by Kait Nolan
“You’re burnt out.”
The breath she’d held gusted out. “Oh my God, so much.” There was such relief in hearing someone else voice the thing that had been circling around her brain for weeks now.
Harrison leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table—and damn, she hadn’t known she had a thing for forearms, but his were powerful, with a light dusting of dark hair down the back. And those hands—
“So, if I’m getting this right, you’ve been working your ass off non-stop for…well the last three years for your publishing career, some number of years before that in grad school, and generally burning the candle at both ends. Have you taken any downtime to legitimately recover from all that?”
Ivy could only laugh, and she knew it had an hysterical edge. But she couldn’t help it. The idea of downtime was as ludicrous as pink elephants in tutus. “There’s been no time.”
“You know what happens in the military if you don’t take adequate time to deal with your shit?”
She stopped laughing and found herself leaning toward him, cheek propped against her fist. “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”
“You flame out. Lose your edge.” People die. He didn’t say it, but the implication hung between them.
Was that what had happened to him? Ivy knew better than to ask.
“I haven’t been given a whole lot of choice. Publishing is all about deadlines and very few of them take the author into account.”
“If you don’t speak up, they sure as hell never will.”
He didn’t understand. And yet… “You’re not wrong. I need a break. A real, legitimate break. With no pressure about the book, no threat of my career imploding hanging over my head. But I have no idea how the hell I’m going to get it.”
The corners of that surprisingly sensual mouth tipped up, just a little. “Well, you’re currently trapped in a cabin with no wi-fi, no phone, and no way for anybody to reach you to bug you about it.”
When exactly had that stopped feeling alarming?
“I am,” she agreed.
“Maybe let yourself off the hook and take advantage of it.”
As she sat across from this interesting, sexy guy, all she could really think about was taking advantage of him.
He’d been on the verge of suggesting she stay here for a little while. Much as he thought he’d wanted—needed—solitude, he was enjoying her company. He was so aware of her, there was no room to focus on anything else—like the very stuff he was trying to escape. But the words caught in his throat at the flash of hunger in her eyes.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, wondering how she’d taste and what those lips would feel like cruising over his skin. His body woke to attention, his hands itching to reach across the table and drag her into his lap. Her quickened breath and parted lips suggested she might be on board with that plan. When he managed to drag his focus back to her eyes, her pupils were blown wide.
This was a terrible idea. He tried to hang on to that fact as the tension and heat seemed to build in the space between them. Doing anything about this attraction, when there was no escape if it all went sideways, was a prime recipe for a shit show. And, fuck’s sake, she’d been in an accident today.
But none of that stopped the wanting or dimmed the desire to lose himself and his lingering grief in the body he’d fought so hard not to notice. He wanted to touch and taste and take. To strip away her stresses and her secrets until she’d forgotten everything but him.
The lights went out.
Harrison jerked back from where he’d been leaning toward her, the sudden darkness snapping him out of the haze of lust before he did something he couldn’t take back. If he felt some regret at that, well, it had been a long damned time since he’d wanted anyone this badly.
He could just see Ivy’s silhouette in the glow cast by the fire.
“I’m guessing that’s bad.” Her tone was so bland and natural, he wondered if he’d imagined the heat in her gaze.
Struggling to get himself under control again, he shifted his attention to this newest wrinkle in his plans. “I’m actually surprised it took this long, given the volume of snow out there. The infrastructure around here isn’t really prepared for this.” Shoving back from the table, he made his way over to where he’d left his boots. “I’ll go see about turning on the generator.”
Ivy got up, too, reaching for the coat he’d hung up by the fire to dry out.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Going with you.”
“There is no reason for you to get frozen again.” Although, if she did, they could share body heat again, preferably naked and active this time… Get a grip, Wilkes.
She frowned at him. “You might need somebody to hold a flashlight while you do…whatever you do to a generator.”
“If I need that, I’ll come back and get you.” With the image of getting naked with her in more than medically-recommended ways still fogging his mind, he needed a few minutes to get his arousal under control. Or maybe more than a few. The cold ought to do that.
“Fine. I’ll clean up the dinner dishes.”
Grabbing a flashlight from his pack, Harrison headed outside. Porter had told him the generator was in a little lean-to off the back of the cabin. Trudging through the accumulated snow—there had to be a good five or six inches here already—he rounded the corner. Temperatures had to be hovering in the low twenties, with wind chills in the teens. It was gonna get damned chilly in a hurry if he didn’t get this thing up and running.
Using the keys Porter had given him, he unlocked the lean-to and wrestled the door open. The generator was ready and waiting as advertised. He checked the fuel level and cables. Balancing the flashlight on the shelving unit holding assorted tools and equipment, he got a good grip on the handle of the crank cord and yanked. Nothing. Expecting that, he gave it a few more pulls. The motor sputtered and coughed, but refused to catch. Grabbing the flashlight, he made a closer inspection, trying to figure out the problem. The cables were intact. No signs of fraying or chewing by animals. Nothing else jumped out at him as the obvious culprit.
