I raise my fingers to her hair, brushing through a few unruly curls.I let my fingertips trace her jawline and lift her pretty little chin.
With all the tenderness I possess, and even though I feel myself trembling with the intensity of whatever’s racing through me, I lower my lips to hers.
Soft and warm.Yielding to me.Perfect under my mouth.
Phoebe.
I pull her into me and cradle her close, kissing her, pouring myself into this kiss in a way that I didn’t think was an option for me.With this kiss, I’m telling her that I may be a selfish and persnickety bastard but I’m willing to try to be something else, something better.
For her.
She relaxes in my embrace, loosens, and melts under my mouth.Her soft little hand reaches up to the nape of my neck and pulls me toward her.That touch.Her touch.I have no idea why, but I would do anything to get more of it.
More of Phoebe.
I can’t lie to myself—it’s cold in here.The fire’s died down and the batteries are dying in both my headlamp and the lantern.
We’re both sprinkled with snow and still half-trapped in weatherproof gear and boots, and it doesn’t matter a good damn.
The kiss gets hotter.Deeper.One of my hands reaches up under her hair to cradle the back of her head, holding her exactly where I want her.The other hand goes to her back, my fingers spanning the whole expanse of her ribs.I lean into her.
Phoebe’s a small woman.She’s a perfect, curvy handful of female.Just the right combination of athleticism and softness.
She lays the flat of her hand on my chest, exploring me, stroking my side, then up to my shoulder and down my upper arm.She makes the sweetest little moan of pleasure, of hunger.Just touching me.
My hand slides down into her snow pants, and I caress her ass.
Only the left side, though, because of her stitches.
Which makes us both laugh.And we pull apart to start stripping off our outerwear in earnest.
“Miss Travis, do you haveanyfucking ideathe level of debauchery we could enjoy my king-sized bed?”
She grins at me, her freckled cheeks round and her eyes sparkling.“You mean in the king-sized bed in your bedroom, the one that has central heating?Maybe with soft flannel sheets?”She wriggles out of her snow pants.
“That’s the one.”I untie my left snow boot and throw it against the door.
“Yes!Bring it on!I want it all, Evander—shameless depravity!Disorderly conduct!Cinnamon toast cereal with two-percent organic milk!”
“Hell yes.That’s an IOU from me to you.And I want a steak and eggs.We can eat in bed.”
“Sign me up!”
I throw off my right boot and rip off my sweater.“And after I’ve thoroughly ravished you…or ravaged…or whatever the fuck the word is, we’ll roll out of bed and move the debauchery to my huge jacuzzi tub, with ten jets and several temperature settings.”
“Ooh, and fluffy towels?”She’s pulling off her boots.
“Fluffy towels and surround sound and a fireplace and hey, can I wash your hair?Is that weird?I want to wash your hair when we’re in the tub together.”
She stands in front of me in her thermal underwear and wool socks, breathing hard.“Fuck yes, you can wash my hair.Pardon my French.”
“Fuck your French, Phoebe.”
I grab her, lift her, and throw her over my left shoulder, one of my hands slapped on the back of her thigh.“You need to start talking dirty to me, and I mean every filthy fucking word you’ve been saving up for a snowy day.”
“Really?”
“There’s a shit ton of snow out there.”With my free hand, I throw open the tarps and carry her into the front room.
