by Dani Collins
She lifted her knees to bracket his hips, ankles joining behind his lower back and urging him deeper, as deep as he could go. She traced his shoulder blades and the dip of his spine, arching to receive him, clinging to each withdrawal.
It was intense, maybe because she didn’t know him. She found herself reacting purely from instinct. There was no inhibition available to her, nothing to hide behind, not when she was gripped by such a fierce and basic need for the thrust of his cock plunging deep inside her.
He increased the tempo. She lifted to meet the slam of his hips, each impact sending a quake of sensation through her. His head rose and the muscles in his neck grew taut. The next thrust took her a step higher toward the crisis. Then the next. She lifted her hands to the headboard, to hold herself steady for the faster, harder, animalistic slap of his sex into hers.
They were both making ragged noises, breathing heavily between unfettered groans and snarls of agony. Tension gripped her, coiled her tighter, drew her closer and closer to orgasm. So close. So fucking close.
She raked her fingernails down his back and dug them into his flexed ass. He thrust with more power and climax arrived with a sudden rush to dismantle her, sending her in all directions, diffusing her across the universe. Then, two heartbeats later, she was pulled back into her body as a fresh wave of explicit joy engulfed her.
Now came the thunderous pulses, formidable and nearly painful, they were so concentrated and gratifying.
He continued to thrust as she was held in that grip of ecstasy, holding back, holding back, so fucking hard within her. His arms were columns of hot marble where she clung to them. He thrust and thrust, rapid and sure, extending her pleasure as long as he could before he released a feral cry, like a warrior. His hips shoved hard against hers, driving deep. He stayed there, a firm hand on her hip keeping her tight to his ramming hips as he pulsed deep inside her. The powerful throbs of his release played against the still-quivering walls of her sheath while scalding heat pooled inside her.
His body shuddered once, twice, and he made a sexy, growling noise that was pure possessiveness. Coated in sweat, he sank his weight down upon her.
She let out a breath of exquisite satisfaction.
*
Glory came up on an elbow, brow damp. Had Rolf just mind-fucked her?
Some Christmas story. Jeez. She was blushing alone in her darkened hotel room.
And why was Pandora taking home a stranger anyway?
It’s a rebound thing, Pandora said.
Glory sat all the way up and threw off her blankets, balked at the chill, but her compulsion to write was stronger. She quickly dressed before looking for the in-room coffeemaker. Seriously? None?
Bah. She checked online for a coffeehouse and saw Lazy Suzanne’s Bakery and Café was in the next block. Open? She would soon find out.
What was she doing here? It wasn’t even properly light out. The wind had a serrated edge and tried to saw the ears off her head as she stomped through the swirling snow. They’d left mild, if damp, temperatures along with cherry blossoms and daffodils in Seattle. Why?
We have two seasons here. Cold winter and warm winter, Pandora said.
Glory hurried her step only to come up against a locked door. Not open. Whimper. But someone was inside. She cupped her hand against the glass and saw a light slanting from the back. A body moved behind the dark counter.
A moment later, a middle-aged woman in chef whites came to the door.
“We’re not open yet,” she said with a smile, standing back to let Glory in. Homey smells of yeasty breads and cinnamon saturated the warm air. “I was planning to change my hours this week. My daughter said she would come home to help, but she’s not here yet. She’s my wild child.” She shook her head with affection. “Are you looking for work, by any chance?”
“Just a place to work.” She indicated her laptop. “With a cup of coffee?” she added hopefully.
“Machine’s not warm yet, but I have my little drip brewer going in the back. I’ll bring you a cup. Would you like a carrot muffin?”
“Love one. Thanks.”
For the next hour, Glory was in heaven. Suzanne Adams became her very best friend, working in her own quiet way to fill the shelves inside the glass counter, topping up Glory’s coffee, but not saying much, just letting her write.
And write she did.
BLESSED WINTER – Revised opening
Page 5, word count = 1185
Despite her reputation as a wild child, [thank you, Suzanne] Pandora had only slept with three guys, all of them long-term boyfriends, the last being that jackass musician she had deluded herself into believing was faithful, even though he was on the road more than he was home. No man went weeks without sex. Finding out he was cheating shouldn’t have been a shock.
It wasn’t. Not really. The bigger shock was that she had fallen for his line that it wouldn’t happen more than once. That she had let him stay after the first time. This time, she wanted their breakup to take.
So she went for a one-night stand herself. She brought home a stranger with a scruff of stubble, an air of confidence that bordered on arrogant, and eyes bluer than a clear, winter sky.
It wasn’t like her at all, but while she was delivering his pint of draft, he asked to buy her dinner when she got off shift. His gorgeous features wore a fresh tan with a stripe of paler skin from his sunglasses. His hair was sun-streaked, like he surfed all summer. He smelled like the slopes, having spent the day enjoying Tahoe’s spring skiing no doubt. His lazy smile was a much-needed balm to her cracked ego.
“Why don’t I cook us dinner at my place?” she suggested, earning a small elevation of surprise in his dark brows.
“I’d love that.” He skimmed his gaze down her slender figure with another ego-boosting sweep of approval.
