by K. A. Tucker
I follow instructions, quietly wondering if I’m getting this bed ready for him or myself.
Or for us.
My nerves flutter in my stomach at the thought.
Jonah starts peeling off his outer layers and hanging them on one of several wire clotheslines above the woodstove, until he’s down to a clingy cream-colored crewneck that reminds me of long johns with its quilted material. The three buttons at the collar are undone, exposing the hard ridge of his collarbone and the top of the pad of muscle that stretches down over his chest.
“Give me your wet things.”
“All my things are wet,” I mutter, shrugging off the slicker and the flannel jacket. Even the hem of my tunic is soaked.
Jonah’s gaze stalls on my chest a moment—given I can see his nipples pebbled beneath his shirt, I can only imagine what mine look like—before holding out his hand.
I frown at his palm, near the base of his wrist. “You’re bleeding.”
He turns his hand to inspect the gash. “Ah, shit. Yeah, I scraped it on one of the boards over the windows. It’s nothing.”
“It’s bleeding. You must have a first-aid kit somewhere in here?” I dive down to begin rooting through the bag of basic survival gear—rope, a hunting knife, flashlight, iodine tablets for drinking water, ammunition—until I find a small white kit.
“I don’t do Band-Aids,” Jonah scoffs, tossing my raincoat over the line next to his things.
“Come here,” I command softly, peeling the plastic wrapper away from the beige bandage as I wander over to him.
After a moment’s pause, he holds his large, rough hand out.
With a painstakingly carefully touch, I wrap his injured palm, all the while feeling his intense gaze boring into my face. “There,” I murmur, smoothing my fingers over his forearm, quietly marveling at the corded muscle and the soft tickle of ash-blond hair beneath my fingertips. “You’ve already ruined enough of my clothes with your blood.” Words I never imagined saying to a guy.
“You asked why I kissed you.”
I hazard a glance upward, to find his piercing blue eyes alight with heat. “And you said it’s because you wanted to.”
“That wasn’t the right answer.” He reaches up to smooth the wet strands of clingy hair off my forehead, his gaze wild as it skitters across my features. “You have been driving me fucking insane for days and I couldn’t hold myself back for one more second.”
“Really?” I say weakly, even as the tiny hairs on my nape prickle. This intimidating, sharp-tongued but soft-hearted, beautiful man is telling me he wants me. Badly.
And that’s exactly what Jonah is: a man. All the other guys I’ve ever been with were just boys.
A swirl of nervous energy charges through my body, with a flooding warmth close on its heels.
It happens so fast.
One moment, I’m merely touching Jonah’s arm and he’s merely touching my cheek. The next, his hand is hooked around the back of my neck and he’s pulled my mouth to his. There’s nothing soft or tentative about this kiss. It’s as if he’s been counting down the minutes and hours since this morning, waiting for this moment, and now that it’s finally here, he’s not going to waste a single second.
I am stuck in the middle of an Alaska mountain range, making out with Jonah.
I can’t believe this is happening, but whatever I convinced myself of earlier, this is a bad idea that I’m fully committing myself to for tonight.
His lips ply mine open and I taste his mouth for the second time today as his tongue slides in. Mint gum and traces of the cream soda he had in the plane. I don’t even like cream soda, but on Jonah, I could drink an entire case.
My fingers begin to roam his body, crawling up his chest, reveling in its hard plains and his full, round shoulders, tracing the ridges of his collarbones and where they join his thick neck. Finally I let my arms loop around the back of his head so I can pull those full lips closer. If that’s even possible.
My brain is still trying to process what’s happening when he groans softly, “Calla.”
I can only moan in response, as every square inch of my body below my mouth begins burning for his touch.
He adjusts his stance, setting his feet farther apart. His free hand splays across the small of my back and he pulls me flush to him, our bodies contouring against each other. I feel the hard press of his erection against my stomach.
