by Lucy Farago
Howie also made sure they understood that if not for Taylor’s trade and Monty’s injuries, they’d have been left to fend for themselves. Somehow, judging from how good Lonnie had taken care of them, Taylor had called bullshit on that one. It had been the old woman who had insisted they not be turned away. Taylor hadn’t understood a word that had been said, but that much had been undeniable. As had Lonnie’s power over the men. Being older would have held some weight, but add her shaman status and it was quite possible Lonnie was, if not the leader, high up on the council.
“He did say we had the freedom to move around as long as we don’t break the rules,” Taylor said her tone facetious.
“Rule,” he corrected. Howie had urged them to remember their one rule, obey the rules. “And we can’t ask questions no one wants to answer,” Monty reminded her. “And we stay away from the locked and off limits building.” The man had spouted something about indigenous ceremonial practices as the reason, which Monty took to mean exactly what is was—bullshit.
His gut told him the snowmobile was still here and he suspected it was stored in the ceremonial building. If he or Taylor were discovered anywhere they shouldn’t be, they’d be tossed out—no exceptions. And while the trade granted them safe passage, they were expected to clean up after themselves.
It was possible his team would find them before the ten days they’d been told it would take the supply truck to return. Maybe he only perceived this winter hideaway as well hidden, but given how he himself had come up empty, he doubted they’d have better luck. For once in his life, he hoped he was wrong.
Taylor started on her third pancake. “Hungry?”
“Starving. Lonnie would bring me food, but honestly, until you woke up, I didn’t have much of an appetite,” she said with a mouthful of food.
“Worried I would die on you?” What would it be like to have someone care that much about him? To mean that much to a woman? To have her mean that much to him and know she wouldn’t skip out?
Frowning, she swallowed her food and gave him a killer glare. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m kidding. I’d never leave you high and dry,” he said, uncomfortable with his train of thought.
“You know,” she pointed a finger at him, “if you weren’t already injured, I’d punch you. You think I was concerned about what would happen to me should something happen to you? You think I’m that selfish? The selfish, spoiled rich kid?”
He’d never seen her mad, and while he was ashamed of himself, he found it oddly erotic. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No? Then what did you mean?” She shoved away the remnants of her breakfast. “You think I sat by your bed praying you’d be all right for myself?”
“Don’t be like that.” He hadn’t meant to upset her. “I’m sorry.”
“What is it with you?”
Honestly, she scared him. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Part of him was flattered she’d been worried; the other part was nervous. Was she starting to care for him? Was he setting himself up for another fall?
She stared at him a good long moment, then scanned the near-empty room.
“What are you looking for?”
“Witnesses. Then again, these people like their privacy. I doubt they’d be the ones calling the state troopers after I killed you.”
He laughed. She didn’t.
She deserved better than this. “I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it.
She crossed her arms, the down-filled vest she wore puffing out her chest.
He decided to quit dicking around and come out and say it. “I think we’re growing closer. Maybe it’s just me—”
“It’s not just you.”
For that he was supremely grateful. “I’ve never had a close female friend. I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to scare you off either.” He really didn’t want that. “But you’ve come to mean a lot to me.” A whole lot. “And I’m flattered you were scared for me. I’m blown away that you risked your own life to rescue me.”
“Blown away?” She tilted her head to one side. “Good choice of words.”
“Yeah. I can hack top-secret files, but I suck at words. In my defense, this is new to me. With my friends, a fuck you means we care. With you…well, it’s different.”
“Okay, but why wouldn’t I do everything in my power to help you? We’re a team; one you started, by the way. I can’t get home without you, that’s true. But the truth is, I wouldn’t want to. Like you, I don’t have any close male friends. And after spending time with you, I don’t think I ever had any real friends.”
He did have close friends, which made this all the scarier. She might not have anything to compare their friendship to, but he did. And he wasn’t entirely sure friendship was the only thing at play here. Could a man and a woman be close friends while constantly thinking about wanting to rip each other’s clothes off? Wasn’t that a relationship? He was screwed, and he knew what he had to do. Problem was, they were stuck here. Keeping his hands off her was going to kill him. “So, as my friend, promise me one thing.”
“That I’ll never let you wear plaid again?” She pointed to the padded lumberjack flannel Lonnie had brought him to wear along with a pair of jeans until his own clothes could be returned to him.
“What? I thought women liked men in plaid.” He’d had trouble putting on the T-shirt so had gone without.
“Sure, just not pink and blue.” She made a face. “They’re not your colors.”
“It’s not pink.” But as he looked down at himself, he realized she was right. He shrugged. “I have no idea what she did with my clothes.”
“They were washed a week ago. I’m sure she’ll return them. What would you like me to promise?”
He reached forward and dipped a finger in the maple syrup on her plate. Then he slowly traced her perfect pink mouth with it. “That you’ll never risk your life for me again.” It had been stupid and reckless.
