“Are you okay?” I go to touch her upper arm, but I’ve barely made contact when she snatches it away, pulls the poker from the fire, straightens and steps back.
“It’s dangerous, that’s all.” She sniffs and rubs her cuff across her eyes. “You should be happy you’re safe. Even if you do have to suffer being stuck in a poky, non-fancy cabin with me and Elsa.”
This is obviously a sensitive subject. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” I pick up a fresh log and add it to the fire, as if that might help things. “I couldn’t be more grateful to have somewhere to stay. And thank you for taking in a stranger.”
My hands itch to touch her again, to hold her tight and stop her from feeling sad, and to wipe away the speck of ash she left on her face when she rubbed her eyes.
“Well, I wouldn’t leave anyone out in that weather, would I?” She tries to point toward the window again, but this time her arm is limp, and the poker dangles from her hand. A tear rolls down each cheek.
She turns away and drops the poker into its stand. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
My chest pounds as blood surges to my heart. Before I realize what I’m doing, I take hold of her arm. She stops but doesn’t look up at me. It’s all I can do not to stroke her face with my other hand and pull her lips to mine.
That would be wrong in every way. She took me in to keep me safe, a random stranger who knocked on her door. To repay that by making a move on her and possibly making her feel threatened would be the least grateful thing I could do. Not to mention she might throw me out into the frozen tundra with no warm clothing and a vehicle that’s probably barely visible above a snowdrift by now.
I let go, but she doesn’t move away. “I’m sorry. I was insensitive.”
She runs her fingers along the lower edges of her eyes. “No. It’s me. I’m probablytoosensitive about it.”
She looks down and plays with her sleeves, like she’s deciding whether to say something. She takes a big breath and keeps her eyes on her cuffs. “My parents died in a car accident. In snow and ice.”
“Oh, God.”
Everything becomes clear. That’s why she opened her door to a stranger. That’s why she’s angry I keep trying to find a way out. That’s why she’s sad.
I pull her to me and rest my chin on the top of her head as if it's something I've done a thousand times before. “I’m so sorry.”
“I couldn’t let you go back out in that stupid car,” she says into my chest. “I know how dangerous it can be. People really do die.”
I stroke my fingers down her back. And though the desire to take her firm ass in my hands is overwhelming, I force myself to stop at her waist. I drop my nose into her blonde curls and inhale the aroma of coconut.
She slides her arms around my waist and nestles closer, her chest against mine. Yup, no bra. I pull my hips back a little. It’s probably not appropriate to press my stiffy against a woman who’s upset about her parents’ tragic death.
The fire crackles beside us as we stand there, arms around each other, her cheek against my shoulder. There’s as much heat coming from her as there is from the flames. I hope she feels what I feel right now.
All thoughts of cell service, the internet, my looming pitch to an investor, and how the hell I’m going to get out of here vanish as I’m consumed by the hope she’s inhaling my scent the way I’m inhaling hers. I hope tiny trembles are rippling up and down her body, the way they’re rippling through mine. I hope she’s as wet at the thought of me as I am hard at the thought of her. And I hope she’s aching for me to press against her as much as I’m aching to do it.
Maybe making the most of what we have right here in this moment wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe wanting a one-time passion riot before I leave doesn’t make me a dick. Maybe it would be a good thing for both of us.
I’m always too busy working to have a relationship, and judging from the way she lives, she clearly doesn’t want one. But it’s obvious there are more sparks around here than just those in the grate. We could do this, have one great night, then walk away with a happy memory and no regrets.
As I stroke my fingers up her back, she slowly turns her face further into my shoulder. I cup the back of her head and pull back a little to tip her face up to look at me.
Her damp eyes meet mine, revealing the sadness behind them, but also the warmth and compassion with which she took me in like a stray dog on a cold night.
Her breasts press against my chest as she takes a deep breath that forces her lips a tiny fraction apart.
My heart thuds against my ribs as her eyes close halfway, and I lean down, my mouth drawn to her full, pink cupid’s bow as if it’s calling my name.
As I ease my hand from the back of her head to cup her face, there’s a push against my leg. The dog. She shoves her nose between us, snorting and nudging us apart.
“Aw, Elsa,” Summer says. She slides her hands from my waist, but doesn’t break contact until the last possible moment, and drops to her knees to hug the dog. “Do you need a cuddle too?”
I try to focus on the pooch wagging and snuffling Summer’s hair rather than the fact this super-hot woman is on her knees with her head at the level of my straining groin.
So close—I was so close to discovering what her lips feel like on mine.
At least I’m now clear she’s not interested. She grabbed the chance to dodge out of that kiss pretty damn quickly. And it’s probably for the best. I mean, what if it was so good I wanted more than the one kiss? More than one night.
