All I Want…

Home > Other > All I Want… > Page 6
All I Want… Page 6

by Isabel Sharpe


  Krista? He took a few steps toward the bed and waited, letting his eyes get used to the dimness. The figure on the bed turned.

  Krista. It had to be.

  What the hell was she doing in his cabin?

  For a crazy instant he imagined her engineering the shared room to make her fantasy come true. Just as quickly he realized that was impossible.

  So…was he in her cabin? Had Betty Robinson left him the wrong damn key? Or left Krista the wrong one? Had Betty gotten confused and thought he and Krista were together?

  This was nuts. Where could he go now? He had no other key, there was no one at the office, the weather sucked, no other place to stay for miles around and he was nearly out of gas—figuratively when it came to his body and literally when it came to his car.

  He was stuck.

  For crying out loud, this was…it was completely…totally…entirely…

  Hmm…

  Interesting.

  A red-blooded male and a hot-blooded female trapped anonymously in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a snowstorm in the middle of a dark, cozy cabin.

  Well.

  He could think of one or two immediate consequences to this situation that could be extremely pleasant. As long as they left whatever might happen between them in the fantasy realm Krista spoke of. The reality of who they were and why they’d been brought together was best left far, far out of the picture—and the bedroom—for both their sakes.

  A tantalizing thought.

  Either way, he’d have to wake her and let her know he was here without telling her who he was and—far trickier—tell her that he was staying until morning. Or until the snow stopped. Or both.

  How to wake her without scaring her to death? He took a step closer, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and thought he glimpsed the bright orange foam of plugs in her ears. Not that she needed them in this blissful, far-reaching quiet; she most likely slept with them out of habit.

  That was good. He could at least use the bathroom and figure out what to do while he warmed up.

  Except now that he thought about it, there didn’t seem to be warming up happening. Why hadn’t she turned up the heat? Hell, he didn’t think she’d even turned on the heat.

  He shrugged, used the bathroom as quietly as possible, holding his breath until the water stopped running, anticipating a female scream of terror any second.

  Nothing.

  A peek into the room—half expecting her to be hovering outside the door, wielding a baseball bat or worse—he found her still sleeping. Seth breathed yet another sigh of relief, washed his face and brushed his teeth. Turned out the bathroom light, took off his sweater and boots and laid them in a neat pile next to his bag.

  He was ready. If she wouldn’t let him share her bed in whatever capacity, he’d steal half the blankets and bunk on the floor. No way was he going back out there and freezing to death just to be a gentleman.

  A few strides over toward her, feeling keyed-up, nervous, keyed-up. Did he mention keyed-up?

  “Hey. Hello.”

  She didn’t move. He took a step closer. Another one.

  “Hey.”

  Nothing. For all his adventures around the country, he had no experience waking women in the middle of the night and announcing he intended to stay. What would be least scary for someone sleeping in a silent, locked cabin with every expectation of being alone for the entire night—to be woken with a soft voice? A gentle touch? Or not woken at all until she rolled over and encountered an unexpected bedmate?

  Probably not the third. He didn’t know. Maybe a combination of the first and second. He moved around to the empty side of the bed, sat on the edge and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Sleeping beauty, wake up.”

  Her eyes shot open. She yelled, lunged away in terror, her progress hampered by the huge pile of bedcovers over her.

  “Get away from me. Get away.” She flailed at him, tore out her earplugs and swung again with her fists, trying to kick at him through the mound of blankets and quilts.

  “It’s okay.” He grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bed to save his jaw and head from punches aimed with the strength of panic, aware that pinning her down was only going to frighten her more. This was insane. How had he thought this could turn into a sexy fantasy? This was every woman’s nightmare. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

  She gave a short animal scream of frustration and fear, unable to free herself, panting and struggling.

  “I’m not a criminal, I’m a totally normal guy who got the key to your cabin by mistake.” He spoke loudly enough for her to hear but slowly, patiently and as reassuringly as he could, cursing the need for the darkness that must make him shadowy and frightening. But with lights on, if she recognized him from the restaurant, he’d scare her even more. If she recognized him as Seth Wellington…He couldn’t even think about that. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, breath rasping in her throat, emitting gasps and an occasional hoarse moan that sent chills across his neck. He never, ever wanted to hear anything like that fear again.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. The owners of the inn, the Robinsons, left me the key to your cabin by mistake. I woke you so you’d know I was here. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again, still breathing harshly, then worked her mouth a couple of times until the word came out. “Smith?”

  Smith…The lightbulb clicked on. “Yes. That’s me. They left me the wrong key at the office. I got yours by mistake, came in and found you in what I thought was my bed.”

  Her breathing slowed down. “The envelope…on the door.”

  “Right.”

  She inhaled long and exhaled longer, her body relaxing slightly, which called his attention to the fact that it was dark and they were both in the same bed and he was still pinning her down and that she was sexy as hell, even frightened.

  Great, he got off on scaring women.

  No. He got off on Krista Marlow in bed in the dark.

  “You scared me to death, Smith.”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice came out lower than it needed to and he cleared his throat. “I couldn’t think of any other way.”

  “Cabin nine,” she whispered.