Shit.
Without more light, there was no way he could diagnose this thing. He could take Ivy up on her offer of assistance, but if he wasn’t able to fix the generator and the power didn’t come back on, she’d be getting cold for no reason, and no matter what his lower half thought about the idea, she didn’t need to go through that again. Better to conserve the heat they had in the cabin now, and he’d sort everything out in the daylight tomorrow.
Gathering another huge stack of firewood, he tromped back inside. “So I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news: Something’s wrong with the generator. It won’t crank. I can probably fix it, but it’ll take a while, and I don’t like my odds of missing something in the dark, so that should wait until tomorrow.” He made a neat stack of the logs beside the wood basket and turned to face her. “The good news is that the water heater and range are gas, and we’ve got more than enough firewood to last us through the night.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Ivy’s gaze slid upstairs. “And since heat rises, the loft should stay pretty warm as long as the fire’s still burning, right?”
The loft. Which held the only bed in the place. And now he was back to willing away his hard-on. Damn it.
“Yeah, it ought to be okay up there. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” He’d break his back and probably wouldn’t sleep a wink, but at least by the fire he wouldn’t freeze, and she’d be safe from his questionable control.
Hands on hips, she shot him an exasperated look. “Harrison, that’s just stupid. You barely fit on the sofa. We’re both adults, and I think we’ve already proved we’re more than capable of sharing personal space and doubling up on blankets to conserve heat.”
Was that what they’d proved on the sofa earlier? He was pretty sure he’d only proved he wanted to get her naked. Sleeping in the same bed with her, inche
s from that tempting skin, without being able to touch her, sounded like a recipe for a sleepless night of torture. But he couldn’t see a reasonable way to refuse without admitting to the attraction it was probably best they ignore.
At least a sleepless night in a bed meant less pain to his back.
“All right. If you’re sure you’re comfortable with that.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Why, indeed?
Chapter 7
Ivy woke confused, warm and toasty on one side, freezing on the other. Dragging herself fully to consciousness, she realized she was plastered against Harrison, whose long, muscular body was like a furnace. She’d have been perfectly content with that state of affairs, except he’d dragged all the covers to his side of the bed and her ass was hanging out, her yoga pants no match for the frigid air.
If the fire was still going, it had died down to a smolder that wasn’t doing anything to warm them up here. Pale light streamed through the windows. It was probably close to dawn, but in her book, that meant it was too damned early to be awake. Especially when there’d be no coffee on autobrew if she went down to the kitchen.
Part of her wanted to go back to sleep for a couple of hours and get back to the fabulous dream she’d been having. The one where Harrison had decreed they’d make their own heat for the night. Since she’d apparently totally misread signals from the actual man last night, the only action she was gonna get was with the dream version, so she had a vested interest in hitting dreamland again to see he delivered. But a bigger part wanted to lie here and luxuriate in being close to him. It wasn’t the skin-on-skin she craved, but she could have this and let it be enough. She just wanted to be warm enough to enjoy it.
Carefully disentangling herself, Ivy leaned over Harrison and tried to inch the comforter back to her side of the bed. It was wedged beneath his chin. Holding her breath, she reached across him, curling her fingers in the blanket.
Abruptly, the bed heaved as Harrison jacked up. Faster than she could squeak, he flipped her onto her back, his big body pinning hers, his massive hands gripping her wrists almost to the edge of bruising as he pressed her arms into the mattress. His breath sawed in and out, and she knew in an instant that he wasn’t seeing her. His expression was too feral, too angry.
Her heart thundered against her ribs. She needed to snap him out of it before he acted out against whatever enemy he was seeing.
“Harrison.” Her voice came out breathy, barely above a whisper because he’d knocked the wind out of her.
He didn’t even blink at his name.
Ivy tried to suck in a breath, but his weight on her chest made it hard to draw in more than the shallowest of inhales. “Harrison, wake up.”
Nothing.
She had no leverage, no means of combating his bigger bulk to free herself. Left with no other choice, she did the only thing she could think of.
She kissed him.
The second her lips met his, he froze. Pressing the moment’s advantage, she poured herself into the kiss, willing him to snap out of it, to recognize her. A shudder rippled through him and he angled his mouth against hers and kissed her back.
Oh.
She’d expected retreat, not fevered response, but she was helpless to resist as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. It was her turn to shudder as she opened her mouth to him, tangling her tongue with his. The taste of him flooded her, dialing every last one of her brain cells to want. She needed to be closer, but he still had her pinned. Then the hands restraining her wrists released and the pressure on her chest disappeared. She whimpered at the loss, then he he shifted, settling between her legs, the the weight of him pressing his erection against her core, and the whimper turned into a moan.
“Oh God, yes.”
She thrilled at the feel of him, wrapping one leg around his hips to pull him closer, swiveling his hips in response.
“Ivy.” Hearing her name growled in that desperate, possessive tone had her lifting to him, grinding against him to assuage the ache between her thighs. But it wasn’t enough. They were both wearing too many clothes. Apparently, deciding the same thing, Harrison released her hands, dragging his down to her waist to tunnel beneath the several layers she’d worn to bed. His callused fingers scraped up her torso, a delicious friction that woke her nerve endings and left her desperate for more. More skin, more heat. Just…more.
