Coming in from the Cold

by Sarina Bowen

  He wished he could see her better, but the silent darkness held its own pleasures. As the snow continued to bury the Jeep, there were no sounds except for the sighs she made as his tongue stroked hers. Willow was turning out to be surprisingly adventurous. Yet at the same time, she was no pushover. He couldn’t imagine a sexier combination.

  He let his palms slide down her small shoulders and slim arms. His two hands could nearly reach around her waist. When he skimmed back up, fingering the silk of her bra, her breath hitched. And the sound of her, and that her two hands were gently stroking his dick, took him back to his days as a horny teenager. He was practically ready to burst.

  Gently, he pushed her hands off of his cock. “Lie down for me.” Cupping her head in one hand, he tipped her onto her back. She adjusted herself so that her head lay in one corner of their little makeshift room, allowing her to stretch out. Diagonally, and with her knees bent, she just fit.

  Kneeling over her, he skimmed a hand over her jeans and up past her bare stomach. His fingers paused on her sternum, where he could feel her heart beating madly beneath his hand. Dane leaned down, putting his lips onto her chest. He opened his mouth, his tongue caressing her skin. His fingers went to the cups of her silk bra, the nipples straining under his touch.

  She surprised him then, gripping his head in her hands, turning his chin slightly and resting his ear on her chest. With both arms, she held him there, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, cradling him. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her body circulating her blood, the muscle beating away beneath the surface. He was pinned to it—her heart—the one part of a girl he had always vowed never to touch.

  Weirdly, he felt an unfamiliar prickle behind his eyes.

  Beneath him, Willow took a deep, steadying breath. Maybe she felt it, too. There was something happening here that was startling in its intensity. She held him there for a moment, her fingers curled into his hair, and then finally released his head. He reared up, only to bring his face down again between her breasts. He pushed her bra aside with his chin, his tongue landing on her nipple.

  She whimpered, and the sound went straight to his cock. The darkness denied him the ability to see her. Yet each tiny sound she made, each little breathy exhalation told him everything he needed to know. He fumbled under her back, releasing her bra. He drew it away, then cupped both of her breasts in his hands. As he flicked his tongue across her nipples, she began to shiver, her hips shifting with obvious desire.

  Dane nosed down toward her belly button, his fingers making quick work of the fly on her pants. He worked her jeans down over her hips. Then he kissed a line over the strap of her bikini underwear. When he skimmed his lips over the triangle of silk that covered her, Willow moaned. He left one teasing hand there, rising up to lean over her mouth with a kiss. His wet lips skimmed hers, his tongue seeking her out. “Willow,” he rasped. “I have a condom in my jacket. Should I get it out?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes.”

  He pulled both of them into a sitting position, then he reached into the front seat.

  Whoever first called it “getting lucky” was a smart man. As Dane fumbled into his jacket pocket, he had never felt so lucky.

  When he ripped the packet open, and she tried to take it from him. “I’ve got it,” he said. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. He wasn’t a careful man on the ski hill, but he was careful about this. Every time. After he rolled the condom on, he reached for Willow, pulling her across his lap. “You still have too many clothes on,” he said.

  She didn’t argue the point.

  He slid his thumb inside her panties, then pushed them down. When they fell away, he slipped his fingers down her belly, into the sweet petals of her sex. Christ, she was wet and perfect. He felt her breath hitch as his fingers began to circle and tease. He’d planned to spend the night alone, the way he spent all of them. Instead, there was a beautiful girl writhing in his arms, her hair falling against his bare chest.

  Even in his ugly life, there were moments of perfection.

  “Tell me what you like,” he whispered, his fingertips slicking her opening. And her answer made his cock throb.

  “I just want you inside me.”

  She sat up a little then, turning to straddle him, her knees on the floor. When she grasped the base of his cock, he held his breath. And then it was happening. Inch by slow inch, the tight heat of her body enveloped him. “God, you feel good,” he panted. “Take me deep.”