  “Sorry?”

  “They gave me two keys. They must have mixed up six and nine, and given you my second key. I always ask for two.”

  “Why?”

  “So I don’t get locked out. And so I don’t have to break into strangers’ rooms and attempt to stop their hearts from fear.” She let out a few more short breaths. “I still have enough adrenaline going to win a marathon.”

  “I’m sorry.” He found himself wanting to smile. A sense of humor in a bad situation. He liked that. “If I let go of your hands, will you try to brain me again?”

  “No.”

  “Because you trust me now?”

  “No.”

  He wanted to smile again in spite of the fact that she sounded dead serious. “But I’m supposed to trust that you won’t go for my eyeballs if I let your hands go?”

  “All I can give you is my word.”

  “I gave you mine.”

  She snorted. “But you broke into my cabin.”

  “I walked in with the key they left me.”

  She moved restlessly and he had to keep himself from trying to make out the lines of her body against the sheets. Apparently he was an unprincipled pervert.

  “I…won’t hit you.”

  “Why not, if you don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t know. I probably should hit you. But I won’t.”

  He stared down at her dim shape, knowing he was stalling but reluctant to release her. Because then he might have to take the correct key and leave her warm bed and her even warmer body and the sweet powdery scent of her. “Promise?”

  “Yes. I promise.” Her voice dropped to a husky murmur and he started to get hard. He didn’t release her but eased his grip
enough so she could slip her hands free with little effort.

  She hesitated, and for one cock-jumping moment he thought she wasn’t going to move. He heard her swallow in the darkness, then felt her hands slide slowly until they were just free of his but lay still on the mattress on either side of her head, close enough that he could move his thumbs and stroke her palms if the urge struck.

  The urge was definitely striking—but her earlier fear stopped him. He was a stranger. Maybe her fantasy stranger, but until she trusted him or gave him a go-ahead sign, he couldn’t act on his attraction.

  “Where is the key?” In spite of his noble thoughts, he barely got the words out.

  “Oh…the key. There.” She twisted her head and pointed to the table beside her bed, then lay back, looking up at him, waiting for what he’d do next.

  He knew what he wanted to do next. There was no doubt at all what he wanted to do next. He wanted to lower his mouth and taste her skin, taste her mouth, stoke the chemistry between them until it was too hot to do anything but give in.

  But he couldn’t risk freaking her out again. The sounds of her fear were too raw and too recent.

  At the same time, he wasn’t jumping for the key and leaving either, was he. “Why don’t you have the heat on?”

  “There is no heat. And I couldn’t get the fireplace going.”

  “It’s damn chilly in here.”

  “No kidding.” She laughed, slightly breathless, and he realized how much he wanted her to say, Can I warm you up? “That’s why I have on every possible layer of blankets, doubled.”

  “Bet it’s warm in there at least.”

  “Were you hoping I’d invite you in?” Her tone was sharp, but he sensed no real bite.

  “Absolutely.” She tensed and he made himself chuckle, knowing he should shut up and stop leaning so closely over her. “I was kidding.”

  She tilted her head, a dark outline gazing up at him from her pillow. “Why aren’t you getting the key?”

  “I don’t know.” That much was the truth. “Why aren’t I?”

  “I don’t know. You’re sure you’re not a stalking, murdering sex offender?”

  “Not last time I checked.” He lingered a beat longer, then pushed regretfully to sitting upright. Sex with Krista right now was a great idea—and a bad one. She still didn’t trust him entirely and he couldn’t blame her. If their positions were reversed and she’d scared the hell out of him in the middle of the night, he might have a hard time swallowing the mix-up story, too.

  He stood and reached over to the table beside her bed, located the key and squinted at the wooden ring. Cabin nine, whadya know.

  “Here’s the key.” He suppressed a sigh. “I guess I’ll be—”

  “What’s your first name, Smith?”

  Her voice was shy and he felt a jolt of pleasure that she’d stopped him from leaving. “John.”

  “John Smith? Seriously?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Because you’re wanted by the police?”

  “Because I wanted to escape reality for a while.”

  “Oh.” She nodded and her hair made a rustling sound on the pillow. “I know what that’s like.”

  “Yeah?” He hoped she’d go on but didn’t expect it.

  “My name is—”

  “I know your name.”

  “You do?” The fear crept back into her voice.

  “Jane Doe.”

  She laughed softly, as if afraid to make too much noise in the hushed cabin. “Exactly. Have we met before, John Smith?”

  “We must have if I know your name.”

  Silence fell. What was she thinking? If he had his way, she was thinking that maybe her fantasy could be fulfilled right here, right now….

  Then probably following that up with thinking she’d be a fool to fulfill it with someone who could end up hacking her to pieces afterward. Sociopaths gave the rest of humanity a bad name.

  Unless he was totally off base and she was lying there wondering why he hadn’t gotten the hell out of her cabin so she could go back to sleep.

  “Thanks for the key.” He stood, swinging the chain in his fingers. “I’m really sorry I scared you.”

  “Okay.” She sat up, holding the covers to her chest. “I hope your cabin has heat.”

