Isaac shuddered from the pleasure, and he shuddered from the pain. “Olivia, no—”
“Just for now.”
“I can’t—”
“Just here. In the dark.”
She watched him pleadingly, and Isaac felt his heart swell in his chest. It was tight, too tight, as if it was taking up all the room and he struggled to breathe with what little space he had left for his aching lungs to drag in air.
“It’s alright, Isaac. There’s no one else here. It’s just the two of us.”
Before he could say anything else, Olivia inched closer and ran her fingers through his hair, gathering it all up into a ponytail at the very back. She twisted the elastic around and around, careful not to pull too hard, and when she was done she sat back and gazed at Isaac Stone like he was a work of art.
They were sitting so intimately this way, and Isaac was so exposed to her that it made a cold shiver pass over the bare skin of his neck.
“Does it hurt?” she asked. “The scars. Are they painful?”
“No, not anymore.”
“But they used to be?”
“Yes. Very.”
Olivia nodded, but she didn’t wait for more. She took what she wanted before Isaac decided he didn’t. She reached forward ever so slowly and she held his face between her hands—her skin cool against the warmth of Isaac’s right cheek—and he closed his eyes and sighed as her fingers moved tentatively across his disfigurement.
It was rough in places, and smooth in others. Divots and bulges lived together in the same space, and the skin beneath her fingers was so tightly woven together that Olivia felt a sharp stab in her side, a stitch forming just from the thinking of things she truly had no understanding of.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered softly, making Isaac’s eyes pop open. He frowned, and she smiled so sweetly that Isaac found his frown fading.
“Your scars, and your skin, and the pain, and all the heartache you’ve had to endure, it makes you beautiful.”
Isaac went to pull away, but Olivia clung to him, making him look at her. Making him see himself the way she saw him, failing desperately to ignore the spark that crackled through the air between them.
“But it’s not just your scars that make you beautiful.”
Isaac waited.
He didn’t know what to say.
No one besides his mother had ever called him beautiful before. No one had ever looked that closely at him to notice. He stopped trying to pull away, and he simply let himself enjoy the feeling of being touched.
It had been such a long time and he felt himself falling deeply into the tactile pleasure of a woman’s hands on his body.
He wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but he could feel it. It was tangible, heavy against his clammy palms and he fought the urge to check and see if he was actually holding something.
The smell of Olivia’s delicate perfume surrounded him, the warmth of her body addictive. And by the time she let her hands drop from his face and fall back to her lap, a groan of both instant relief and horrific loss slipped from Isaac’s lips.
He’d enjoyed her touching him. He didn’t want it to stop. He looked from Olivia’s eyes to her mouth, then back to her eyes all in a matter of seconds.
Olivia sat motionless, silently begging for Isaac to make the first move.
She quickly realized that it was important for him to go at his own pace, and she knew she couldn’t rush him, couldn’t take something from him that he wasn’t ready to willingly give.
But she desperately wanted him to kiss her, and she felt herself falling forward at the exact same time Isaac leaned in closer, his head slowly moving toward hers.
“You were upset last night,” he said softly.
“Yes. I guess I was.”
“Did… did you want—”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know if… I wanted to, but… I wasn’t sure what you wanted—”
“I wanted you to kiss me.”
Isaac breathed deeply and braced himself on the armrest as he slowly moved closer. And it was there in the darkness, while the reel kicked and the lights stayed low, that Isaac gave Olivia exactly what she’d been hoping for.
She closed her eyes and reveled in the wonderful feeling of Isaac’s lips meeting hers.
Her lips welcomed him eagerly; soft and cautious at first, just a taste—a promise of more in time—and Isaac took his time, savoring and exploring.
He took the lead, and Olivia let him.
She melted into him, soaking in his scent, letting herself dissolve into his hard body. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and Isaac groaned deep in his chest, a sound that under normal circumstances might have been humiliating for a grown man. But Olivia felt it rumble through her, eliciting a similar groan of pleasure as Isaac’s lips brushed softly over hers.