He followed her in his own car and she took enormous pleasure in offering him one of her former lover’s pretentious import beers.
“Thanks.” He cast a speculative glance around her little apartment above a garage, gaze lingering on the framed, signed, heavy-metal rock band posters, the guitar-strap she used as a yoga strap, the turntable and box of vinyl collectibles. “Big fan of rock operas, are you?”
She wasn’t, not any more than the average person, and could see that he knew it.
“My ex was.”
He scratched under his chin. “For sure he’s an ex?”
“He’s not going to barge in here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Annoyed, partly because she had let that stupid ex in the door—and into her bed—as recently as three weeks ago, and partly because she didn’t like being accused of being a cheater, she crossed her arms and said, “I’m ready to move on.”
His mouth pursed with suppressed humor. “Are you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“On the contrary, I want to believe you. I’m happy to take all that passionate anger…” He motioned as if she had an aura radiating off her. “For the male collective. But not if you’re going to regret it.”
Regret was kind of the point in self-destructive behavior, wasn’t it? She was punishing herself for being stupid and proving she wasn’t worth respect. And dang, now that she’d gone that far in thinking it through, she was pretty damned confused.
“It’s okay if you’re changing your mind.” He sighed and set down the beer. “You don’t even have to cook me dinner if you don’t want. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it’s fine.”
“No, wait. See? Already you’re a way better guy than he was. Which was something I wanted to prove to myself. That I don’t have to settle for jerks.” That was as true as the rest.
“You don’t have to settle for ‘only in town for the weekend,’ either.” He said it kindly, but she heard it for the warning it was.
The idea of a quickie to cleanse her palate fell away, but a genuine desire to know this man better very easily slid into its place.
“Your honesty is refreshing,” she told him
sincerely.
“I’ll be honest, then, and tell you that all I can think about is kissing you. If that is not something you’re thinking about…”
She found herself studying the shape of his mouth. Wide and smooth, his top lip held a wicked curve with a pointed dip in the center. His bottom lip was full and begging to be nibbled. His mouth would have been almost feminine if not for the stubble that surrounded it. As it was, she found herself wondering how it would feel pressed against her own.
And somehow, here he was. The corner of his mouth twitched as he drew her closer and closer.
She set nervous hands on his chest. Warm, firm muscles flexed beneath her touch. He wore a layer of flannel and a thinner layer of some kind of insulating pullover, but she could feel his heat, his strength, and it made something elemental slither through her. Something earthy and pure.
Letting her head fall back, she offered her mouth.
He set his hands on her hips and the world stilled. Her lips tingled with anticipation—
*
The bell on the door of the café jangled. Glory looked up, still in the fog of her first kiss.
Rolf.
Her guilt-ridden conscience poured liquid fire through her veins as her early morning fantasy took a brief sweep of the room. He wore boots, black jeans, and a cable-knit sweater that clung with adoration to his chest and shoulders. His jaw was unshaven, his dark hair damp from his morning shower. His mouth, with that distinctly well-defined top lip and damned near sumptuous bottom lip, firmed as he glanced at her.
Damn, he was good-looking.
She smiled in greeting, hoping like hell he couldn’t read minds.
His cold-coffee gaze met hers for the barest hint of a second, just long enough for her to read recognition and even quicker dismissal. In fact, it was an old-fashioned cut. No, ‘Good morning.’ No nod of greeting. Nothing. He walked right past her to the counter and asked for his thermal mug to be filled with coffee and a breakfast sandwich to be heated.
That casual disregard took the wind right out of her sails. Her shoulders prickled with awareness of him standing that close, ignoring her, while she wondered what the hell she’d done to piss him off. And why it distressed her.
She made herself ignore him right back, but took the precaution of tilting her screen down, even though he was not likely to come stand where she sat with her back to a wall and try to read what she’d written. She hit another obsessive ‘save,’ then double-checked it was in a password-protected folder before she closed the document.
It occurred to her that if she was writing one of her mother’s books, Brock’s cynical gaze should be full of derision, like Rolf’s. Actually, she would go back and make Brock blond as well as blue-eyed so it wasn’t obvious she was using Rolf as inspiration.
She sipped her cooling coffee, taking in that the café had filled with a handful of patrons while she’d mentally been in Tahoe. There were a couple of retirees, a man eating eggs while reading an honest-to-God newspaper, and a statuesque African-American woman wearing a smirk of speculation, as if she had watched the small interplay between her and Rolf.
That woman would have stood out even in multicultural Seattle. She was like an Amazon with an air of give-no-shits that made her memorable. From what Glory had seen of Haven, it was a seriously white-bread town. This wasn’t Suzanne’s wild child? Her short Halle Berry haircut, round, boyish face and expression of mild disgust, like she was the furthest thing from a morning person, gave off a badass vibe. She wouldn’t take Rolf’s shit.
The woman noticed her staring and met her gaze with a cool one of her own.
Glory gave her a small, quick smile and debated checking email, still trying to pretend she didn’t care that Rolf stood practically in front of her.
“You Glory Cormer?” the woman asked. “From the ski lodge?”
