“Hey!”
“In,” Dale shouted, and Zynk bounded toward the door between the garage and the house. The dog burrowed through a doggie entrance cut into the bottom of the door and disappeared with my hat.
“Let’s see.” Dale looked me over. “What shall I give Gypsy?”
I rushed forward and gave him a playful shove. He pretended to be severely injured by my tap and then rushed for the door himself. “C’mon. Let’s eat something and get…warmed up.”
“I have some ideas on how to do just that.” I followed him inside.
“I’ll want to hear all of those ideas and probably try most of them.”
Once inside, Dale closed the door and, placing his palms on either side of me, he leaned in, touching his nose to mine. I unzipped his jacket and slipped my hands inside. A hum, so completely masculine, rumbled in his throat as I kneaded the muscles under his shoulder blades.
“Forget eating first.” He let his jacket drop, unzipped mine, and peeled it off.
My lips sought his, aching to have them take whatever they wanted. Dale forged a trail down my chin and continued along my neck until I shuddered against him. Taking a fistful of his thick sweater, I tugged it over his head and let it fall on top of his jacket. I spread my palms on his well-muscled chest as his heart thudded powerfully under his T-shirt.
He worked my fleece sweatshirt off and drew me close. The whiskers on his chin tickled my cheek as he explored my ear. Dale slipped his hands under my thermal shirt, his fingers rough, calloused, but warm and skilled around my waist.
Something akin to a groan escaped from my throat, and I swept my hands up to Dale’s neck. I stroked my fingers down both his arms and landed at the waist of his jeans. Gripping the end of his T-shirt, I pulled it off as well and couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped.
“Okay, maybe there’s a bit more to sled racing than I gave you credit for.” I explored his chest with the palm of my hand. “You don’t get muscles like these by merely traipsing through the snow.” I pressed my lips to his bared shoulder and delighted in his swift intake of breath.
“C’mon.” He took my hand and led me through what I only half-noticed was an enormous kitchen.
At the base of a staircase made entirely from logs, Dale paused as several loud barks sounded from the back of the house.
“Shit,” Dale hissed. “I have to feed them, or they won’t stop barking.” He turned his eyes—the greenest shade I’d seen yet—toward me apologetically.
“If I help you, it’ll be quicker.” I went back to the kitchen, making a mental note to inspect it more fully later, and retrieved our jackets. I turned around quickly and bumped into Dale, who had noiselessly followed me.
“They can wait another minute or two.” He crushed his lips down on mine, and I matched his fervor, kiss by kiss, caress by caress. I was slipping away. Blissfully light. Completely carefree. The cautious, disinterested Alanna I’d lived with for years had taken the night off.
The metallic clang that echoed in the kitchen ripped us both from our exploration of each other. We whipped our heads toward the direction of the noise.
“Gypsy,” Dale groaned. The dog whimpered, her blue eyes staring at the bowl at her feet. “Subtle. Real subtle.”
“Go on,” I said. “Poor girl. She’s starving.”
“So am I,” Dale mumbled, though I doubted he was thinking of food. As he bent to tip Gypsy’s bowl upright and set it next to three others, I stepped behind him. Still shirtless, his back cried out for me to touch it. I walked my fingers along his shoulders and combed them through his hair. He nearly dropped the container of dog food he was holding. I giggled as he juggled it, bouncing it between his hands before catching it.
“Am I making this difficult?” I nipped at the back of his ear.
“It’s certainly much more erotic than it usually is.” Dale shoveled out two heaping scoops of food into two of the four bowls. Zynk came to join Gypsy, the two of them now having oodles of patience as Dale prepared their meal. After a short whistle from Dale, the dogs descended upon the bowls and slopped down the meat.
“Do they need water?” Figured I ought to actually help if we were to ever…umm…get to our other business.
“Yep.” Dale handed me the remaining two bowls. Stepping toward the sink, a rustic, hammered copper one, I turned on a faucet shaped like an old-fashioned water pump. I filled both bowls and set them where Dale indicated. He had unfortunately put his shirt and jacket back on in the meantime.