  “If it does, would you like to—”

  “No. I’m fine here, thanks.” She spoke quickly, then gave a small snort that sounded like disgust and mumbled something under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh. Just…nothing.”

  “Okay then, Jane Doe. Happy trails.”

  He picked up his bag and sweater, stepped into his boots and yanked on his coat. “Nice meeting you. Sorry for the near heart attack.”

  “It worked out okay.”

  He opened the door, squinted in anticipation of the stinging snow as he reached for the storm-door handle.

  “John.”

  He turned back. “Yes.”

  The light outside spilled dimly into the room. Krista still sat on the bed, leaning on one arm by her pillow, the other still clutching covers to her chest, the languid mistress of her cabin. “Do you want to…would you mind checking the fireplace?”

  He closed the door behind him, resisting the urge to smile. “Check the fireplace.”

  “I…couldn’t get it to work.”

  “I see.” He took off his coat again, tossed it onto a dark blob that had the shape of a chair, followed it with his sweater and stepped out of his boots. He was in. Call it instinct, call it whatever you want, but he and Krista were going to make some fantasies come true tonight. “Can’t even get a spark?”

  “I don’t think there’s any fuel running.”

  “And you need heat.”

  “Yes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I need heat.”

  He walked toward the bed, not even pretending to go near the fireplace. “I don’t know much about fireplaces.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He stopped at the edge of the bed, reached and touched her hair, followed it down the line of her cheek. “But I know about generating heat.”

  Her breath went in, then out, and did it again—sweet, short breaths, no gasping, hoarse fear this time. “Really.”

  “Do you want me to show you?”

  “I…think so….”

  “If you say no, I’ll leave. But unless I’m crazy…I don’t think you want me to leave.”

  “No. I don’t want you to leave.” She laughed softly. “And I think that makes me the crazy one.”

  He knelt on the bed, one knee, then the other, keeping each movement slow, nonthreatening.

  “We’re strangers. That makes it risky for both of us.” He put his hands to her shoulders, spread his fingers, feeling her small bones, then drew his hands down her arms, surprisingly firm and muscled for a woman who appeared so delicate. “Also more exciting.”

  “Yes.” She inhaled on the word, exhaled on a quiet laugh.

  Nervous. Excited. Aroused.

  He was, too.

  He pulled her hand up to his mouth, gently tasted each fingertip. Her nails were short, blunt, the nails of a typist. He’d had his skin shredded by too many expensive talons, and the discovery turned him on. Who knew natural nails would excite him? Maybe everything about this woman would excite him. He brought her image to mind from the restaurant. Blue, vivid eyes. Blond, wispy hair. Body tiny and, as he was discovering, tough as her attitude.

  But she wasn’t Krista tonight. And Seth Wellington IV was somewhere else, too. His were someone else’s CEO problems tonight.

  Reality was safely back home in Boston.

  Her arms slid up his chest. He leaned to kiss her; her lips were soft and sweet, and his nerves fled. This was right. Everything that happened between them for the rest of the night would be right, too.

  Just too bad it would be right for so damn many wrong reasons.

  5

  KRISTA OPENED HER EYES. What had
woken her? Still pitch-dark, still cold as hell in the cabin, though nice and warm under the covers. But something had…mmm, brushed her thigh. And there, again.

  Fingers, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Mmm.

  She smiled and moved her hips in a provocative circle, eliciting a deep approving groan behind her. Her excitement rocketed to a feverish pitch. No question, but having sex with someone she’d never seen was intensely exciting. Her fantasy of immediate intimacy with a stranger had been taken to the ultimate degree—more of the unknown, more of the danger.

  Yet she’d found herself willing to trust this John Smith. Maybe for no more valid reason than she wanted to. Maybe tonight that was enough. But if she hadn’t finally gotten up the nerve to ask him to stay, she believed he would have left as he’d promised to. A creep wouldn’t have given up so easily, especially when he’d had every advantage with her pinned helpless on the bed. He could have done anything he wanted…and he had only done his best to put her at ease.

  Once that soothing, patient voice had started talking and she’d instinctively felt he wasn’t going to hurt her, it had slowly crept into her diminishing panic that her perfect fantasy had been dropped right into her lap. Nearly literally. Like a gift. The fear and the darkness, his sexy voice and the feeling that if she didn’t take advantage, circumstances might never again conspire so perfectly, had fueled her arousal and her nerve until she found herself calling him back.

  Those fingers found a certain lovely spot between her legs and began an expert rhythm that spread sexual heat farther through her. Oooh, that was nice. She arched, offering herself to him behind her, heard him open and extract a condom. Then he was back, the cool latex on his penis searching for entrance, waiting to be warmed by her body.

  She reached down and opened herself wide, not needing any more foreplay, just wanting him inside her again. His hands felt huge controlling her hips as he found his way in; she felt tiny and helpless, impaled by her faceless lover, large and muscular and dominant behind her.

  He started a slow rhythm and she pushed back against him, heard him breathe harshly from his throat, a noise she already knew was his sign of arousal. Lack of sight had heightened her other senses; she knew his shape, his taste, his textures and sounds with an acuteness she couldn’t remember with any other lover.

 

‹ Prev