Coming in from the Cold

by Sarina Bowen

  Willow couldn’t help it. She smiled. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve just spent the last three months trying to get over you. What do you want from me, Dane?”

  He put a single finger on the back of her hand, and she felt it like an electric charge. “You know how some people have a bucket list? They want to go bungee jumping in New Zealand, or they want to have sex in an airplane bathroom?”

  “Okay…?”

  “Well, my bucket list is ass-backwards. I want to fall asleep on your sofa in the middle of a movie. I want to bring you a beer during commercial breaks. I want you to warm up your cold feet on mine.”

  “I can’t drink beer, I’m pregnant.”

  “Would you please come here?” He patted the spot next to him on the sofa.

  Her heart skittering, Willow moved over to sit near him, her feet next to his on the coffee table.

  Dane slid his arms around her, and she leaned back onto his chest. His body was sturdy and warm. He kissed the top of her head, and she pulled his arms tighter around her midriff. “You have no idea,” he whispered, “how happy this makes me. Just this.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

  She turned her chin, resting her cheek against his chest.

  “The most important thing I want to say to you is this,” Dane said, his voice low. “Every time I walked away from you—since that very first morning—it was always because I thought I needed to. I handled everything very badly, but I only meant to protect us both. It’s just that there wasn’t any way to do that.”

  “I’m starting to understand,” Willow said.

  They were silent a minute, and then he said, “It’s hard for me, Willow. Even now, I’m trying not to hear a little voice in my head. The one that says—you’d better get away from that girl, you’re toxic.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t you dare love her.”

  Willow’s heart beat double-time. “If you want to have a life, you tell that voice to move on now,” she whispered.

  “I want to,” he said, with a shuddering breath.

  Willow raised her head. There were tears spilling onto his face, heading for his beard. Without thinking, she wiped them away with her thumbs. “I’ve been trying to imagine what it was like for you. To live with the terrible dread of dying young.”

  “It’s not just dying,” he said, his voice wrecked. “It’s ugly, Willow. A nasty wasting away. My father split because he couldn’t watch anymore.” He wiped his eyes. “So I told myself—don’t ever be close to anyone. For years I thought I was doing okay, living large and keeping everything to myself.”

  “Until I screwed up your strategy.”

  His arms tightened around her. “You flattened me, Willow. The day I met you was like doing a face-plant at eighty miles an hour.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m wrecked, and I’m rattled. But I’m not sorry.” He wiped his face on the back of his hand.

  A silence settled over them both, but it was the good kind. She leaned back against him, while outside the wind howled and the snow fell into the encroaching darkness.

  “What do you think happens next?” Dane asked in a low voice. “That’s a question I never asked myself before. I was always jealous of people who had futures. I didn’t ever stop to think that having one would be so complicated.”

  She stroked his hand where it lay across her stomach. “Just breathe in. Breathe out. Then repeat,” she said.

  He laughed. “I can try that.”

  She turned her chin to face him. “So, which movie do you want to fall asleep during first?”

  As she watched, a slow smile started on his lips and traveled all the way to his eyes. Then he put his nose in her hair. “I wouldn’t even care. You could pick.”

  “You know,” she said, “there’s a little voice in my head lately, too.”

  “What does it say?” His dimple appeared.

  “It says,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “popcorn with extra butter.” She pushed his hands off her, standing up. She handed him the remote. “You see what’s on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They settled on an action flick. But Dane could hardly focus on the screen. He was too busy inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair and feeling the warm slant of her back against his chest. When she squeezed his hand during a particularly tense gunfight, he closed his eyes just to concentrate on the sensation of her palm against his. Whenever she shifted against him, his chest expanded with happiness.

  The girl felt so good. The nearness of her was like therapy.

  “I’m going to be so angry when they kill off that character,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The biker dude.”

  “Hmm?”

  “He’s going to bite it in the end,” she said.

  “You’ve seen this?” he asked.

  “No. But that character is a classic overcompensator. He’s the sort to take some horrible risk during the final showdown.”

  He chuckled into her hair. She reached back and swept it over one shoulder, exposing a creamy stretch of her neck. It was right there, under his nose. If he stretched forward a mere inch, he could nibble on it, just a little bit.

  No way. Don’t wreck it.

  The plan for tonight was just to be with her. And it was a good plan. Impulsive sex had caused them plenty of trouble already, and he was willing to wait. So Dane ignored the swelling in his briefs and leaned back on the couch. On screen, the hero crept through a darkened parking garage, a single bullet left in the chamber. From the nearby darkness came the sound of a gun being cocked, and the hero froze.

  At this moment of carefully constructed cinematic tension, Willow scooted higher up on Dane’s chest, her gorgeous neck even closer to his lips. Dane’s dick punched against his pants, and he sent it a silent warning. Dude, we really aren’t going there tonight.

  As soon as the action hero pulled off another daring escape, Willow tipped her head back, then turned her chin, her lips almost touching his ear. Then she exhaled, and her warm breath took him from merely chubby to rock hard.

  “Willow,” he whispered. “You’re making it very hard for a guy to focus on the movie.”