“That’s a shame.” I tugged on his jacket and pouted.
“I can be unwrapped again. Don’t you worry.” He dropped a quick kiss on my nose. “C’mon. This way.”
I shrugged back into my sweatshirt and jacket and followed Dale out a back door by the stairs. My gaze wandered up the staircase toward the rooms that hovered above us. His bedroom was up there. I would see it tonight. My senses reeled at that little tidbit of information. I was not sure I was emotionally ready for such an escapade. Physically, the prospect of Dale scratching that itch seemed right though.
I jogged to catch up to Dale, who moved at warp speed. Dog barks thundered through the otherwise quiet backyard. He held a wire gate open for me, and I scooted in behind him. In the floodlights that came on as we stepped in their path, a wide, rectangular enclosure stretched before me in all directions. Twenty or so wooden doghouses formed a circle around the perimeter of the enclosure.
That was the last thing I noticed before the charge of dogs came at me.
“Ignore them and they’ll think you’re supposed to be here,” Dale instructed.
Their barking was so loud and constant. “That’s easier said than done.”
Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the doghouses behind the yapping dogs. Cool. Aloof. I could do that. I’d had practice. Men. Dogs. What was the difference, right?
About forty-two razor-sharp teeth each. That’s the difference.
Dale held out his left hand, fist up, and his right hand, palm down. Instantly the sixteen dogs that had rushed to us sat on their haunches, their barking silenced. When he brought his left fist down by his leg in a sharp arc, all the dogs lowered and put their heads on their front paws. Although all the dogs looked like huskies, their coloring varied. Some were all white. Others were black and white. And still others were a golden sand color.
“Stay.” His voice had so much authority in it.
An incredible turn-on. I certainly planned to stay.
“They’ll be quiet for a few now.” He started toward a large, barn-like shed at the back of the enclosure.
“How do you remember all of their names?”
“Twelve Days of Christmas song.”
“What?”
“I sing their names in my head to the Twelve Days of Christmas melody. Only it’s Eighteen Dogs of Sledding. I’ll spare you my horrible singing voice and just tell you their names.”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“Nope. Too soon for singing.” He pointed to the closest dog. “That’s Zebra. Then we have Sasha, Frodo, Molly, Achilles.” Dale gave the last dog a pat between the ears. “Achilles is Gypsy and Zynk’s first pup.”
Achilles pawed at Dale’s bootlaces as Dale moved to the next bunch of dogs.
“These are Gemini, Jamu, Eagle, and Cassie next to Achilles.” Dale stepped to the second row of dogs and continued. “This is Ram. Dad named him. Next to Ram, we have Licorice, Bubbles, and Racoon, named by my nephews. And finally, Seven, Spider, and Balto.”
“Like the famous sled dog from the 1925 serum run to Nome?” I’d read about that dog in the library.
“Yeah. I couldn’t resist. That’s one of my favorite stories.”
I faced the dogs. “Lovely to meet all of you.”
Dale snapped his fingers, and each dog lifted a paw to wave.
“Oh, that was smooth.”
“What good are all these dogs if they don’t help a guy out sometimes?” He motioned for me to follow him into the shed. A wide refrigeratio
n unit lined one of the walls. Dale pried it open, and I peeked inside. Large cans of food were stacked neatly inside. He extracted eight of them and turned to me.
“Lay the bowls out on the table.” He pointed to a long wooden work area opposite the refrigeration unit. “Half a can in each bowl.” He handed me a metal spoon and took one for himself.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I saluted him with the spoon.
“Shit. This is more fun with you here.” He planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek and shoveled food into the bowls. “Most chicks don’t make it past the rush of barking dogs, but here you are already in the shed.” He turned around and stared at me for a long moment as I scooped food into my bowls.
We worked efficiently together and had the food in front of the hungry dogs in no time.
“Let’s wait in the shed,” Dale said. “It’s cold out here.”
Was it cold? I’d lost my ability to gauge the temperature around Dale. Nonetheless, I led the way back to the shed. Another section beyond where the food and bowls were housed piqued my curiosity. Above the threshold, a plaque read, It’s All About Attitude.
