He found her nub and circled it with his tongue, a slow exploration that made it swell and harden. Her thighs trembled, another sure sign that she was getting turned on.
But he knew another thing about Chrissie. She liked to be surprised. Nothing made her pupils dilate and her face flush as much as a sudden unpredictable shift.
So when he’d feasted on her until she was writhing and uttering that little moan that said so much…he flipped her over onto her stomach and covered her with his body. To replace his mouth, he slid his hand around her to her front and planted it between her legs.
“I want to fuck you like a freight train,” he growled in her ear. Dirty talk, that was another thing she liked. “I want my cock deep inside you and I want to fuck you until you scream.”
She tilted the angle of her hips to give him better access. Her breaths came in harsh pants. “Do it,” she urged him. “I want that hard, hot cock. Feels so fucking good.”
Okay, so maybe the dirty talk worked for him too. His erection swelled with every naughty word.
What about those other words? Why could he say “cock” and “fuck” but not “I love you”?
Don’t worry about that now. He slipped on a condom and probed her entrance with his hand, already feeling how slippery she was. He put one finger inside her, then another, exploring until he found the spot he wanted, the one that made her whistle like a winter gale. He worked her with his hand at first, until she arched and cried out—there it was, his favorite song—then drove inside her, hard and fast.
He only got in a few strokes before she turned the tables on him and rolled them both over. She climbed on top, moving her hips in the rhythm they’d already set. She ripped her top off—a black cashmere sweater, with thermal tee underneath. Her black sheer bra cupped her breasts together, but couldn’t hide the glorious swell of her nipples.
He reached for them but she brushed his hands away. Teasing, taunting, she brought her own hands to her breasts and pinched herself through the bra. As he watched in painful fascination, she squeezed her own nipples into darkened peaks rising through the fabric. She tilted her head, her hair tumbling wildly down her back. The sight of her fondling her own breasts was so erotic and free that his cock pulsed with the first early warning of an orgasm.
“I’m…I can’t…” He muttered. “I can’t hold out. Come with me, Chrissie. Pinch those nipples. I wish I could come all over your breasts. Come on, harder. Now.”
They came together in a riotous tangle of limbs and hot spurts of juice and muttered swear words. “Fuck,” he gritted as the orgasm ripped through him. “God, Chrissie.”
She was still moaning as she slumped over him. He brought his hands to her breasts and lifted his head to kiss them, one by one. Damp sweat beaded in her cleavage. Stars danced in his vision. The sounds of the storm came back into his awareness, and he realized he’d forgotten everything except Chrissie.
As the fog of his orgasm cleared, he reconstructed the last few moments.
“I didn’t mean that,” he gasped.
“Hm? Mean what?” Her dark blue eyes, hazy from satisfaction, drifted to meet his.
“That part about coming all over your breasts. I got carried away in the moment.”
Her lips curved in a very feminine smile. “No apology necessary. I barely heard it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have believed it. It’s so…not you.”
“Not me? What do you mean?” As she rolled off him, he lifted himself on his elbows and began removing his condom.
“That would be too messy for you.” Shooting him a teasing smile, she felt around for her thermal shirt.
Without answering that, he rolled the condom off his penis and stood up to look for a paper towel or something else to wrap it in.
“I’m the messy one and I always will be,” she explained. She pulled on her shirt and freed her hair from under it.
“I told you before that I can handle mess.” He found a roll of toilet paper and ripped off a piece for the condom. But when he looked around for a trash can, he spotted nothing of the kind. “Is there a place for garbage?”
She let out a hoot of laughter. “I love how you’re proving my point in real time. Here, use this.” She pulled out the plastic tray of Nutter Butter cookies and handed him the empty package.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not proving any point by wanting to dispose of my condom.” He dropped it in and tossed the bag aside. “I can prove the opposite.”
“You can? How?” She was on her knees now so she could get her pants properly snapped.
“Because…” A burst of wind sent the hanging lantern into a shuddering spiral. “I’m able to overlook your messiness and…well, love you in spite of it.”
Thirty-Three
Chrissie wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She sat back on her heels on the mattress. She hadn’t meant anything serious with her “messy” comment, and certainly hadn’t expected him to take it seriously.
Especially not this seriously.
“Did you say you love me?”
“Yes. I’ve thought it over, and I believe that I do. I did wonder how that was possible, given our differences, your tendency toward chaos being one of them.”
She blinked at him. He looked sincere enough. Serious. Sober. His expression revealed nothing beyond that. He definitely didn’t seem happy about what he’d just told her.
“So…you’re willing to overlook my hot-mess side, is that it?”
“Overlook?” He frowned, seeming to realize that he might have offended her. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
The light of the lantern gave his face a shadowed beauty. His eyes, hooded under dark eyebrows, were impossible to read behind his glasses. He felt distant and hard to reach.
And instead of leaping with joy, her heart broke a little.
“When did you decide all this?”
“That I…loved you?” He seemed to trip over the very word. “I didn’t decide it. I came to that conclusion.”
“Sounds very logical. Did you use a double-blind scientific study?”
