He shut the door behind him, shut himself into almost pitch darkness and leaned back against it with a ragged sigh. There were tests in a man’s life. He knew that, he’d encountered many. This was one, wasn’t it? A test of control. Of loyalty.
He had to pass, that was all there was to it.
He set the logs down and went about making a quick fire. Once it had begun to glow, he stood before it, undressing. His hands kept brushing that unwanted erection and he grunted at the sensation.
He let his trousers fall, tugged his sopping wet shirt over his head and then took himself firmly in hand. The only way to make this better was to slake the need. So he stroked once, twice, leaning one hand against the mantel as he pictured going back into the main room, pressing Meg against the wall and lifting her onto him. Taking her with long, steady strokes until she shattered around him, whispering his name into his shoulder.
He came in pearly spurts, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the pleasure that coursed through his body. Once he was spent, he pressed his other hand to the mantel and leaned there with his full weight.
“Get yourself together,” he cursed, hating himself for what he’d just done. What he still wanted to do.
He picked up all their wet clothes, rung them in the cracked washbasin near the door and began to hang them. His went first, then her dress. His breath caught as he lifted her chemise. It was see-through thanks to the wetness. He shut his eyes as he draped it on the back of a chair and turned it to face the fire. Her stockings, silky and fine, went next to it, and then he wiped off his hands and gathered up the blanket.
It wasn’t going to cover much, but he did his best, wrapping it around his waist like it was a kilt before he drew a long breath. He had to go back out there. He had to face Meg. He had to face his fantasies.
Right now.
He pushed the door open and caught his breath. She was bent over the fire, putting another log in to feed the massive flame. Her blanket had dipped in the process and he caught a glimpse of the side of her full, lush breast.
She straightened and turned as if sensing him there. Her breath caught and her gaze slipped down from his face to his bare chest. She just stood there, staring at him like he was staring at her, and everything in his world grew tight and focused.
Meg wanted him. He’d seen that before, but now it rose up, rushing toward him like an out of control phaeton. She wanted him and they were alone and no one would ever have to know.
“Graham,” he muttered under his breath, trying hard to think of the man who he’d considered one of his best friends for so long.
She swallowed hard and motioned him closer, like a siren driving him toward rocks. “Come warm up,” she said, her voice rough.
He moved to stand with her and they stared into the flames, their bare arms nearly touching, but not quite. An almost perfect metaphor for their entire relationship, it seemed. Almost there, but not quite.
As if she read his thoughts she moved to face him. Her expression was taut with tension and her hands trembled at her sides. He held his breath, waiting for whatever she was going to say. It looked important. It looked life-changing. And he wasn’t certain he was ready for it.
Everything Meg had ever wanted to say to this man sat on the tip of her tongue, ready to be confessed in the strange little world only they inhabited. But as she stared at him, at his tense face, at his gloriously handsome face, her nerve faltered.
What good was saying anything? It was evident that Simon wanted her, but he had made no attempt ever to act on that desire. Perhaps that meant it was nothing more than need, not love. If she said what she felt and he didn’t truly care, he would think less of her. If he did care…well, that almost made it worse. They could never be together. James had guaranteed that by promising her to Graham all those years ago.
She swallowed her confessions back and whispered, “It’s getting dark.”
He glanced toward the boarded windows. Far less light was coming past the gaps now. “Part of that is the heaviness of the storm, but it’s also getting late. We…” He hesitated and turned his face away from hers. “We might not make it back tonight, Meg.”
She stiffened at that statement. She’d been so wrapped up in Simon all afternoon, she’d never considered not making it back a possibility. But now it loomed up, a crushing reality that had consequences. So many consequences.
“But…but if we don’t make it back, people will…they’ll know we arebothmissing,” she whispered.
His mouth turned to a grim frown and he refused to look at her. “Yes. I’m certain our mutual disappearance has already been marked by more than just James and Emma.”
She couldn’t help but gasp. “They’ll think—if we spend a night away alone together, they’ll think—”
Simon bent his head even farther and his hands clenched against his thighs, outlined beneath the blanket. “Yes. They may think very ill of us, despite the circumstances,” he admitted quietly. “But Graham will know better, won’t he?”
He said Graham’s name softly, almost like he was afraid of invoking him by saying it. She shivered as she thought of her fiancé, thought of what he’d say when she returned.
“In truth, I…” she began, then stopped. But as she stared at Simon, his outline in the firelight, she knew honesty was where they would end up tonight. It was too hard to pretend with him, the man who knew her most and best. “I hardly know Graham at all.”
His gaze jerked to her and she couldn’t tell if that statement surprised him or made him angry. “What do you mean?” he snapped. “You’ve been engaged for years, Meg. Of course you know him.”
She nodded. “So many years. And yet he isn’t my friend. Not like you.”
He turned toward her, leaning in, and her heart almost stopped. He looked like he wanted to touch her, and she found herself lifting her face toward his in readiness for the moment she’d been waiting for all her life.