“Your attitude or the dogs’?”
“Both. We won’t win anything if we both don’t have the right attitude.”
I nodded, then wandered deeper inside the shed. My eyes widened at its contents. Two state-of-the-art snowmobiles, an ATV, and a toboggan lined the far wall. Complicated looking harnesses and lines hung from hooks on the wall above the vehicles, and other gear sat on shelves similar to those I had seen in the garage.
I meandered over to the sled and looked back at Dale, who was resting against the threshold between the two sections of the shed.
“Is this the winning sled?”
“It is.” His eyes looked a little glossy as if he were back out on the Iditarod Trail, perhaps, reliving his win. He blinked, and he was back with me. Stepping into the room, he pointed to three sacks made of a material I’d never seen before. “All that came with me too.”
“What exactly does one pack for a trek through the Alaskan wilderness?” Packing to write an article had been challenge enough for me.
“Snowshoes, ax, cooker, pot, emergency food, clothes, rifle, extra booties for the dogs, sleeping bag.”
“Sleeping bag? You don’t sleep outside the whole time you’re out there, do you?” The thought made me shiver.
“No. There are twenty-six checkpoints along the trail. You get the dogs checked out by a vet, refuel, pick up food, catch some Z’s. There are three mandatory stops—a twenty-four-hour one, which I took at mile 352 in Nikolai after crossing Farewell Burn, a windy spot. Then, you have to take two more eight-hour stops. One at the Yukon River checkpoint and another at White Mountain seventy-seven miles from the finish line.”
“How long is the trail?”
“Over a thousand miles.”
“Holy shit.” I couldn’t imagine attempting such a feat, but the more Dale spoke about it, the more animated he became.
He loved it and the dogs.
Pointing to the wall, he said, “Those are the harnesses and different lines. Maybe I can take you for a ride, and I’ll show you how it all works.” He looked down and kicked at his boot. “You know, if you’re interested.”
“I’m totally interested.” I placed my hand on his forearm. “I’d love to go for a ride with the dogs and”—I walked over to the snowmobiles and hopped on the one closest to me—“On these too.”
“You got it. I’m sure Dad will insist you ride his.”
“This one is Ram’s?” I pictured Ram zipping through the snow on one of these babies, an excited roar of laughter echoing around him.
“Yep. I was looking into buying one and he said, ‘Son, one is no fun. I’ll get one too, and we’ll tear it up together.’ And that’s what we’ve been doing on them since we got them.”
“My dad and I used to ski together. We had so much fun.”
Dale’s arm reached across my back, and he pulled me into a half hug. “You must miss him.”
“Terribly.”
“My father drives me nuts, but I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Tricky how they manage that, isn’t it? One minute you want to tell them to back off, and the next you realize how much you need them.”
Dale nodded and then took my hand. “Listen.”
“What?” I didn’t hear anything.
“The dogs are finished. Let’s clean the bowls and get back inside. I believe we were in the middle of something.”
“Were we?” I said. “I don’t remember.”
“Let me refresh your memory then.” He gathered the sides of my jacket and bunched them in his fists.
Pulling lightly so I rubbed against him, he feasted on my lips, his urgency firing my own desire to full throttle.
I’d be lucky to remember my own name by the time the night was over.
Chapter Eleven
Dale chased me back to the house, and I didn’t mind when he caught me. Kicking the door shut with his boot, he tore off his jacket and shirt. He stood before me bared to the waist, looking delicious.
“There,” he said. “Right back where we left off.”
“Not quite.” I slid my jacket and sweatshirt off and tossed them aside. “Now we’re right back where we left off.”
Dale was before me in one long stride. He took my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. I followed him—perhaps too eagerly—but I was past the point of pretending I didn’t want him.
I wanted him. All of him. Right now.
At the top of the stairs, he turned left and led me into a darkened room. His hand felt so wonderful in mine that he could have led me anywhere. I didn’t care.