His mouth leaves mine to find my neck and I let out a giggle-moan, the feel of his beard against my skin both intoxicating and tickling. It’s followed by a straight-up deep moan as he drags his teeth over the same spot. “Your clothes are soaked,” he murmurs, his hands sliding over my backside to test the hem of my tunic and my leggings, pausing to grip each side of me tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh in a delicious way. He abruptly pulls away and takes two broad steps back. “Take them off,” he demands softly, his voice low. “I’ll hang them so they can dry.”
He folds his arms over his broad chest and waits quietly, patiently, his fierce gaze locked on me, his lips parted.
“You, too.” His pant legs are soaked.
“You first,” he fires back, his eyes burning.
The cabin is dead silent, save for the drumbeat of rain. He’s holding his breath, I realize.
With a deep swallow and a sudden case of nerves, I collect the hem of my long shirt and slide it up over my torso, over my chest, curling my arms to get it past my head.
Goose bumps erupt all over my skin as Jonah’s eyes drift downward over my white lace bra, down over my flat stomach.
He holds out a hand and I toss my shirt to him. And still he waits without a word.
I kick off my rain boots and cast them aside, and then, curling my thumbs under the waistband of my leggings, I peel them away, shimmying the wet cotton down my legs and off my ankles, my socks going with them.
Jonah’s eyes climb up my body and then drift again, stalling several times. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah.” Even though every inch of my skin feels like it’s on fire under his gaze.
“Better hurry up and finish, then,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, my clothes dangling from his grip.
We both know that my undergarments are dry. Well, dry as far as the rain is concerned.
I feel light-headed as I reach back to unclasp my bra, letting it loosen and slide from my arms. “These are real, by the way,” I murmur stupidly as cool air skates across my pebbled nipples.
His jaw clenches. “I see that.”
I take a deep breath and then pluck away the elastic band at my hips, letting the skimpy lace fall to the floor.
“Fuck,” he hisses. And then he’s heading for the line, rushing to stretch and clip my things up with the available clothespins, while I stand in the cool, dark cabin, trying to fight the urge to curl my arms around myself. Something tells me Jonah prefers confidence.
“In the bed. Now,” he mutters, and my heart begins to pound in my chest. I’ve never been with a guy who demands things like that. I never thought I’d find it a turn-on.
I drop to my knees on the foam pad—the width of a twin mattress—and pull the fully unzipped sleeping bag over my body, and then I quietly watch Jonah yank off his boots and socks.
He reaches over his head to peel his shirt off and I gasp as I get my first view of Jonah’s broad back, his olive-toned skin stretched across muscle that fans out from his spine and toward his shoulder blades.
He turns and gives me an equally impressive view of his chest, coated in a fine dusting of ash-blond hair that continues downward, into a long, dark trail that disappears under his belt.
I stare unabashed as he unfastens his belt and buckle with confidence, pushing everything off with one move.
A light gasp slips from my lips as I take the sight of him in, feeling my eyes widen. Those
unflattering baggy jeans hide the fact that his legs are thick and long and muscular, and coated with more of that ash-blond hair.
And that all of him is as well proportioned.
I feel my legs begin to part of their own volition.
I have to peel my eyes upward as Jonah strolls toward me, his smile wicked and cocky. God, I’ve come to love that smile. It vanishes just as quickly, though, the moment he’s settling his massive body down onto the tiny pad next to me, lifting the cover off my naked body to make room for himself beneath it.
His bare skin is hot against mine and yet I shiver.
How have we gone from one surprise hallway kiss this morning to this? I am not this girl, I don’t move this fast. And yet here I am, edging in closer to him, freely accepting his arm as he slides it beneath my head, welcoming his lips as they pry open my mouth, all while my heart pounds in my ears.
I drag my long fingernails over his beard for the first time, occupying myself with the delicious, scratchy feel of it while he seems eager to occupy himself with my body. Anticipation skitters along my spine, acutely aware of his hard length against my outer thigh as he toys with strands of my hair, before pressing his hand flat against my throat.