He moved tentatively at first, every movement premeditated and cautious—as if he was waiting for Olivia to tell him he was doing it all wrong—but Olivia certainly wasn’t complaining.
The kiss was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
And just like Olivia, Isaac had never felt anything so intense before, so desirable, and yet he knew that if he didn’t stop soon, he might just make a complete fool of himself.
After several beats, he pulled away. Slowly. Torturously.
Bringing his hands up to cup Olivia’s cheeks, he circled his thumbs over her flushed skin, then raked his fingers through her hair, the long silky strands falling easily over his hands.
He met Olivia’s eyes in the muted light and then he smiled the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen, exhaling with a soft sigh that spoke volumes of lust and longing. And as Olivia gazed back at the beautiful man sitting in front of her, she felt herself tumbling over the precipice without worry or concern if she was going to survive the rocky verge below.
She jumped without looking, clean over the edge, and she felt herself falling.
Falling hard for Isaac Stone.
“You should really wear your hair up more often.”
Olivia stole a quick peek in Isaac’s direction. They were still sitting in the semi-darkness of the movie theater, but they hadn’t kissed again, and Olivia hoped she wasn’t coming on too strong.
But when she looked up into Isaac’s deep-set eyes, she found them focused solely on her lips, and she got the feeling he was still feeling that kiss just as much as she was.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. His voice was low, husky, his fingers drawing lazy patterns over the back of Olivia’s hand, around her wrist, between the fingers, always careful not to put too much pressure on her bandaged thumb.
He hadn’t made any attempt to leave yet. He was captivated by Olivia’s beauty and the gentle manner in which she spoke. He stared at the way her pretty mouth moved over the words.
“Only if you promise to wear your hair down more.”
“Alright.”
Olivia loved that Isaac was talking to her so freely now. She wanted him talking and trusting and telling her what he wanted. She liked this version of him. She liked it much better than the cranky, rude recluse she’d had the misfortune of coming into contact with the last couple of weeks.
She guessed Isaac had said more to her in the last few weeks than he’d said to anyone else in years. And she didn’t want to surpass the opportunity to find out more.
“Do you remember much about your mother?”
Isaac was busy admiring the length of Olivia’s throat, and the way her hair fell softly over her shoulders and he almost missed the fact that she’d just asked him a question.
Her hand was wrapped up in his, and the feelings associated with that small touch could only be likened to fireworks exploding across a dark night sky.
What had she just asked him? Oh yes, his mother. “No. Not much, not really at least. There are snippets of things, like her laugh or the way she always smelt like custard and macaroni.”
“What about your father?”
“Nothing to tell,” Isaac said, almost wistfully, as if he wished he knew the answer, but at the same time was just as satisfied by the fact that he didn’t. “I don’t even know his name. I loved my mother, she was a wonderful woman from what I’ve been told, beautiful too, ask anyone. But my guess is she didn’t know much about him either. Like I said, she was beautiful, and she attracted attention.” Isaac half-smirked, looking over at Olivia through his long lashes. “Pa let it slip once, after a few too many whiskeys out on the porch, that my mother had a way of getting what she wanted, even as a child. And especially as a teenager. She had the boys wrapped around her little finger, or so he told me, and he fell asleep that night mumbling things he’d never have said if he were sober.”
Olivia knew she was being nosey and should probably just mind her own business, but she liked the sound of Isaac’s voice. His voice felt like velvet. She wanted to hear more of it. It was real and tangible and she felt it run all the way through her.
“Like what?”
Something that looked like amusement danced in Isaac’s eyes. He’d always been the center of attention in Woodlake, and he’d always despised that fact. But there was something different about Olivia’s curiosity, and he found himself wanting her to ask him questions.