  Willow had to widen her legs to take him all the way in, and when her bottom came to rest against his thighs, he couldn’t help but groan. They were nose to nose, and she held her body still for several long beats of his heart. The anticipation was killing him. He longed to flip her onto her back and drill into her. Somehow, he found enough patience to merely nip her lower lip with his teeth instead.

  “Is this what you want?” she whispered. Slowly, she pressed upward, her hips grazing his abs. When she sank onto him again, at the same dragging pace, an impatient gasp escaped his own lips. He curved his hands around her hips, and then he lifted her, using his quads for leverage. He steered her up again, along his shaft, fucking her even though she was straddling him.

  After several strokes, she was panting, too.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he said.

  Willow did, and was eased onto her back.

  He braced his two feet against different panels of the Jeep, and thrust. “Oh,” she moaned beneath him. He slicked his tongue over her lips, and she moaned again. Her hips rolled beneath him with wordless encouragement. He found a rhythm, his cock and his tongue working together.

  “Don’t ever…stop,” she gasped.

  He smiled against her lips. Everything about her was sweet—the way she moaned into his mouth, the tickle of her hair against his face. He closed his eyes and sank into the feel of her, slick and tight around him. Her breathing became shallow, little whimpers escaping her lips when he thrust.

  The sound of her pleasure curled into an empty place in his chest he’d never known was there. She was perfect—soft everywhere he was hard. He was so turned on that he wouldn’t last much longer. And because he was all too aware of the cruel way that life’s best moments ended too quickly, he missed her already.

  “So good,” she whispered, her breath coming in erotic gasps.

  “Give it to me,” he whispered. “Come, you sweet thing.” He ground his hips against hers.

  Her moan started low, from her belly. And then her breasts heaved, and she cried out. The sound sent a charge right through him. He wanted to remember that sound—to store it in his heart, saving it for the solitary hours he was sure to face later. He let go then, chasing down his own climax as she gasped beneath him. He pumped into her again and again before finally stilling himself inside her.

  She lay panting in his arms, one hand over her eyes. He pushed it away, and kissed her on the eyebrow.

  “God,” she gasped. “Wow.”

  “Wow,” he agreed. He kissed her again, his lips still seeking a connection though his body was spent. He pulled out reluctantly, tying off the condom. It went into a cup holder. There would be something to remember to throw out tomorrow, and certainly before he had a passenger in his car. Christ.

  Then he folded himself into the space next to Willow, gathering her up in his arms. He wasn’t done touching her yet. He wanted more of the feel of her skin under his hands, the curve of her breast in his palm, the fresh smell of her hair. “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “Mmm,” she said, curling tighter to him. “Is that so wrong?”

  “No.” Fool. What did he want, anyway? An award? But there was something about this girl that was different. For some reason, he cared what she thought.

  Willow reached behind herself and curled the edge of the sleeping bag over her back.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She ran a finger down his nose. “I wasn’t before. But I am n
ow.”

  “Well…” he thought about it. “There’s really only one way this works.” He sat up, feeling around the edges of the sleeping bag. When he found the zipper’s beginning, he hooked it together, and began to zip. “Roll this way, sweet thing,” he said, tapping her on the knee. A minute later, he’d zipped her up.

  She put a hand on his bare knee. “What about you?”

  “I’ll get dressed.”

  She sat up. “No, come here.” She unzipped the bag halfway. “You first.”

  “We won’t fit.”

  “I know a way.” She moved aside, gathering some things from the front seat.

  He slid into the bag, lying on his side.

  “Put your head on this,” she said, handing over his jacket. After a bit of rustling and flapping about, he felt her feet slide into the bag with his. She’d put her sweater on, and so her bare bottom tucked up against him, but her top was outside the bag, covered by her clothes.

