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His kisses move down my neck and I arch in invitation, silently pleading for more. The sharpness of his teeth rake over the spot where my neck meets my shoulder and I gasp from the sensation.

A sharp, alarm-like sound startles me and I jerk away from the pleasure. “What⁠—?”

“Fuck. My sat phone. I’m sorry, darlin’. I need to answer.” He gathers me close and stands then lowers me to the couch. After he presses a quick kiss to the tip of my nose he points at me. “Don’t move.”

I nod, shake my head, then nod again. I’m disoriented, delightfully so. “Okay,” I whisper.

I try not to listen when he’s on the phone, but the cabin is tiny and although I can’t make out the words, I can hear the voice of the caller. The woman who called him. His flat responses gradually become frustrated and angry and he paces the hall by the bathroom before stomping out the back door.

With no clue as to why the call upset him, I sit and stare at the fire, trying not to imagine the worst. Instead I focus on how I might be able to distract him from whatever issues the call raises. At least for a little while.

He returns inside and replaces the phone in its cradle by the bed. Grabbing his shirt from the back of the couch, he half turns from me. “I’m going to do my nightly check.”

Then he’s gone and I stare at the closed door trying not to take on any blame for his sudden change of mood. Except then I don’t know how to react when he returns. Will asking him about the call make him angrier? Then I could shoulder the blame. Oh, peas and carrots. Why are relationships so difficult? If only there was something in this situation I could anchor myself with.

There’s not. This is where my inexperience shows. Instead of revisiting the situation over and over, I get ready for bed. When Knight returns, I’ll gauge his mood then either welcome him with a hug or pretend to be asleep.

He’s gone a long time and snuggled under my blankets it’s difficult to keep from dozing off. I’m wide awake when the door opens and he enters along with a rush of cold air. Keeping my eyes shut, I sense him looking at me. He’s still upset, his breathing rough and he exudes an almost physical tension. I’ll keep my questions until morning.

He moves to turn off the lamp by the couch then carefully pulls the blanket up higher over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he whispers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I bite my lip to remain silent and brush at the single tear threatening to trail down my cheek. I have no clue why I feel like crying.

No, I do. No one has ever said anything like that to me and meant it. Having someone truly care about my feelings is new and a bit frightening. Without realizing it, this man is sparking changes in me. Perhaps this is finally my time to grow into the woman I’m meant to be and he’s the catalyst. Maybe it’s just coincidence.

Either way, I hope he still likes me with these changes.

Clover 2.0.

eight

Knight

Weeks pass without a single call on my sat phone then the damn thing rings when I have a beautiful woman, whose kisses taste like sugared cinnamon, in my arms. My cell I could ignore, but the sat is for emergencies or calls from my folks who worry if I don’t answer. Tearing myself away from the heat building between Clover and I is the most difficult thing I’ve done in a long time.

My fucking ex. Now her false, perky voice is back in my head. Her promises, her lies. Everything. And now she wants to represent me and my work again. Says she’s found the perfect gallery in New York. Coerced my mother into giving her the sat phone number. Made plans and signed pre-contractual agreement without consulting me. She hasn’t changed.

At the beginning of the call, I watch Clover’s reactions. I hate leaving her mid-kiss and wouldn’t have if I’d known the caller’s identity. She’s going to have questions.

When the cabin can no longer contain my growing anger, I rush outside. Stomp across the yard between the cabin and the forge while Andreyah yammers on and on about the honor and benefits of showing at that particular gallery.

I almost ask if the owner was a good fuck. She’s been successful in that type of negotiation in the past. I can’t imagine she’s changed her tactics. With a final, emphatic ‘no’, I hang up on her then stand in the dark glaring at the phone, daring her to call again. Thank god she doesn’t.

The anger doesn’t dissipate and I refuse to return to my sweet Clover in this condition. I’d remain outside, except my shirt is draped over the back of the couch and the night is rapidly growing cold. It won’t be long until the first snow of the season.

Using my nightly check as an excuse, I barely speak as I rush through the cabin, grab my shirt, then return to the darkness outside. I don’t know how long I pace, creating a new path in front of the cabin before the temperature finally sends me back inside.

Clover’s wrapped in her blankets, curled on her side on the couch. Her eyes are closed but I know she’s not asleep. We could talk now, probably should talk now. I’m not ready. I haven’t completely let go of the anger and she would probably attempt to take responsibility. That won’t happen. My anger is mine to deal with. My ex is my problem.

I turn off the lamp by the couch. Clover’s shoulder is exposed to the cool air so I carefully slip the blanket higher, tucking it gently between her back and the couch. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll make it up to you.”

A quick glance at the fireplace assures me the embers are safe for the night. In the bathroom I strip and stand under the shower. The pulsing spray doesn’t ease the tension the way Clover’s hands did. The water doesn’t warm me like her touch. My hands drift to my cock. I jerk them away.

I want Clover with a need such as I’ve never experienced. The power of it nearly drops me to my knees. Not just sex. I want her. All her insecurities and baggage. A rough chuckle eases the simmering anger. Even that damn bright pink suitcase appeals to me.

Her curiosity will expose my own failures and shortcomings, not an easy reality to face. I scrub my hands over my beard and into my hair. I welcome her questions. And I’ll answer those she doesn’t ask. Clover is worth any effort.

In bed I lay on my side facing the couch. The furniture’s back hides her from me, but simply knowing she’s there eases the lingering irritation. Soon, she’ll be sleeping next to me.