He gazed at her with a perplexed frown. His hair was thickly tousled from the time he’d spent between her legs.
Don’t think about that.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said after a long, silent moment. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Was he taking it back now? “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just…confused.” She paused, hoping he’d say more.
But he didn’t. A painful sort of awkwardness came over his entire body. She watched his shoulders hunch and his head tilt until he was the arrogant neurosurgeon she’d first thought he was.
“Do you want me to go?” He said it as if it made no difference to him one way or the other.
“No!”
She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to explain what was going on. What he really felt, and why he was saying it in such a dispassionate way. Frustrated, she pulled her sweater over her head. In the darkness inside, wrestling with the cashmere, she realized what was bothering her. While her head was still halfway inside her sweater, she said, “You wish I was someone else, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe what you say is true, and you do love me. But you wish you didn’t. You wish I wasn’t such a messy bitch.”
His expression shifted, and she knew it was true. That was why he’d used the “in spite of” phrase. Whatever his feelings for her were, they had a footnote. Despite her messiness.
And somehow it felt like a huge betrayal because she’d trusted him. Every time she made fun of herself for her imperfections, he called her on it. But all this time, he’d secretly agreed.
“You know something, Finnegan? I would tell you to leave, except there’s a goddamn storm out there and it wouldn’t be safe.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said stiffly. He bent to pick up his jacket. She couldn’t read his body language at all. If anything, he seemed bored by the whole conversa
tion.
“Ian. Don’t be ridiculous.” She scrambled to her feet. “I can’t let you go out there.”
He put on his jacket and zipped it up with a sharp movement, much sharper than his usual controlled pace. “You don’t have anything to say about it.”
Okay, then. Emotion. She detected anger, and maybe a little hurt.
“It’s my property. I don’t want to be liable if something happens to you.”
“Is it yours, though?” he snapped, turning on her. “You don’t act as if it’s your property. You haven’t spent a single night here. You can’t decide if you want it or not.”
She drew back, stung by his suddenly passionate manner. This was what got him all emotional, but telling her he loved her didn’t? “You know I’m working on it.”
“No. You’re dancing around it.”
“I’m taking my time.”
“You’re afraid,” he shot back.
“Maybe I am. What’s it to you?” she cried.
“I had an idea that could really help you. But I don’t know where you stand.”
“What idea?” Completely confused now, she blinked at him.
“The water. The arsenic. You should sell the patent to Ohlson’s filtration system. I’ve been doing some research and arsenic in the groundwater is a common problem.”
“Great. Research. You do a little studying and now you can solve all my problems. If only you could solve the biggest one. You know, the one where I’m just too messy.”
“I didn’t say that,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “You said that. I said that I loved you.” With that, he yanked the door open. A howling gale burst into the room, blasting him in the face. He gave a strangled snarl and leaned into it, pushing his way out of the lighthouse against the force of the wind.
The door slammed shut behind him. The cold air still swirled around the space, like a wild animal trapped inside. The shadows cast by the lantern swung this way and that, illuminating one corner, and then another.
Her heart pounded in her throat. She wanted to throw something, dammit. Stomp her feet. Scream.
She did all of those things, starting with the scream, and then the foot-stomping. As for throwing—she grabbed the closest thing, which was the empty can of Pringles, and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off and rolled across the floor into one of the angled corners of the lighthouse.
With a last huff of frustration, she sank onto the air mattress, which was already squishier than it had been. It was leaking air faster than her and Ian’s relationship. She lay spread-eagled on top of it to distribute her weight more equally, and stared up at the vaulted ceiling.
It was spooky up there, shadowy and possibly full of spiders. Perfect hangout for a ghost.
“Hey Chrissie! What’s wrong with you?” she said out loud, as if summoning her own ghost. “An amazing man just told you he loved you and two minutes later he’s out there in a storm and you’re alone on a deflating air mattress. What the fuck?”
But he didn’t really mean it. He said “in spite of” her chaos. So that didn’t count. He’d also said that she couldn’t decide about the property and that she was afraid.
“Of course I’m afraid,” she said to the ceiling. “Look at how many things have blown up in my face and smashed my heart to smithereens. Any reasonable person would be afraid.”
There is such a thing as “help.” A quiet voice seemed to whisper to her. A ghost, perhaps? The annoyingly logical kind? And “other people.” Also, “people who care about you.” Friends. Community. It’s all there. You just have to choose it.
“Oh shut up. You know nothing. I’m on my own and always will be. Ever since Gramps—”
She broke off on that thought, because for the first time, it had a different ending. Usually it ended with “Gramps banished me.” This time, the rest of the thought went more like, Ever since Ohlson set me free because he loved me.
Damn. That changed everything.
She had to think about this more. If Ian was right, she had to rethink a lot of things. Her past. Her present. Even her future.
When the sound of static crackled from the corner, she leaped about a foot off the air mattress. The lighthouse was a lot spookier with Ian gone, but that didn’t mean there was an actual ghost around. Did it?