“Can’t say I expected this turn of events,” he murmurs, slowly smoothing his palm over my collarbone, over the contour of my left breast, stalling there a long moment before continuing down my stomach, my pelvis, farther . . . as far as he can reach, showing no hesitation as he seemingly memorizes my curves.
My breath hitches as that hand slides between my legs. He touches me far more gently than I thought him capable.
“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his coarse fingers unexpectedly soft as they sink into me.
“No, I’m not,” I lie behind a whisper and a kiss.
“Why are you nervous?”
I hesitate. “Because it’s the first time?” It sounds like a question.
He seizes my bottom lip between his teeth playfully, before releasing it. “And that’s the only reason?”
Do I admit the truth right now? That Jonah can be intimidating at times, that I’ve felt the strokes of his judgmental brush before and it wasn’t pleasant, and now I’m in a far more vulnerable position to be judged.
He pulls away to peer down at me, his hand pausing its ministrations, his blue eyes shrewd as they study mine. “You know you’re perfect, right?”
“Oh, of course I know that,” I joke with faux confidence, trying to hide the fact that he’s guessed at the real reason behind my nerves. “But I’m not your type. You know, blonde and leggy.”
Good idea, Calla. Let’s remind him of this right now.
His brow arches, but in his gaze I see confirmation of a guess. “That’s not my type.”
“But you said—”
“You’re my type.” His voice is gentle but he levels me with a steady gaze.
I pause, caught off guard by the seriousness in his eyes. “And what is that, exactly?”
With a deep sigh, he shifts, and then his mouth is following the same pathway of his palm. “Smart . . .” His tongue drags along my collarbone, back and forth several times, leaving a cool trail of wetness as it moves down to curl around my hardened nipple. “Fiery . . .”
I gasp as he sucks hard on it once before releasing it. His giant, muscular body shifts downward, pushing my legs apart as it moves, his lips pressing kisses down the center of my stomach, making my abdominal muscles tense. “Witty . . .”
I hold my breath as the coarse hairs of his beard tickle against my inner thighs.
He lingers there.
I shut my eyes and swallow hard, my mind screaming with anticipation.
“And, so damn beautiful . . .” He whispers, the words skating over me in a warm breeze.
I let out a soft moan the moment his mouth settles on me.
I can’t believe this is actually happening. I can’t believe Jonah is . . .
I stare up at the wooden ceiling of this shabby little cabin in wonder, my heartbeat racing as my hormones go into overdrive, flooding my body with heat.
He doesn’t relent, doesn’t pause, and the tiny, guttural sounds escaping his throat are heady with desire. Not before long, my nervousness has faded, and I find myself fumbling to weave my fingers through his hair, rolling my pelvis against his mouth, calling out his name with my desperate cries, the only sound for miles upon miles, save for the pounding rain.
By the time he climbs up to settle his hips between my thighs and push into me, I’m desperate for him.
My limbs curl around his body as I watch his broad chest heave with each thrust, and his hooded eyes alight with fire, our gazes locked, and I wonder how on earth I could ever possibly have not wanted this man.
“Am I going to wake up to find that gone in the morning, too?” Jonah murmurs, his voice scratchy and deep, but full of humor.
I trail the tips of my long nails through the soft, dark blond fuzz that coats Jonah’s chest, deliciously damp from the sheen of sweat, circling first one nipple and then the other. “No. I think we’ll keep this. But this . . .” My hand moves upward, sliding across his beard, tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the pad of my thumb smoothing over his soft lips. “I think I’ll clean this up a bit more for you.”
My head, settled against his chest, shakes with his deep chuckle. “What am I, your doll?”
I drag my fingers south, down the center of his chest ever so lightly, along the ridges of his stomach. I smile with delight when his muscles spasm. “More like my well-groomed action figure.”