  She turned his hand over in hers and traced his palm with two of her fingers. “Sorry,” she said.

  Dane took a deep breath and dialed his arousal down a few notches.

  “Hmm,” Willow mused. “The sidekick just happens to know how to fly a helicopter? That’s convenient.” She leaned forward as the copter lifted off the helipad, and Dane decided it might be possible to focus on the screen.

  And that’s when the power went out, plunging the room into blackness.

  Uh oh.

  For a moment, neither Dane nor Willow said a word. But the absence of all light and TV noise made it even more obvious to him that his body was pressed up against Willow’s in the pitch dark.

  Willow groaned. “Now I won’t know how it ends.”

  She turned toward him, so close that he could feel her breath on his chin. He felt such a crackle in the air between him that it might have lit up the room. “I could tell you how it ends,” he said.

  She reached up and put her hands on his face, which nearly killed him off right there. “Dane, have you seen this movie?”

  “I may have.”

  She was quiet. “Well, spill it already.”

  “Okay,” he said, the heat of her hands seeping into his soul. “The hero drops from the helicopter onto the moving train and shoots the bad guys. Then he rescues his family from the container car.”

  “Hmm,” Willow said, so close that the word vibrated off of the corner of his chin. “That’s so predictable. But what about the sidekick?”

  By this point, most of the blood in Dane’s body had flowed away from his brain and into his shorts. It was hard to think. “The sidekick dies from eating a bad egg-salad sandwich. Not Vermont’s finest.”

  She pinched him.

  “Ow,” he smiled.

  “You haven’t see
n this movie,” she challenged.

  “Have so. Coach loves this movie. I just don’t want you to feel bad about the ending.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered. “I can take it.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I forgot who I was dealing with.”

  “The sidekick bites it, doesn’t he?”

  Dane let himself nuzzle her face with his nose. It was just the lightest touch—it could barely be said to count against his rule. “Turns out, the terrorist put the bomb in the helicopter, not the train. So the sidekick has to drop the chopper into a ravine, blowing himself up, but saving the city.”

  “That’s depressing,” she whispered at close range. “It sounds like something you would do.”

  “Next time, we’ll watch a comedy.”

  Then Willow kissed him, and the feel of her soft mouth on his was transporting. For a moment he could do nothing but give in and return the kiss. The gentle slide of her tongue between his lips was everything he wanted. Thank-you, universe.

  But eventually he got a hold of himself, breaking their kiss by turning his chin. “Willow?”

  “Yes?” she murmured.

  “I’ve been promising myself I wouldn’t do this tonight.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and he hoped she wouldn’t be offended. “Dane,” she said quietly. “You make a lot of rules for yourself, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And I never had any trouble following them until the night I ran off the road with you. And now, when we’re in the same area code together, I can’t keep my head on straight.”

  “So you made a new rule that you don’t want to kiss me tonight.”

  “Oh, I want to kiss you.” And a lot more besides. “But I told myself I wouldn’t, because I need you to trust me. Even if it takes a while.”

  “Hmm,” Willow said, tapping a single finger on his lip. “Then can you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Try to find a way to be a little less hot?”

  In the darkness, he smoothed her hair down her back and tried not to register the sensation of her breasts pressing against his chest. “I have facial hair and a gimp leg. That should help.”

  She put her hands on his beard, her fingers tracing a line down his face, toward his neck, which made him want to shout for joy. “That’s insufficient,” she said.

  “It’s pitch dark,” he argued. “You can’t even see me.”

  She moved away then, and Dane took a deep, steadying breath. The next sound was the strike of a match, and he saw a tiny flame over the coffee table as Willow lit a candle. Then she turned to face him, the yellow light flickering on her skin, shining golden on her hair.

  He was in deep, deep trouble.

  She curled herself like a cat next to him, her eyes on his. “Two things,” she said. And then he almost didn’t hear what the two things were, because she took that moment to lick her lips. The appearance of that pink tongue slicking across her perfect mouth made him temporarily deaf. “The first thing,” she was saying, “is that apologies are very sexy. Secondly, you made a speech earlier tonight about wanting to do all the ordinary guys do with their girlfriends. What do you suppose they do when the power goes out?”

  He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’d give you a witty reply. But I’m finding it hard to think in sentences.”

  “Dane,” she said, and her face wasn’t teasing anymore. She looked into his eyes with such wonder that it would have been impossible to look away. “My life could not be more complicated right now. But there’s a real connection between us. You can make all the rules you want, and it will still be there.” She tipped her head, watching him.

  He blew out a breath. “The night I met you, you told me ‘instinct is real.’ But I’ve been fighting it my whole life.”

  “I’m not fearless,” Willow said. “I don’t want you to break my heart. But hiding from it won’t help.”

  He gazed at her. Willow had surprised him the very first time they’d met. And now he understood that she was the only person he’d ever met who was capable of surprising him every day for the rest of his life. “I want to be more like you,” he said. “You face everything head on.”

  “You did that today,” she said. “That’s why I can do this.” She brought her face close to his, brushing her lips against his.