  He cupped her hip in his hand and pulled her close. She settled her head onto her own jacket and tucked herself further into the bag, curving her upper body out of the half-unzipped side to make room for his shoulders. He put an arm around her waist and curled even more tightly around her. “I like your way,” he whispered.

  “My way rocks,” she said. Then she cleared her throat. “If I ask you a question, will you promise not to laugh?”

  Uh oh, he thought. Here it comes—the moment he would have to let her down. “What?”

  “Do you think…are we in danger out here, if the plow doesn’t show up until morning?”

  He kissed her ear, relieved. “No. The people who die in blizzards are the ones who leave their cars. Besides—it’s only thirty degrees tonight. At minus twenty, we’d be worried.” Then he thought of something, which made him laugh.

  “You said you wouldn’t laugh at my question,” Willow complained.

  “I’m not. I was just thinking about the protocol for surviving subzero temps.” He stroked her hip. “It looks a lot like this.” He gave her a squeeze to emphasize how close they were.

  He felt Willow’s giggle through her body before he heard it. “I knew that,” she said. “That’s why I agreed to climb back here.”

  “That was your reason, huh?” he teased, stroking her breast.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, snuggling against him.

  A while later, her breathing evened out and she drifted off. But Dane did not. Even though he’d been up since the ass crack of dawn, he did not feel drowsy. His skin tingled with surprise at his proximity to her. And he drank it in. Because it would never happen again.

  It was so quiet. There was more light now, he noticed. The Jeep’s back window had avalanched. And the moon had risen, its beams filtered through a wicked thick layer of clouds. He lay there listening a long time, and eventually the growl of a motor approached. Several minutes later the yellow lights of the plow truck went by. And Dane did not even consider flagging it down.

  Chapter Five

  “Willow,” a voice whispered.

  She opened her eyes. “Ohhh,” she groaned, her shoulder stiff. The surface beneath her was hard as nails.

  “It’s almost dawn, sweet thing,” a voice said. “And the plow truck went by.”

  She rolled onto her back, toward the warmth. “It did?” She began to wake up, startled to see a pair of blue eyes looking down into hers.

  “Twice,” Dane said. “So the snow won’t be up to our knees when we walk out of here.”

  “Okay,” she said, sitting up. Her leg brushed against Dane’s obvious erection. She felt her face get hot at the memory of last night.

  He skimmed a hand along her hip. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “Had to be done,” she said. “Did you look outside?” She could see only out of the back window of the Jeep. Everywhere she looked out there, it was white.

  He turned to look. “Powder day.” His fingers caressed the base of her neck, and she closed her eyes.

  She had to clear her head.

  “Is it time to call a tow truck from my house?” she offered. “I keep an old rotary at home for when the power goes out.”

  “I will take you up on that,” he said.

  “How about breakfast while we wait for the tow truck?”

  “Mmm,” he said, kissing her hair. “Now we’re talking.”

  * * *

  After the awkward trick of redressing in the Jeep—her panties eluded her until she found them under the driver’s seat—they crawled out.

  “Looks like we got a good foot and a half,” Willow said. But it was hard to tell, as the snow had drifted everywhere.

  “Anything you need from your truck?” he asked, tossing his skis back into the Jeep.

  She stared at the snow-covered mound that was her truck. “No. Except for chicken feed. But it’s not portable.”

  “No? Why.”

  “I buy fifty-pound bags. The Girls can wait one more day. They won’t starve.”

  But Dane pulled on his gloves and went over to her truck. He lowered the tailgate. Then he brushed a ridiculous amount of snow off the back and hefted a bag of chicken feed off the stack.

  “You know my house is about a mile away, right?”

  “You know I squat four-hundred pounds at the gym every morning, right?”

  She shook her head. “Better you than me.”

  “Let’s walk, then,” he said.

  * * *

  With the road cleared, it was easy going underfoot. Willow found herself tongue-tied. The strapping stranger at her side would be gone in an hour or two, and she didn’t know what to think about that. They walked in silence while Willow planned the breakfast she would make for him. Her stove ran on propane, and even if the power was out, she could still light it.