It’s deathly silent in the cabin save for the constant drum of falling rain against the roof and his quickening breath as I follow the dark trail of hair below his belly button, itching to go farther, to tease his velvety-soft skin and watch him swell again.
“Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns.
I slide my thigh over his. “Who says I’m not ready to finish?” I can’t seem to get enough of Jonah. I can’t even look at his mouth without thinking of it on me; can’t think of his hands without remembering where he’s touched me. A nervous ripple courses through my body as the thought floods me now.
But I do hold back. I’ve found a blissful resting spot in the crook of his arm, my body pressed along his side, absorbing his warmth, and I don’t want to ruin the peaceful moment.
“That fire needs another log.”
I groan. “Don’t make me move.” The foam roll is narrow and thin, and it does little to disguise the fact that we’re lying on a cold, hard wood floor that’s seen countless boots, and yet it’s easy to forget about that right now.
My stomach lets out a deep growl. “What are we going to do about food?”
“We’re fine. There’s a bunch of water, and we’ve got enough of this alone to feed us for days.” He stretches an arm to reach into his duffel bag and pulls out two bags with leathery strips of meat in them.
“What is that? Beef jerky?”
“Basically.” He holds up another with a deep rose color. “And this one’s salmon.”
I crinkle my nose at that.
“I take it that’s a no to salmon?”
“I hate fish.”
“Man, you are in the wrong part of the world.”
“Where’d you get them, anyway?”
“Ethel. Remember her?”
“The woman who threatened to cut off her son’s hand? Vaguely.”
Jonah chuckles. “She gave them to me the last time I was at her village.” He pulls a dark brown strip from the first bag and tears off a chunk with his teeth, his jaw tensing in a sexy way as he chews. “Here, try it.” He holds it out for me.
I sniff. It has a smoky scent. “Is it any good?”
“Better than any store-bought stuff I’ve ever had. And it’s all we have to eat, so come on
.” He taps my lips. “Take a bite.”
I part my lips hesitantly, letting Jonah slide it in, his watchful gaze on my mouth as I tear off the tiniest piece between my front teeth. I let the intense flavor build on my tongue for a moment. “Not bad,” I admit as I chew and swallow, and then burrow into his side with a shudder, the air cool against my bare back.
“Give me a minute.” He presses a kiss against my forehead and then deftly maneuvers me off him.
I huddle under the covers and watch him grab another log from the small pile in the corner and carefully fit it into the woodstove, completely unabashed by his stark nudity. There’s certainly nothing left of that skinny teenaged boy from the picture. He’s all broad muscle and strength, perfectly proportioned, his thighs solid and thick. He makes Corey look like a gangly teen, and Corey’s only two years younger than him.
“Do you go to a gym around here?”
“Not in a while.”
“Then how—”
“Crazy good Norwegian genes. You should have seen the forearms on my grandfather. And I stay active.” The flames begin to grow, adding light to the dim cabin and reflecting off his eyes, making the blue in them dance.
“Active like the past hour active?” Because the way Jonah was moving over me, his muscles corded and straining, his skin slick, he definitely got a workout. My thighs tighten reflexively at the thought. I can still feel him inside me.
Sharp eyes flicker to me before shifting back to the fire. As usual, he’s figured out what I’m really asking and he’s deciding if he’ll make me drag it out of him or offer it up freely. “I was seeing a pilot from the coast guard for a while last year.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. She transferred back to the Lower Forty-eight.”
“Do you miss her?” What was she like? Did you spend a night on a dirty cabin floor by the fire with her, too? Would you still be with her if she hadn’t left?
He grabs the poker and jabs it into the stove. “I knew she wasn’t sticking around, so I never let myself get attached.”
I fidget with the slider on the sleeping bag’s unfastened zipper, trying to push aside the dour thought that springs up. Just like you won’t get attached to me because I’m leaving. Another selfish thought quickly follows, that admits I want Jonah to grow attached to me. To pine and hurt for me after I’m gone. To care that I’m not there.