  He closed his eyes then, to the sensation of falling. Clinging to Willow, he heard a moan escape the back of his throat. She silenced it with her lips. Then they were kissing, their mouths wordlessly finishing the conversation. He didn’t deserve her, and he told her by sucking gently on her lower lip.

  She wanted him anyway, and she expressed this with her fingertips, which caressed his neck, and with her tongue, tasting him and teasing him.

  He was so sorry to have hurt her, and his hands cradled her back to tell her so. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her top, smoothing her soft skin, apologizing. When he opened his eyes, the candlelight danced on the walls, and flickered in the dark pools of her eyes. “Willow,” he said, just to hear her name on his own lips. He tipped her carefully onto her side, so that her head rested against his chest, facing him. Then he lifted her top a few inches, placing one hand across her belly. He held it there.

  She put her own hand on top of his. “There’s nothing to see yet,” she whispered.

  He stroked her stomach anyway. “Do you feel different?”

  Willow nodded. “Morning sickness is real. And some days I’m so tired.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’m not. It’s just temporary.”

  He dragged a finger across her tummy, just at the waistband of her jeans. She closed her eyes with pleasure, her legs shifting slightly. He felt his own pulse grow ragged with desire. “Willow, is it safe to make love to a pregnant woman?”

  Her smile was playful. “If it wasn’t, the species would go extinct. Another symptom of pregnancy is that it makes you want to all the time.”

  “Good to know,” he chuckled.

  “It has something to do with increased blood flow in the area.” She rolled her torso onto his, her breasts pressing against his chest, her face buried in his neck. “Dane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is it safe to make love to a man with a broken leg?”

  He stroked her hair. “We could find a way. Maybe not on the kitchen counter.”

  “I guess the Jeep is out, then?”

  * * *

  Dane followed Willow and the flickering candle into the bedroom. He eased himself onto her bed, his back against the headboard. “Willow,” he said, his voice low. “Do you have a cushion I could use to prop up the gimp leg?”

  “Of course.” She found a pillow, and he hauled his knee onto it. She lay down on his other side, her body curled against him. But then she gave a troubled sigh. “This is the scene of the crime,” she whispered.

  He turned his head sharply. “Don’t say that, Willow. I don’t regret anything except being mean to you.”

  “Okay. But I’m still allowed to be a little embarrassed.”

  He stroked her chin with his thumb. “Really? If our mistake ends up changing my whole outlook on life, will you still be embarrassed?”

  Her face was thoughtful. “The trouble is that someday my child will ask me where babies come from. When your mother explained it to you, what did she say? My foster mother said, ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much…’”

  He kissed her on the head. “I have plenty of time to make an honest woman out of you then,” he said. “If you let me, I plan to love you very much.”

  She didn’t say anything, just pressed her face tighter against him.

  “Are you okay?”

  She gave a little sigh. “Yes. It’s just that I can feel the complications pressing in on me.”

  He put his hands on either side of Willow’s ribcage and lifted her, until her beautiful face looked down on his. Then he set her down on h
is chest, closing his eyes as he found her lips.

  Her mouth softened for him, her lips opening to receive him. She caressed his chest with two hands. “It’s hard to feel bad when you kiss me,” she whispered.

  He cupped his hands on her face. “All right. Because I can keep this up a good long time.” He was greedy with his next kiss, his lips hungry, his tongue encouraging her. Eventually she began to relax, her body melting onto his, her soft face heavy in his palms.

  “Mmm,” she said, stretching her leg across his body, straddling his hips. “Is this okay?” she whispered, her eyes flicking back toward his injured leg.

  “That is better than okay,” he said. He gathered the fabric of her top in his hands, pulling it over her head. It was just incredible to touch her again. He’d spent weeks wanting her, absolutely certain that he would never again have the chance. But here were his fingers, caressing the satin cups of her bra. And here was her hair, sliding over his chest.

  “You beautiful thing,” he whispered. He reached around her and unclasped the bra. Her breasts bounced free, and he gasped. “Christ,” he laughed. “You’re huge.”

  Willow looked down at her breasts, so round and creamy in the candlelight, their nipples taut. “You noticed? It’s another side effect of pregnancy. None of my bras fit anymore.”

  She really had no idea what she did to him. “I memorized your body, Willow. Because I was sure I’d never get to touch it again.” He cupped her breasts and she winced. He stilled his hand. “That hurts?”

  “They’re tender.”

  He lightened his touch, his thumbs just grazing the swollen skin. He pulled her closer, craning his neck. His tongue lightly swept her nipple, which hardened like a pebble where he licked it. Then, supporting her shoulders, he raised her body over his. He opened his lips wide, just resting her breast inside his mouth, holding her aloft to minimize the pressure. Her nipple wet, Willow moaned, her face falling into his hair.

  He guided her body back down onto his. He’d worn only athletic pants lately, since they fit over the brace on his knee. The soft pants also accommodated his raging hard-on, which was now right between Willow’s legs. As she kissed him, her body rubbed against his. She sighed into his mouth, her hands gripping his back, his neck, roaming into his hair.