Taylor slid the plate to the side and leaned across the table until they were nose-to-nose. Never breaking eye contact, she touched her sticky lips to his. He accepted the kiss, and when she stayed that way, when he saw her eyes darken as he licked the bittersweet syrup off her mouth, one thing became crystal clear. Not since he was a kid had he craved someone wanting him as much as he wanted her. He’d promised himself it would never happen again. If his own mother couldn’t love him that much, it would be foolish to expect someone else would. And yet here he was. He knew from the way Taylor took her turn licking his lips that she wanted him in bed. But this wasn’t about sex.
He wanted her, the kind of want that made you never want to let go. It wasn’t love. How could it be? But it was the possibility of love. That he could love someone who’d love him back. How fucked up was that? He didn’t do love, and yet they’d gotten so close he couldn’t imagine a day without her. “Want to go back to the cabin?” he said, rubbing his nose against hers.
“What about your ribs? And fatigue? You’ve been in bed a long time.”
“True. You’ll have to ride me. You up for that?”
Her eyes widened just before a wicked grin curled her lips. “Are you up for that?”
Oh, he was up all right. Up and stiff as steel. Lonnie’s shirt was good for one thing: It would hide his hard-on. He grabbed her hand and stood. “Let’s go.” He’d think about where they were going with all this later. Right now, there was one want he could satisfy. And if he had his way, they’d spent the rest of their time here doing just that.
Taylor hid her unexpected pain at Monty’s words behind a practiced smile, the one she’d mastered. It was the confident smile, the one that never let on how much she was hurting or disappointed. She’d learned long ago that if her father could read how his aloofness wounded her, he’d only make it worse by belittling her. “Suck it up, Taylor. I don’t have time for this. You need to rel
y on yourself. You’ll get much farther in life.” How often had he told her to suck it up? Stop wearing her heart on her sleeve? Or to stand on her own two feet? As if a daughter shouldn’t count on her own father, the only living relative she had. But she’d grown so accustomed to their cold interactions that the pain of having a father who didn’t love her no longer fazed her. Monty’s friend speech had. Maybe her father was right. She was pathetic.
It had hurt when she believed Monty thought so little of her, but his explanation had pained her even more. And that was truly pathetic. She’d gone in to this eyes wide open. To have expected things had changed was not only naïve but ridiculous. And yet her heart ached. And she smiled.
On their way out, the two men who had been pretending not to spy turned and nodded. One of them spoke in a language she didn’t understand. At her confusion, he translated. “I asked how you’re doing. You were pretty upset the night you came to us.”
At a second glance, she remembered he was one of the two men who had put Monty in the truck. “Yes, I guess I was. It’s Hank, right?”
“Yes. This is Ozzie. He doesn’t say much.” He tipped his chin toward his quiet friend.
Monty extended his hand to Hank, which he took. “Monty. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to see you standing,” Hank said.
The other man, Ozzie, refused to make eye contact with either of them.
“Nice to be standing.” Monty said.
“That was one wicked burn.”
“Yeah,” Monty agreed, “it was.”
Taylor had struggled with how much to tell these people. She couldn’t be totally honest, nor could she risk any more lives. She’d told them their cabin caught fire but made no mention of the bunker. Monty required medical attention, but their phones were in the cabin, leaving them with no way to contact the outside world. They’d gathered what supplies they had and taken off down the mountain, where they were jumped by two Russian men. Who they were, she didn’t know. She left out the C-4 but did tell them she’d used dynamite to take out the other sled when they were busy beating Monty up. These people had heard the rumors about the Russians using the seclusion of the Alaskan mountains to smuggle drugs into Russia, so they seemed to believe Taylor’s story.
“You know,” Monty said once they got back to the room, “ten days might not be enough time for everything I’d like to do to you.”
“Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.” She removed the down-filled vest she’d worn to breakfast. “Ribs take time to heal.”
“We won’t be doing any acrobatics, but my hands, mouth, and anything else you require are in perfecting working order.” The corner of his mouth kicked up, promising he meant what he said.
She began to unbutton the padded shirt, pausing to stare at the bandages covering his ribs. Lonnie had said they would do little other than remind him to move cautiously. “Are you sure about this? Lonnie said not to overdo it.”
“I have a hard time understanding anything she says.”
“Okay, but you have to do what I say.” The last button slipped out of its hole. “It’ll upset me if I know you’re in pain.”
“Whatever makes you happy.” With two fingers, he lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Her breath caught. She told herself it was her imagination. It wasn’t his feelings for her she saw because he was a man who just wanted to be friends. It had to be a reflection of her own misguided emotions. What she wanted to see. Exactly what she’d done with her father in those early years, before she’d come to accept the man would never love her.
“What’s wrong?” Monty asked, his expression morphing to one of concern.
“Nothing. I’m only worried about hurting you,” she lied. And herself.
“You let me worry about that.”
She slipped her arms inside the shirt and carefully encircled his waist, pressing her face against his bare skin. He was warm, and the few hairs on his chest tickled her cheek. She closed her eyes to enjoy how strong his heart beat beneath her ear. He rested his chin on her head and stroked her back with one hand. It tickled. It was odd how the relief at being able to hold him again far exceeded the pleasure. And worrisome. Was she really falling for him? She tipped up her head and met his lips, ready to forget all those bullshit emotions. They weren’t real but spawned from the turmoil of her life…their lives. She could debate it with herself, but what would be the point? Expressing these feelings to him would only scare him off. He saw what they had as friendship. And it was a good friendship, could even be a great friendship. So why screw it up by wanting more?
