my groin tighten. I pulled her closer so she could feel it too.

  I kissed her, sipping at the corners of her mouth, nibbling at her upper lip, then her lower, then dipping down the trailing edge of her jaw, burying my face in her neck. I wanted to mark her, claim her like a teenage boy. She smelled amazing and I breathed her in, drunk with her scent, and reeled. Maybe seeing Miles had rattled me, because I suddenly needed her in the worst way.

  “Is it playtime now?” I whispered, and maneuvered her against the wall, her breasts pressed against me, my teeth nipping her earlobe.

  She rolled her head away from me and put her hands on my chest, smiling. Then she reached up and playfully tapped my cheek with one finger.

  “Not ’til we’ve eaten. I’m starved.”

  “How can you think about food at a time like this?” I demanded.

  Her stomach growled, and she arched an eyebrow at me.

  “All right, all right. But let’s find something quick.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

  We ate breakfast for dinner—scrambled eggs with salsa, cheese and sour cream, toast and sausage. There was no sign of Sharon, and while it bothered me for Yvette’s sake, I was pleased for my own. I wanted Claire all to myself, with no more drama, no more people from our pasts blindsiding us. This afternoon in the cabin had been amazing. The world had rocked under my feet, tilted my perceptions—Claire now my lodestone, the only thing keeping me balanced. I’d been dreaming of her in my bed, her body under mine, or on top, or beside—the list was endless. Tonight, I hoped to make more of those dreams real.

  “Are you full yet?” I asked. We sat at the bar, and I was kissing her fingers, sucking the ends. “Hmmm…just a hint of cilantro.” I sucked another finger deeper into my mouth. Her eyes grew wide, holding her breath.

  “Don’t you want dessert?”

  “Absolutely. Positively. Right now.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall.

  “What about the dishes?” She yelped, giggling, and tried to squirm back, but I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder.

  “What dishes? Where? I don’t see any dishes.” I kicked my bedroom door shut behind me, then threw her on my bed.

  Claire lay back in the middle of the pillows, dwarfed by the huge mattress. I crawled over the cover beside her and tucked her under my shoulder. I sighed. This was where I’d wanted her for days, and now she was here. In my bed. Mine.

  The wall-sized window in front of us was backlit from floodlights in the yard, and we watched the snow fall thickly. It was beautiful, peaceful, enchanting. And so was she.

  I turned to look at her, and let my fingers trail down the side of her face, drinking her in. My fingers brushed down her neck, trickled across her sleek collarbone. I unbuttoned her blouse, slowly, one button at a time, letting my lips follow. I slid her out of her top, then rolled her over on top of me, kissing her deeply, my tongue exploring her mouth, a garden of sensation. She was fruit and honey, nectar and champagne, and I could not get enough, but unlike this afternoon, I wanted to savor her. Slowly.

  I released her bra, sliding the straps over her shoulders, releasing her lovely mounds. I held her up and she arched her back, giving me better access to her rose-colored nipples. I kissed down their sides, cradled their pendulous weight, then suckled one deep into my mouth. I heard her gasp, then moan, her body clenching with desire. My cock was on fire, rubbing against my pants with a mind of its own, but I wanted to prolong this. If I let the beast out, we would be done—and this was too sweet to be over so soon.

  I kneaded and kissed her gorgeous breasts, buried my face between them and licked her delicious salty/sweet skin. I rolled her on her back, and slid my hand down her satin-smooth stomach. Just as I had reached the edge of her curls, she stopped my hand.

  “My turn,” she said.

  She reached for the edge of my shirt and slowly pulled it up, brushing her lips up my torso, sucking, nibbling, darting her tongue against my skin. My hands tightened into fists as I willed myself not to grab her and take her now. She pulled my shirt off and then retreated, kissing her way back down my face, my chest, then taking my nipples in her mouth and sucking. She set my skin on fire.

  She moved to my waistband, trailing her fingers through the hair on my abdomen. I ached for her touch, every muscle straining with need. Her fingers were light, delicate, rippling my skin with exquisite torment. She delved beneath the band, unsnapping the top, unzipping my pants. My cock leapt, my relief intense. And then she touched it.

  It was divine. It was torture. I could feel my come on the tip, the weight of her gaze studying it. Would she? Would she? I closed my eyes and then I felt her tongue touch my tip. Dear God. She would. She did. I moaned as if my soul had cracked. I was going insane. I knew it.

  Then her lips were on me, her tongue stroking, swirling, her lips using just that little bit of pressure, playing me like a virtuoso. I had no brains, no thoughts, just feeling—the cool fiery bliss of her lips and tongue on me, teasing me, sucking me, pulling me in. I had to have her, had to have more.

