I’d do anything to be inside you right now.
A shiver went through her. Not the cold kind, but the realization kind. The shiver that tells you that your mind has landed on something important and your body’s aware of it before you are.
I like him.
Oh yeah.Thatthought.
No, notlike. Need. Want… Love?
Maybe.
She walked on, one high, knee-numbing step after another, and closed her eyes, remembering. Not just remembering butfeeling. His fingers on her face, her cheek. The rough rasp of his beard, the press of lips, softer than any kiss she’d ever had from Hugh.
Hugh, with his silky words. Smooth-talking Hugh, who’d stolen everything from her.
What if I’d never come here?
That was easy to picture. She’d be back in Pittsburgh, possibly with one of the few friends who’d stuck around after the accident—laughing, drinking, pretending everything was okay. Only she couldn’t pretend anymore.
That was why she’d left.
And that wasn’t her anymore, anyway.This is me.
A body, surviving.
Did she regret it? Coming here?
Not if he’s here with me.
Her eyes snapped open to a blurred world. She reached up, smeared the fog from her goggles…and there he was. Red back, straight and tall, forging through the infinite white.
When she’d woken up that morning, he’d already been busy, getting ready for the next leg of their journey. She’d watched him through slitted eyes. His movements had been fascinating—calm and slow-seeming, but oddly efficient and fast. She’d seen chefs who worked that way and it was magic.
She thought of the moment his eyes had landed on her. She swallowed, swiped a hand over her goggles again, and stumbled on. His expression had cauterized the wounds in her heart, even as it made new ones. Soft. That was the word for it. Soft—maybe yearning?
She didn’t regret leaving Pittsburgh and coming to Antarctica. She didn’t regret cooking for people who appreciated it. Who needed the calories and loved her food. How could she? She didn’t regret setting out onto the ice with Ford, because she’d never have known how strong she was.
Nor would she have known Ford, seen the tenderness under the hard shell.
She’d never have felt this way. About anyone. Not even the man she’d thought she’d loved.
The night of the accident came back to her in a bright, loud rush of color so strong it could have been a hallucination.
The quiet restaurant, dark, still, but with that strange, hovering sense of expectation that had put every hair on her body on high alert. Why had she gone back that late? Something about the cash drawer, maybe. Right, she couldn’t sleep because she’d forgotten to put the drawer into the safe at the end of the shift, but Hugh wouldn’t answer his phone or the restaurant phone, and she was pissed about that: Why wasn’t he answering? And why wasn’t he home yet?
Through the dining room, through the dark kitchen, up the back steps, and there—she’d forgotten about that sound. A thumping, scraping kind of sound.Heart attack!she’d thought, picturing Hugh on the floor, unable to reach the phone.He needs me!
She’d run down the hall, thrown open the door, and…
Everything after that was a jumble. First, worry—that heart attack thing she’d been warning him about for years. He was older than her, after all, and lived a rough, late-night, hard-drinking, high-fat life. Confusion quickly followed. Why was Hugh on top of their business partner—Angel’s best friend—Lorraine like that? Oh God, maybeshewas hurt.
In the next blink, she’d thought he was pointing something out to Lorraine over her shoulder. Some fine point in their business contract, maybe? But that theory had ended when they’d groaned together, looked up, and…
Kept going. They’d continued, eyes on Angel while she’d stood there, wishing she could unsee what they were doing, but also unable to move. Stuck in a continuous loop of horror and betrayal until Hugh opened his mouth and, in a voice tight with the effort of screwing her best friend, told her to get out. So he could finish.
After that, she’d half slid down the long, narrow staircase, stumbled through the dining room, knocking into chairs as she went, out into the heavy night air. Without thinking, she’d gotten into the car and sat there with the engine on for who knew how long.
When the driver’s door swung open, she wasn’t surprised to see him there. Hugh had the gall to look completely unruffled. Neither satisfied nor abashed, not freshly fucked nor devastated by the inevitable end of their marriage.