Touch me. Please, dear God, touch me before I burn to ash.
He inched his way higher, taking her mouth again in a searing kiss that should have incinerated all the clothes between them. Ivy clutched him tighter, trying to wrap around him. Then his hand found her breast.
Yes!
Threading her fingers into his hair, she arched into the touch, loving how the breadth of his palm covered her. But she wanted more. Wanted skin against skin. Her hands scrabbled at his t-shirt, trying to tug it up. Breaking the kiss, he yanked it over his head, tossing it to the side, before performing some kind of Houdini magic on the multiple layers she still wore, stripping them off in one smooth yank until she lay with her chest bare.
Harrison froze, the heat in his expression fading.
No. No. Don’t stop.
Ivy reached for him, but he was already pulling back, yanking his hands from her body so fast, she almost felt a breeze. He rolled away, sitting up, his back to her. Adrift, confused, she couldn’t quite move, still so turned on and unsatisfied, she could barely process what was happening. His ragged breath mirrored hers, and Ivy could see the lines of strain even in the gray light of dawn. But she didn’t give in to the urge to touch him again. There was so much more distance between them than the couple of feet of bed. As she came down from the painful edge arousal, she began to understand that he hadn’t come fully back to himself when she kissed him. He hadn’t come fully back until just now.
And the first thing he’d done was leap away from her as if she had leprosy.
The realization hollowed her out. A hot flush of humiliation swept over her, tightening her skin and making her stomach roil. None of it was enough to erase the imprint of his hands on her or the want still singing in her blood.
She grabbed a pillow to cover herself and waited to see what he’d say, braced herself for the apology and the declaration that this had been a mistake. Or maybe she was the one who should apologize. Apologize and hike out herself to escape this mortification.
In the end, Harrison said nothing. Shoving up from the bed, he grabbed his shirt, crossed to the narrow stairs and shimmied down them, never once making eye contact. Ivy could hear him moving around downstairs, putting on boots and going outside.
As the door shut, she let out a long, shuddering breath. That was not how she’d wanted that to go. Not that she’d expected her kiss to do anything but shock him out of whatever nightmare he’d been in.
Pulling her knees into her chest, she sat up. Maybe she should have realized sooner. But how could she? He’d wanted her, too. He wouldn’t have kissed her like that, touched her like that, if he didn’t. It had been her name he’d growled. Even if he hadn’t been totally present, he’d still been seeing her. So why had he stopped? Maybe he thought he was taking advantage? If he’d bothered to ask… And why hadn’t he asked? Why was his response to run away instead of to talk to her, ask her whether she was on the same page? She could’ve clarified that for him in a hurry, such that maybe at least one of them would’ve ended up satisfied this morning.
Nobody comes to a place like this if they want company.
Was he running? Hiding? Was there actually a difference?
Now, more than ever, she wanted to know the man inside the shell. And she wanted his kiss again.
Harrison sucked in lungfuls of searing, winter air, hoping it would clear his head, wishing it would wipe away the sight of those bruises. But the image of those livid splashes of color against Ivy’s pale skin was burned into his brain. Were any of them from him?
He scrubbed bare hands over his head. He�
��d worried about his inconvenient hard-on, copping a feel, not attacking her in his sleep. He’d been behind enemy lines; someone had tried to garrote him. He’d reacted, took control, neutralized the threat. Then the dream had inexplicably shifted to Ivy, warm and willing against him. And that was so much better than where he’d been, he’d rolled with it, giving in to all the urges to touch and taste and claim her. She was wet heat, lithe muscle under soft skin.
And then he woke up—because ripping off a woman’s top will wake a guy up—and found himself all but mauling her, invading her space, with no memory of any kind of consent.
Christ, what could he say to her? How could he possibly apologize for putting his hands on her? He stared down at the broad expanse of them, knowing what they were capable of, what they’d done. He was a big guy, with a lot of training. She’d never be able to stop him if he didn’t allow it, and he’d been too much in his head, too much in the dream to know for sure if she’d fought him. What if she had and he didn’t notice?
The idea of it made him sick. He’d never in his life raised his hand to a woman, never taken advantage of one. Shame had his body flushing hot, beading with sweat despite the frigid temperatures. She’d trusted him and this was how he’d repaid her?
What if she was afraid of him?
If she was, he couldn’t expect her to stay here alone with him. But the path to the Jeep was several inches deep in snow, and the driveway was entirely hidden. Even if temperatures rose enough today to melt the accumulation, getting up the incline to the road was going to be a challenge, and not necessarily safe. But if Ivy wanted to go, he’d figure something out. It was the least he could do.
Gathering up firewood, he vowed to give her whatever kind of space she needed. He went back inside, bracing himself to face her, half expecting her to be barricaded in the bathroom or backed into a corner with his combat knife. He wouldn’t blame her.