Dale flicked on a bedside lamp, the light dim and sexy as it cast a warm, golden glow on the pine-paneled walls of the room. As much as I wanted to dive into Dale, I took a moment to look around his bedroom, to get to know the man who slept there night after night. Tasteful artwork depicting varying snowy forest scenes adorned the walls in frames made of twigs. Two wide windows, nearly floor to ceiling abutted one another in one corner of the room. Thick, dark green curtains, simply stitched, scooped over each window. In the center of the far wall, a huge sleigh bed waited, covered in a checkered corduroy quilt in green and burgundy hues. Rustic pinecone ironwork adorned the bed’s head and footboards. Two small nightstands flanked the bed, while a dresser stood to the left of the door. The smell of pine mixed with a citrusy, masculine aroma.
Having finished my sweep of the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and trapped Dale between my knees. He eased me back, and two huge skylights cut into the ceiling allowed me a nearly panoramic view of the bright spotlight of moon above. Her watchful eye urged me on, giving me her blessing. This was right. The moon knew it. I knew it.
Dale grasped the end of my thermal shirt as he knelt on the bed, his legs on either side of me. He slid his left hand underneath the fabric, flattening his palm across my stomach. I arched slightly to press myself more closely against his warm fingers.
He exhaled a staccato breath as he removed my shirt and discovered the silk camisole underneath.
“Is this what life in New York is like?” He straightened to take a better look.
“Hardly. This number’s been in hibernation for some time. I packed it to make myself laugh when I saw it in my suitcase.”
“There’s nothing funny about this.” He trailed a finger along the thin strap at my shoulder. “Is there…” He nudged down the waist of my jeans and closed his eyes at the sight of the matching black panty. “Wonderful.” The word was more of a growl than anything else. The sound of it set me on fire.
I loosened his jeans, and Dale helped the rest of the way, ridding himself of his remaining garments. I took a moment to look at the body before me. Lean. Defined. Picturesque. I ran my fingers along his muscular arms as he slid off my jeans, shoes, and socks. Nothing between us now, but flimsy black silk and lace. Even that was too much. I wanted him closer.
His body on mine. In mine. Part of me. Such a primal urge was new to me. I rather liked it.
Leaning on his elbows to hover over me, he began an expedition across my shoulder with his lips. I shuddered beneath him and rubbed my bare legs against his, eliciting another rumble from his throat. I boiled with desire.
“Dale…” My voice came as a hoarse whisper, and his lips covered mine, silken, yet hungry. He shifted slightly to lean on his right elbow, the fingers of his left hand combing through my hair. Pulling it free from its knot, he gently raked through the unruly strands until he had most of my hair splayed out on the bed.
“So beautiful,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along my jawline.
Arousal edged me toward insanity. How much more could I take? I laced my fingers behind Dale’s neck and pulled him down until he rested his chest against mine. Smooth, taut muscles met black silk, and he slid over me like butter on hot toast.
I combed my hands over his shoulders, down his back, to his waist. Power surged through me as he shuddered. I hooked my hands on the back of his thighs and drew him closer. I was done waiting.
Catching his mouth with mine, I turned the heat up another thousand degrees when I shrugged out of my panties and opened to him, accepted him. He was more than willing, more than ready.
Dale slipped my camisole off and cupped my breasts. When his tongue teased, I groaned in frantic pleasure, arching closer to him, driving him deeper into me. I closed my eyes, riding higher and higher, until splashes of light played on the insides of my eyelids.
With each steady, rhythmic thrust, reality dropped away. Only Dale existed. He was all that was real to me.
So why did I feel like I was dreaming?
I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want the moment to end.
Dale’s hands canvassed every inch of me, his touch sending shockwaves through my system. Being electrocuted must feel like this—as if every one of my senses had been sharpened by a massive jolt of power. My entire body buzzed with the energy passing between us.
I climbed higher still, taking Dale with me. We were soaring now, our bodies locked in a passion so fiery, bursting into flames was likely. With slow, powerful thrusts, Dale brought me to overflowing, his enjoyment timed to my own. We crested the wave and sank into sweet oblivion.
Alaska Heart Page 10