The other heads in the café swiveled to look at her. Rolf didn’t pay any attention.
“Um, yes.” Was she some kind of local celebrity now? Her stomach cramped. She hated being the center of attention.
“Saw your photo online. I’m Devon Lewis from Roadside Renovations.”
Glory’s surprise and instant doubt must have showed. Devon Lewis gave her a flat look and said an aggravated, “What.”
“I thought—” Glory swallowed back admitting she had thought Devon was a man. What kind of sexist did it make her that she believed a man was better qualified to lead the renovation of the lodge than a woman? She thought she was more qualified than her own father to run it.
But she didn’t intend to hold a level or run a power saw. She intended to hire a Real Man to do that. Or so she had thought.
“I thought we were meeting in an hour,” Glory lied.
“I know what you thought. That’s why I don’t post my photo online.” Devon made a sucking noise with her teeth and looked out the window, lips pulled into her teeth with disgust. “Have I wasted my time? Because it was a long drive from Minneapolis.”
“No, of course not. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“I bought my own.”
Awesome. She had alienated the one person who might actually take on this insane project.
Rolf finished his transaction and walked out in long, unhurried strides. Did he remind her that the snowcat into the lodge was leaving at nine? No. Jerk. He would probably leave without them if they weren’t there at eight-fifty-eight precisely.
Devon noticed her gaze follow him out the door. Her brows, narrow arches that were barely visible, went up.
Glory fought a blush without success. “Well, um…” She glanced at the time and realized she’d been in Tahoe longer than she’d thought. “Did you want to chat now, before we go up to the lodge?”
“I don’t chat.” Devon sipped her coffee. “I work. When I’m on the clock, which I’m not.”
Far out.
“Okay. I’ll, um, see you at the pullout by the—”
“I know where we’re meeting.”
So great.
But as she picked up her laptop, Glory remembered that at least her fictional friends were back. She hugged her laptop to her chest, more lighthearted than she had been in a very long while.
Chapter Five
Rolf’s interest in the Cormers’ affairs started and ended with his ability to stay at Blue Spruce Lodge. He’d spent the last month reconfiguring the management of Wikinger so he could work from America and after a single week of being in Haven, was ready to quit taking a snowcat to work.
Given the Cormers’ contractor had quit, he had anticipated that he would be taking over the refurbishing of the lodge after all.
Then he’d overheard the interchange this morning. Wanting a sense of whether she was up to it, he made a point of introducing himself to Devon Lewis when she showed up at the pullout where locals parked to cross-country ski.
The Cormer woman was right there. He felt her gaze, but avoided engaging her. He’d caught a soupy expression on her face this morning. Whatever silly ideas she had dancing in her head, he wasn’t interested in starring in them and wanted her to know it. He climbed aboard the snowcat, which was essentially a school bus on tank tracks. Everyone took the hint.
Marvin Cormer came in behind him, bright-eyed and clapping his hands with enthusiasm. “Good morning, Rolf. How’s Trigg? Where is he?”
“Switzerland. Training.”
“Good, good.” He gave Rolf’s shoulder a pat as he went by him into the next seat. “Now, the fun starts.”
General laborers that Rolf had hired came on, followed by Devon, Nate, and Glory. Nate started to sit beside him, then realized the rest of the seats were taken and stood again, waving Glory to sit beside Rolf.
“Oh, um.” The woman was like a stoplight in rush hour, constantly turning red. “I’m fine. I can stand.”
“It gets pretty hairy. I’ll stand,” Nate said, reaching up to take hold of the edge of a stowage rack.
With a small huff, Glory perched beside Rolf.
She jostled against him as the snowcat turned up the steep track forged earlier this week. They followed the old road as much as they could, but a huge debris field had forced a detour. They stopped at the lower side of it, where some of the laborers got off to tend the slash pile they’d begun burning two weeks ago, soon as the snow started to melt.
Resuming the climb a moment later, they dipped and rolled at seven miles an hour, finally hitting the parking lot of the lodge as Rolf was polishing off his coffee.
So much to do with such limited resources, but he was tempted to copy Marvin’s clap of enthusiasm. There was something about being here, in his natural habitat of glistening peaks and a snap on the crisp air, that energized him. No more being trapped in a glass cage staring at concrete. Half his day was spent outside, exactly as he liked it.
Disembarking, he snapped on his telemark skis and went for his morning survey of the site.
*
Glory’s tour of the lodge with Devon was an exercise in trying to read her noncommittal features while trying not to reveal how discouraged she was by the minimal progress made since her first walk-through. The building was marginally cleaner, but the lights were working, which was not helpful for first impressions. It made clear exactly what they were up against.
“Will you need a room?” she asked Devon, trying to gauge her temperature. They’d already looked into several, including Glory’s, which had been swept and dusted and now had water in the stained toilet bowl, but was otherwise unchanged. Her own bed would be moved in when the road was opened. Until then, they were here during the day and sleeping in Haven.
“We’re self-contained,” Devon said absently. “Specs called for keeping the heritage look. You’re on board with that? Or planning to switch up to something more modern?”