Gingerly, she rolled off the mattress and walked toward the unlit corner. That was where the Pringles can had ended up, and now she saw that Ian’s phone was there too. She picked it up and saw that it was turned off. It hadn’t made the staticky sound.
The noise came from Gramps’ old short-wave radio. The Pringles can had hit a button and it was now receiving…something.
She clicked the talk button. “Hello? This is,” she read the call numbers off an ancient curling sticker, “alpha gamma alpha beta. Anyone out there?”
More static. She adjusted the knobs, trying to remember how Gramps used to do it. The noisiness cleared and she could hear a man’s voice.
“Ohlson? Is that you? Dead man talking?” the man was saying.
“No, it’s Chrissie, his granddaughter. Who’s this?”
“Old Crow here.”
The old fisherman? Jesus, was he out in this weather? “Where are you? You aren’t out on the Ravenwing, are you?”
“I mighta made a mistake, Chrissie.” Even through the shaky connection, she heard the quiver in his voice. “I was gonna sail off into the storm and call that the end. I got this pain and it won’t quit.”
Absolute fear bolted through her.
“Old Crow. Listen to me. Where are you exactly? What can you see?” She fumbled for her phone.
“Can’t see much of anything. It’s dark out here. Blacker than a crow’s ass, you might say.”
He was making a little joke, was that a good sign?
On her phone, she started a search for the Coast Guard number, then gave up on that and texted Maya.
Old Crow out in storm. Danger to himself. Call Coast Guard.
She should keep him talking, that’s what she should do. “It’s good to hear your voice, Old Crow. Did you used to talk to Ohlson on the radio?”
“Sometimes. Two old-timers. Dying breed.”
Maya texted back. On it. Where is he?
Guessing not far from lighthouse. Short-wave radio in a storm. Small radius.
Got it.
“Not dying out yet, Old Crow. Not if I can help it. I’ve got journals and lots of history here. You’re a storyteller supreme. Do you know any stories about my grandfather?”
“Lots. I’m afraid, Chrysanthemum. Afraid to die. Afraid of not dying. Afraid of getting my brain cut open. Maybe it’s just my time. It’s wild out here. Gotta be forty-foot waves.”
Please, Coast Guard. Please, Lost Harbor. Do your thing. Do that thing where you look out for every last one of you, no matter what.
In the meantime, she was the only person he had. This was on her. “Old Crow, whatever you’re afraid of, we got you. All of us. We can’t lose you. Lost Harbor needs you. We’re all in this together. You understand?”
“Funny thing to say. You’re the one that left!”
“Hey, I’m back now. And I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay. You hear me? I’m right here in the old lighthouse. Can you see the lighthouse?”
“Maybe. Hard to be sure.” His voice faded out.
She pressed on. “Have you heard the stories about it, Old Crow? Lovers’ lane type of stuff?”
“Oh, I’m in some of those stories.”
She laughed as he came back stronger than before. “You old rascal, that doesn’t surprise me. I want to hear all the stories, okay? We’re going to do something with this lighthouse. I haven’t figured out what yet, but something fun, something for all of Lost Harbor, especially the old-timers.”
She heard rustling on the other end of the line.
“Think I might hear a chopper coming!” Old Crow shouted. “Hey ya big old bird! Whatcha doing up there?”
The connection went dea
d at that point. Chrissie tried again a few times, then gave up.
She let out a long breath and mentally handed off the baton to the professionals. The Coast Guard was there. They’d take care of it.
In the middle of texting Maya—Keep me posted—her phone rang.
Thirty-Four
Please be Ian, was the first thought that flashed through her mind. But it was Toni.
“Oh good, you have phone service. It’s getting crazy out there. I wish you hadn’t picked tonight to stay alone at Yatesville.”
“I’m fine. I’m in the lighthouse, it’s basically a Medieval fortress on a cliff. How’s the shack holding up?”
“Don’t call it a shack,” Toni answered automatically. “But yeah, a few shingles blew off so I’m staying over at Tristan’s. The boardwalk is wild right now. Anything that wasn’t tied down is somewhere in Misty Bay by now.”
“Yikes. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m a little worried about the Desperado. The entire fleet was called in because of the storm, but I ran into Lucas when I was closing up the Olde Salt and he said no one has heard from them.”
Chrissie turned off the radio and went back to the middle of the room where all her winter gear was piled. Ian had left here without his phone, and he might need it the way things were going tonight. “I thought they were out of range of the storm.”
“It took a turn eastward. You know how Alaskan storms are. Tristan has a sat phone that he uses only for emergencies. I tried to call it but it didn’t pick up. I don’t know, Chrissie. I’m scared.”
The note of fear in Toni’s voice sent a shock through Chrissie. Growing up, Toni had always been the daring one. She’d accept any challenge and never back down. If she was genuinely afraid, she had a good reason.
“Tristan is the best boat captain in Alaska,” she reassured Toni. “Even if they got into trouble, he’ll get them out. Remember that time he took us across the bay and the engine got fried and the radio wouldn’t even work? He paddled all the way back in a fricking Zodiac to get help. They’ll be fine.” And suddenly a terrible thought struck. “Oh my God. Bo.”
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