  “Claire,” I growled. “I have to…”

  “Not yet.” I could feel her lips curl into a smile around my cock.

  Oh God.

  I put my hands on her head, feeling her rhythm build, my need escalating as she took me deeper, sucking harder. She cupped her hands around my balls, so gently, kneading and stroking, her other hand curled around the base, squeezing, stroking…

  “Claire!” I gritted out, in agony, in ecstasy. “Fuck!” My cock exploded, my come pulsin
g into her warm mouth, pouring into her throat as she sucked me in. Again and again my cock pumped, her teeth barely touching my over-sensitized skin. I swear I touched heaven.

  My body still rippled with aftershocks of pleasure. She released me, giving my sated cock a tender kiss, then perched her chin on her hands folded on my stomach and gazed up at me.

  “You like?” she purred.

  I nodded, unable to form words yet. We lay for another minute, while my brain tried to reboot itself. I pulled her to me and held her tight. I wanted to keep her right there, always that close to me.

  But she had other ideas.

  She rolled off the bed and hurried into the bathroom. I heard her turn on the water in the tub, then felt the edge of the mattress dip as she climbed back in beside me. Her warm arm reached across my chest, her head cradled on my shoulder, her leg twisted over mine. I nuzzled her hair and she shivered, rubbing her cheek against me, snuggling closer. I didn’t know how this could feel any better, any righter. And I knew with certainty that I wanted this woman here for a long, long time. Despite my past mistakes and heartbreak, I was certain that with her, it could work. That this was different.

  And prayed that I wasn’t a complete fool again.

  Her blowjob had been masterful, but the feel of her in my arms, soft and languorous, had my cock twitching again. Just the thought of her warm wetness one slide of my hand away had my boilers burning. Besides, it was my turn again.

  “Let’s go sit in the tub,” I murmured into her hair, my hands pressing her against my hip, then rolled her on top of me, my arousal hard and growing. She wiggled against me, sending a surge of pleasure to my cock and balls, my buttocks tensing. God, she turned me on.

  I took her face between my hands, holding her still, studying her. A catalog of her features still couldn’t describe her. Dark eyebrows, soft blue eyes, regular lips, high cheekbones, ordinary eyelashes and nose—individually, nothing special. Yet when I looked at her, she was extraordinary. I wanted her so badly it stole my breath.

  I picked her up and carried her into the tub, sitting with her nestled on my lap. I poured shampoo into my palm and lazily washed her hair, massaging her scalp, dragging my fingers through her locks. Then I soaped up my hands, sliding them over her neck, her back, caressing her breasts, her abdomen, massaging my fingers through the warm nest of her sex. I pulled her to me, her back to my chest and played her, my fingers rubbing up and down her clit, sliding into her cave with slick fingers. She moaned, and I ran one hand up and down her inner thigh, my other hand squeezing and teasing her nub. My cock was hard and aching, rubbing against the delicious crack in her ass. I pulled a towel from a pile near the tub, making a pad for her under the water.

  “Turn around,” I murmured, and situated her on her knees, her ass in the air, her elbows resting on the low shelf. I moved behind her, my fingers sliding across her lovely pink bottom. I swept my fingers inside her again, and her wetness almost made me come right there. I slid my shaft between her cheeks, then slowly, achingly, pushed inside her tight, hot sheath.

  Bliss.

  I stroked her, in, out, one hand on her hip, the other on the small of her back, guiding her, urging her as she pushed back on my rod, taking me deeper. I followed her lead, determined to pleasure her out of her mind. Her moans maddened me, and I pushed harder, faster, our rhythm a dance as she teased my cock, wrapping and squeezing it, until the building pressure was more than I could bear. My ears were ringing, my teeth gritted in the drive to fill her, claim her, take her to the peak with me.

  “Honey…honey…” she begged.

  “Come now, baby. Come!” I yelled.

  “Drake!” she moaned, and I felt her spasm around my cock, pulling me with her. I spilled into her, my body rigid behind her, her sweet pussy clenched as she bucked beneath me, her ass pressed into me, her back braced in tense climax, squeezing me deliciously. The aftershocks rippled through me, until slowly our bodies relaxed, our muscles loose and lethargic. I felt her start to slide, so I pulled her up, then turned and settled her on my lap. I tucked her head under my chin and ran my hand over her hair.

  “Oh baby,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Yeah.” We were both beyond words. We sat there, spent, happy to cuddle together.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” I murmured in her hair, needing her in my bed. The closeness I felt with her was too new, and I was so tired of sleeping alone. Any distance, even down the hall, felt too far away.

  She ran her finger along my jaw, my face scratchy with evening stubble. “What about the girls?”

  “We can still hear them in here. I listen at night, you know.”

  “You do?”