“Lie down.” She drew back the covers on the bed, then removed his ridiculously colored flannel jacket.
“Bossy much?” He grinned and tugged at the bottom of the ivory sweater she wore. “What about this?”
“We’ll get around to my clothes later.”
“I’d like to get around to them now.” She resisted when he tried to remove her sweater.
“You do what I say, remember?”
With a grimace, he tried to cover up with an exaggerated sigh, he lay on the bed. “You think anyone here has handcuffs?”
“You’re not fooling anyone.” She wanted to be with him. The first time—times—they’d slept together had been about sex. This wasn’t about that. She wanted to…wanted to… She needed to… The word snagged in her mind, so afraid to spill that even thinking it would open wounds she’d stitched together with the raw determination to prove herself. She forced it down, shoved it back in the box, and locked it.
“A little pain never hurt anyone. Especially if it gives me you.”
He’d said it as if he meant it. “Corny.” She wouldn’t take him seriously.
“Maybe, but true.”
She had to make this what it was, to remind herself it was her needs, her wants she saw reflected in his eyes. A mirror. That was all it was. “The things a guy will say to get laid.” She pulled off her sweater, hoping it would shut him up. If the way he was staring at her breasts was any indication, it did the trick.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said appreciatively.
“I only have one. It’s in the bathroom sink…with my panties.”
His eyes, like she knew they would, darted to her crotch.
“You’re commando and this is the first I hear of it?”
“So are you, I might point out.” She unzipped her jeans, relieved her emotions and this conversation had turned in a more enjoyable direction. “I saw the clothes Lonnie brought. No underwear,” she explained after seeing his confusion.
“Huh. Well, you going to take those off?” He pointed to her jeans. “Or tease the shit out of me?”
“Now who’s bossy?” She crawled onto the bed and over his thighs, thrilled to see what she knew to be true in his eyes—lust. Good, honest, reliable lust.
“Not bossy.” He reached out to cup her breasts. “Anxious. Hungry.” He flicked her already hardened nipples with his thumbs.
She understood hunger. It zapped her so hard, her thighs flinched. She palmed his erection through the sweatpants he wore. It too flinched. She smiled. “Something else is anxious.” Sliding her fingers under the waistband, she ordered him not to move.
He pursed his lips together, and she knew he was trying not to laugh.
“I’m serious.” She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also wanted to see if he’d let her stay in charge. He had a way of ordering her around without actually ordering her around. It probably had more to do with her own lack of confidence than his arrogance, which was why she didn’t let it bother her. “I’m cold, and the sooner I get you naked, the sooner you can keep me warm.”
He closed his eyes and spread his arms across the bed. He took her breath away. The man was beautiful. “Fine. I’m yours for the taking.”
She wished that were true before she could stop herself. She had to
stop doing that. She knew what this was. Spoiled rich girl who had everything…except the one thing she wanted most. Her emotions weren’t about Monty. They were about her. But this, right here, right now, what they were doing, this was a wonderful man she’d come to care for. And that was okay. More than okay. “Anyplace special you want to go?”
He opened his eyes. “Wherever you are?” he said, catching her—and by the looks of it, himself—off guard.
“We’re a team, remember? We stick together,” he quickly added. But it was too late.
Was it possible that Mr. I Want to Be Friends was developing feelings for her? She told herself not to think that way. Not to read into anything a man says when he’s thinking about getting laid. And perhaps the smile that spread across her face had nothing to do with Monty’s slip of the tongue and everything to do with the half-naked hottie beneath her. Half-naked being the operative word; she divested him of his sweatpants, then dumped her own jeans.
She crawled back on to his lap, taking the bedcovers with her and throwing them over her shoulders. “Next time, can we do this in the room with the potbellied stove?”
“Don’t worry; I’ll warm you up.”
As his range of motion was limited, she was curious to see how. She leaned in and kissed him. “Don’t you ever get cold?” He’d been shirtless the first time they’d met.
“You’d think growing up in Kentucky I would hate the cold, but I don’t.”
“That’s another thing…” She snuggled close, careful not to put her full weight on him. “You never explained why you don’t have a thick accent.” She’d wondered about that on more than one occasion.
“You want to discuss my upbringing? Really?”
She laughed. Considering the very hard erection poking her between her thighs, she guessed now wasn’t the time. “Later.” Resting one elbow on the pillow by his head, she took his mouth and let her hand wander down between their bodies. There’d be plenty of time for talking. She stroked his length while their tongues fought for supremacy. She let him win most of the time. She wanted him to think he was doing his share of the work, but she quite relished being the one to carry most of the weight. She liked knowing it was her giving him pleasure. She pumped faster, reveling in his sharp intakes of breath, then slowed and enjoyed it even more in his frustrated whimpers. She loved teasing him. It made her ache with need, her body reacting to each and every one of his strained groans, and she wanted more.