  “Willow, are you a coffee drinker?” Dane asked.

  “Hell, yes. And I can manage some form of coffee whether or not I have power. Coffee is non-negotiable.”

  He hitched the feed bag further up onto his shoulder. “I knew I liked you.”

  The words gave her heart a little squeeze. She wanted that—for him to like her. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions about his life, to get to know him, to stare into those blue eyes. But he’d been very clear that their friendship was not meant to develop. Was that really true, or had he only meant to keep his options open?

  She was not going to bring it up. “That’s my mailbox up ahead,” she said, pointing. “See?”

  “I’ve passed that place,” he said. “There’s a For Rent sign outside. Going somewhere?”

  “I wish,” she said. “I would sell, but I’m underwater on the mortgage. That sign, though, is just for a furnished one-bedroom apartment I have in back of the house. The previous owner had his mother-in-law living there.”

  “Huh,” Dane said. “Your sign should say it’s for a one-bedroom apartment, no? I passed it by many times, thinking there was no way I’d rent a whole house. And I ended up in a seedy room over on Main Street. Fix your sign, and you’ll rent it to some ski tech on the mountain within the week.”

  There was a silence, while Willow mourned the loss of Dane, and his powerful quadriceps, living on her property. Then she laughed. “I’ll fix it today. The lack of rent money has kept me up nights all month.”

  “I didn’t mean to harsh on your sign,” Dane said.

  “It’s okay. I’m kind of a fuckup,” Willow said.

  “I doubt that,” Dane argued.

  You really have no idea, she said to herself. Aloud, she continued, “We’re here, except for the climb.”

  “Nice,” he said, looking up the long driveway at the house.

  Willow followed his gaze to the white gables and the peaked roof. It did look nice. But for her it was a trap, a financial mistake that was standing between her and her dreams.

  When they reached the side door, and she put her hand on the knob.

  “Where does this go?” he asked, pointing at the bag on his shoulder.
>
  “Just set it down, and I’ll move it later,” she said. “You’ve done the heavy lifting, as they say.”

  He jutted his chin toward the barn. “Over there? It’s no trouble.”

  She hesitated for only a second. “Well, thank-you, sir. Let me get the barn door.” She ran ahead to open it. The wind had blown much of the snow out of her path—it was only a foot deep most places. But Willow had to quickly shovel a snowdrift away from the entrance. When she opened it, the chickens came running toward the light. “Hi, girls!” she called. They gathered around her ankles, pecking at her jeans. She waded into the fray, grabbed the empty feed bin and pulled off the top. “Just drop it right in here,” she said. “I’ll deal with the bag later.”

  He let it fall into the bin, and the chickens scattered from the sound. They ran away clucking, feathers flying.

  Dane laughed. “They’re so…chicken,” he said.

  “It’s really true,” Willow agreed. “They’re afraid of everything. I have a red raincoat, and if I wear it into the barn they bolt like I’m an ax murderer.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the raisins that had not been consumed the night before. “Look, girls.” They came running, falling over each other’s backs to get at her. She kept her hand at thigh height, and they jumped for the raisins, like retrievers leaping for a Frisbee disk. Willow had never met chickens until she followed her asshat boyfriend to Vermont. And now she found them charming. But not charming enough to stay in Vermont forever.

  Willow reached into her pocket again and offered more raisins.

  “There’s no way they’re enjoying those half as much as I did.”

  Willow turned to meet Dane’s smile. But then his grew a bit sad, and he turned toward the open barn door.

  * * *

  Dane waited while Willow fed her chickens, and then he followed her into the house, into a big old room with wide pine boards on the floor. At one end was the kitchen, and a thick-topped work table on turned legs. At the other end of the space was a living area, with an overstuffed sofa and comfortable chairs. It was the sort of room where happy lives were lived.