“Like the day my mother told him she was pregnant with me. How he was furious about it. Apparently he tried to track down the ‘son of a bitch’ who’d done it to her. But as it turns out, my mother only knew the guy’s first name. Pa slurred something about ‘I’ll kill the bastard that knocked up my baby girl. Goddamn marine,’ and then his eyes rolled back, and he started snoring. That was the end of that. He never brought up the subject of my father again.”
“Do you think your mother ever told the marine she was pregnant?”
Isaac shrugged, sliding down a little so that his neck was resting on the back of the seat and he was staring up at ceiling. “I highly doubt it. Reckon the guy was just passing through town. He had an itch. My mother scratched it. I doubt he even knows I exist.”
Olivia nodded slowly, chewing on her fingernail. “I suppose you can’t blame a man for not checking in on a son he didn’t even know about. Still, he’s out there somewhere. Do you ever wonder what he looks like? What kind of person he is?”
Isaac looked across at Olivia, his eyes sweeping over her face. He watched her closely, appreciating her perfect silhouette in the dim light. A small smile touched his lips and he felt like a giddy teenager. “That’s enough about me. Tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
What did he want to know?
What a stupid question. He wanted to know…
“Everything.”
It was late afternoon by the time Olivia and Isaac left the theater. Olivia’s stomach had rumbled so loudly that they both burst out laughing, and Isaac was kicking himself for not thinking ahead and packing some food.
He’d been thoroughly lost in the intimate world they’d created in the dark theater, but the bright light of day was a rude awakening when he pushed through the heavy doors and stepped back out into the parking lot.
He didn’t like the idea of sharing Olivia with the real world again.
The way her body had felt curled up beside him, her fingers entwined with his as she told him her life story, answered all his questions, and giggled when he’d teased her about ‘the amount of cookies she ate for a girl the size of a peanut,’ was something he didn’t ever want to forget.
But he knew, as things so often did, it could all come crashing down in seconds if he wasn’t more careful. He didn’t want to be careful around Olivia. But he enjoyed being careful with Olivia.
And so, when he helped her up into the truck and closed the door, he smiled when she didn’t lecture him. She just slipped up into the seat and thanked him politely.
And Isaac felt like the king of the world.
He turned out of the parking lot and headed left, before steering the truck back down Main Street—past Ivy’s Book Store, Fran’s Florist, Sweetie Pies, and Hathaway’s Hardware—the wide street practically empty now that church was over and most folks were back at home enjoying a lazy Sunday lunch with their families, and watching football reruns on the television.
They drove the deserted streets in relaxed silence. The more time they spent together, the more comfortable they were with each other. Isaac could sense it, and he got the feeling Olivia sensed it too. And Isaac didn’t even think about work when they passed the half-completed gazebo sitting in the center of the town square.
The grass surrounding the gazebo had all but died, being that it was now covered in a good six inches of packed snow, and Isaac wondered what the coming winter would bring.
Where was this thing headed with Olivia? Or was it heading nowhere at all? Was it nothing? Was it something?
“Do you want ice cream?” he suddenly asked.
The question was so out of the blue, so unexpected, that Olivia turned to look at him, unable to fully see his face. He’d yanked the elastic band out of his hair the second they’d left the theater, and she wondered what he might look like under all that scruffy mess. His jaw looked square, strong, but it was impossible to tell and she wondered how he might feel if she suggested cutting it all off.
It was a long shot, but it was a thought she locked away in the back of her mind for a later time.
“I mean, it’s up to you, of course,” he added. “We can make a right at the lights just up here. I’ll bring you back into town first thing in the morning so that you can get your car. Or we can head straight through, get the car now, and just go home.”
Olivia drank Isaac in, swallowed him down. Sank deeper into the depths of the mysterious, flawed, perfect man sitting beside her until she felt like she was drowning in him.
“Turn right,” she said.
“Yes. They do.”