  “I have a monitor hooked up in their room.”

  “I didn’t realize.” She searched my face, ran her fingers along my scalp line. Even now, when I didn’t think I could move, her barest touch made my cock twitch. “You’re not what I thought you were.”

  “Considering how we first met, that’s probably a good thing.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She grinned and tweaked my nose. “I like you, Drake Driscoll. I like you a lot.”

  “And I like you, Claire Iverson. A lot.”

  I stared at her, capturing the moment, her face next to mine, her eyes soft and warm from our lovemaking. I kissed her on the forehead, her nose, her mouth. I wanted her with me, beside me, through this night and those to come.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I said. We slowly climbed from the Jacuzzi, dried one another off, and holding hands, fell into the bed together. I wrapped her in my arms, content and complete, and we both snuggled in for a long winter’s nap.

  Chapter Eleven

  Claire

  I woke up in Drake’s bed in the pre-dawn darkness. I loved the feel of his warm bulk beside me, his arm around me, and I burrowed in closer, spooning my back into his chest. Sleepily, his hand slid down my hip, then back up, cupping my breasts, his lips nuzzling my neck. He smelled of warm, aroused male, a scent heady and captivating. My legs rubbed deliciously down his hairy calves, and I nestled my bottom as close to his arousal as I could get. His breath hitched behind me, and slowly, he teased my leg up, twirling his fingers on my thigh as he slowly eased into me from behind, rocking gently.

  I savored each inch as he filled me. I hung between waking and dreaming, as he slid back and forth hypnotically. We were cocooned in this warm chrysalis, pleasure transforming my body into something new, like a caterpillar’s subconscious yearning to become something else. One arm held me tight against him as his rhythm quickened, while the other circled my nub, rubbing faster and harder in time with his clenching ass. He pumped into me until, with a quiet urgent shiver, I broke and he froze, his soft cry at my back, his cock straining into me. He pulled me tightly to him, still not saying a word, as he ebbed inside me, connected, warm. He nibbled my shoulder, kissed my neck, held me close. It was a dream. It was magic. He was magic.

  A girl could get used to this.

  Despite my desire that time stand still, however, the sun was coming up. I rolled over to face him. He lay on his back, his arm over his eyes, a secret grin on his lips. I folded my arms on his chest, studying him. His lips curled higher as he squinted at me from beneath his arm. Something in my chest fluttered. No one should be allowed to be that gorgeous, that endearing, in the morning.

  “I’ve got to get up,” I whispered, twirling my fingers in his chest hair. He wrapped his arm around me, then kissed my forehead, snuggling me closer under his chin. Tears started in my eyes, and I ducked my face so he couldn’t see them.

  “I hate to let you go, even for a little while,” he said. “But the girls are stirring, and I guess you don’t want them to know…?” He trailed off, playing with a strand of my hair.

  “No. I’m not ready for that.” I could hear me now explaining in “three-year-old” why I was
in Daddy’s bed, and cringed. I scooched out of bed and gathered my clothes.

  He watched me as I dressed, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He knew I was right. It was too early, and what was there to say? I couldn’t bear to examine my emotions right now. Geez, I could hardly look at him without diving right back in beside him.

  “Claire?”

  “Hmmm?” My hand was on the doorknob, and I turned to gaze at him. His face looked open and vulnerable. He smiled, and inside, another bone melted.

  “Come back soon.”

  My smile threatened to break my face. “Try and stop me.”

  By the time I had showered and dressed, the girls were up. After all the adventures of the day before, I thought a quiet morning would be good for all of us. We were sitting at the counter coloring when Drake sauntered into the kitchen. He wore a black fleece pullover with a white T-shirt and jeans, his hair damp from a shower. His face belied his casual manner; the way his eyes burned at me made me want to throw myself at him and bury myself in his chest.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Suzie piped up. “Look what I drawed.” She held up her coloring book page for him to see, bold squiggles zigzagging all over the design.

  “Wow, sweetheart. Look at the great colors. You’re such a clever girl.” He stood behind her, then looked up and winked at me. Yvette grabbed his fleece and yanked.

  “Look at mine.” Her serious eyes never left his face as he leaned over and studied her drawing. Hers was as opposite from Suzie’s as it could be. Every color was completely within the lines, with no stray marks or exuberant, offhand colors. It was far too controlled for a three-year-old, and my heart ached for this fearful little thing.

  Drake laid his hand on her head, then bent and kissed her. “It’s wonderful, Yvette. You’re a marvelous artist.” He looked up and caught the expression on my face, then back again at the two girls flanking him. He tightened his arms around their shoulders and hugged them both again. Suzie went right on coloring, secure in her daddy’s love, but Yvette closed her eyes, savoring Drake. I knew just how she felt.