Olivia laughed as she climbed the front porch steps of her new home, her feet slow and heavy, her belly full. She glanced over her shoulder at Isaac who was following her up onto the porch.
“No. They do not.” He smirked, shaking his head so that his hair tossed around his face. “Raisins have no business being in ice cream. Cereal, yes. I’ll give you that. Muffins, maybe, at a pinch. But definitely not in ice cream.”
“Rum raisin is my favorite!”
“I gathered that when you ordered three scoops.”
Olivia laughed again at the creases in Isaac’s forehead as he fought back a smile. It was getting colder, and with all the ice cream they’d just eaten, she was eager to get inside the house.
She shoved her key into the front door, turning the handle, but then jumped with fright when a deep voice spoke from the opposite end of the porch.
“Well, ain’t this just cozy.”
The chains creaked as they rocked back and forth and Kyle Mason stood slowly to his feet, the porch swing gradually falling still as he strode toward them.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Liv. And here you are bringing another man home. Something you want to tell me?”
Olivia’s laughter faded and she sobered instantly. Kyle stopped directly in front of her, placing his thick fingers on her shoulders, but she shoved them off quickly and stepped back out of his reach. “What are you doing here?”
“You invited me. Remember?”
Olivia shook her head. “I most certainly did not—”
“I believe the exact words you used were ‘swing by whenever you want.’ So here I am. You gonna invite me in or leave me out here freezing my ass off?”
Isaac swore low under his breath, making Kyle spin around with a shit-eating grin on his face. Isaac’s hair was hanging down, but the intensity burning in his eyes was unmistakable. His jaw hardened and he turned his head, looking out across the pasture toward his house.
Fight or flight had never been an easy choice for Isaac. He wanted to run. He needed to escape the threat of humiliation, or whatever other cruel and unusual punis
hment Kyle had in store for him.
But they weren’t teenagers anymore.
Isaac had read stories about horses reflecting the energy of those around them. They could sense hesitation, and they mirrored emotions. And in that moment Isaac had never felt more like a gelding. He was the horse with no balls.
“You got something to say, Stone?”
Despite his battling fear, Isaac stood on Olivia’s bottom porch step and he stood his ground. He was still a good foot taller than Kyle, even on the bottom step, and while Kyle had been the dominant force just moments ago, his false bravado seemed to falter slightly when Isaac moved closer.
He climbed the stairs heavily, purposefully, one at a time, hiding Kyle’s face in his looming shadow. “No. Nothing to say. Not to you.”
“What’s wrong, big guy?” Kyle’s jaw ticced. He was a slimy little grub who’d always caused Isaac grief, even way back in kindergarten when children that young weren’t meant to notice differences.
“What do you want, Kyle?” Olivia sighed, rubbing her fingers across her forehead.
“I want to talk to you about getting my hands on that pretty little box of yours. Wouldn’t be the first time—” Kyle’s body jerked backward when Isaac stepped forward, making sure his shoulder knocked hard into Kyle on the way past. He didn’t say anything, but more was said in those few seconds of silence than if he was screaming so loud the walls threatened to cave in around them.
Isaac fought against everything that had been ingrained in him since he was a child. The urge to protect himself suddenly came second to protecting Olivia and it was a strange sensation that dawned on him.
“Watch it!” shouted Kyle.
His face was instantly red, the veins in his neck standing out like thick ropes. He watched Olivia stand aside in the doorway to let Isaac through into the house. It was clear he wasn’t getting an invite anytime soon.
“Two-fifty, that’s my final offer,” he said quickly. “Take it or leave it.”
Kyle’s beady eyes disappeared when Olivia slammed the door shut in his face. She locked the latch and listened as he shouted a few choice names at her from the front porch—names that had Isaac’s hands balling up into tight fists and set his eyes wide with rage—and then after a few seconds, what sounded like a motorbike revved and he tore off down the driveway, kicking stones and pebbles behind him as he raced away.
The Winter Before Page 14