by Leah Braemel
“Looks like it.” Meg shook her head as they watched the driver of the other car open his door.
“He looks younger than Noah. I’ll bet this is his first winter driving.”
“Probably,” Meg agreed. “But I want a sniff of his breath. He stumbled when he got out of the car—it could just be nerves but... Did you notice him weaving or anything when he was following you?”
“I only noticed him behind me about a mile back and he was far enough back that I didn’t worry. I tapped my brakes to warn him I was slowing down, and I’d signaled.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Ry. And no one’s hurt.” She dug out a spiral notebook from her coat pocket. “You got your paperwork?”
Hoping she didn’t notice his hands shaking, he handed it to her.
“I’ll go get his license and insurance information. You call it in to the O.P.P.”
He blew out a breath and made the call as Meg headed across the road. Her posture changed—shoulders changed, face went blank and stern. If he’d been pulled over when he was that age, he’d have pissed his pants facing Meg in full cop mode.
His call made and the local cops on the way, he slipped and slid across the road. As he approached, the passenger punched the driver in the shoulder. “Only you could get in a smuckadent with a Mountie as a witness. You are so busted, dude.”
After halfheartedly returning his friend’s punch, the teen hunched his shoulders. “My mom’s gonna be pissed that I wrecked her car. She’s never gonna let me drive again.”
“Considering what you’ve done to her car, I could see her point. Especially when she learns you were driving too fast and not paying attention the road.” The look Meg gave him made the teen blanch even whiter. “First rule is to drive slower, especially in conditions like this. Second rule, even in good conditions, is to leave more space between you and the guy in front of you. If you’d hung back a bit, this could have been avoided. Third rule is stop fiddling with your iPod when you’re supposed to be driving. Leave that to your passenger to work. In fact, it would be better to turn off any distractions completely.”
Seeing her in control like that made her submission to him in the bedroom that much sweeter. He’d have a full-blown hard-on if he wasn’t furious that the kid had put both himself, his passengers and everyone else on the road in danger. All his concerns about leaving Porter’s Mills, about walking out on his responsibilities faded. This just proved he wanted to be with Meg, wanted to spend every minute he could with her.
By the time the local police arrived the freezing rain had changed to lacy flakes and they’d taken refuge in the truck. The constable grimaced when she introduced herself as being from V division.
“Nunavut, huh? Tough post—heard someone took a pot shot at one of your residences recently.”
“Yeah, it’s happened a couple times now. Luckily no one was hurt this time.”
Ryan had freaked the first time he’d seen the headline that some drunken local had decided to share his displeasure at being arrested by unloading his shotgun at the arresting officer’s home. He’d shared none of Meg’s nonchalance at the event, then or now. Especially since they had lost an officer only a few months after Meg had moved north.
“Well, let’s go see what we’ve got.” They followed the cop across the road.
Once everyone had given statements about what had happened, the cop handed Ryan back his paperwork. “You’re okay to continue, but take it easy. Good luck, Corporal, and keep safe.”
Ryan took Megan’s hand and the two of them slid and slipped their way back to the Jeep.
“Are you all right to drive?” Meg asked quietly as Ryan buckled his seat belt.
“Yup. I’m fine. I guess you think we’re pretty pathetic letting a little bit of ice and snow stop us compared to what you’re used to up north.”
“Nope. Snow is snow is snow. It takes control away from everyone.” She glanced at him, assessment in her gaze. “You know if you had to be in an accident, this was probably the best place for it.”
If he had to be in an accident, Ryan thought the best place was a flat spot right in front of a hospital, and surrounded by something that would pillow them. He didn’t even want to think about the dangers she faced in her job. The cop’s reminder about how someone had shot up her partner’s house had brought back all the worry he’d had about that part of her job too.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Meg slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “No one got hurt, Ry.”
This time, he didn’t say.
Chapter Two
The snow whipping into drifts by the open fields, Ryan breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the “Welcome to Porter��s Mill” sign. They’d need to change it once Amy delivered, since she’d tip the population over the one thousand mark.
The street lamps dotting the single block main street of the town cast a fairy tale look over the snow-covered street. Megan craned her neck as they drove past Taylor’s Hardware Store. “Oh my, it looks like someone went wild with the Christmas decorations this year. Was there a sale on red ribbon?”
“It’s a contest the council set up—part of a drive to keep tourism up through the Christmas season. Then there’ll be a Valentine’s Day contest, followed by the annual maple syrup festival. Got to give the tourists a reason to drive three hours away from their malls in the winter.” Not that the winter had been bad the past few years, but compared to the summer months, all the businesses hurt in the lull. Still it was part of living in cottage country.
But Megan was right, between the hundreds of yards of ribbon and dozens of decorated pine boughs bedecking not only the hardware store, but the other buildings too, it looked like there’d been an explosion in a Christmas factory.
As they approached the mill he wondered if she’d see the beauty he did. Last time she’d seen it, winter had receded and while spring was threatening, the world had been brown—the ground, the trees, everything bland. The trees ringing the pond sparkled in the bright light of his headlamps, their trunks black compared to the white snow coating the ground. Laden by their burden of both ice and snow, the pines at the far end of the pond arched over until their tips hit the ground.
“It’s like a picture postcard,” Megan said softly. “The trees are gorgeous with all that snow on them. I’ve missed them up north.” She studied the mill, its outside spotlights highlighting the eight-foot-wide wreath he and his students had created. “You did it. I couldn’t imagine how it would look with all the scaffolding around it last time I was here, but you’ve made it so it looks like we’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century.”
“I told you it’s been featured in a few travel magazines lately, right?” Keeping in touch by email and Skype left him confused some days as to what he’d told her and what he hadn’t. Thank heavens those days were done. “The town council said it’s one of the tourists’ main reason for visiting Porter’s Mills these days.” Thousands of both dollars and man hours had been poured into it, but given the point was for the renovations not to be apparent, he took satisfaction in Megan’s simplification.
“I’ll take you on a tour tomorrow.” He turned off the ignition and opened the door. A blast of frigid air chilled the wet clothes that had just started to warm from the truck’s heater and he shivered. “Come on, let’s get inside so we can get out of these wet things.”
After hefting Meg’s massive suitcase from the back of the truck, Ryan wrestled it along the path between the mill parking lot and the stairway leading to his loft over the mill. A double set of footprints left by Derek and Sophie, judging by their treads, were already half-drifted over.
“We’re around back and up the stairs.” He juggled Meg’s suitcase to the other side to dig his keys out of his pocket. As he pushed the door open, his stomach rumbled at the scent of whatever Amy had sent over.
Whoever had delivered the food had thoughtfully left a light on in the kitchen, and the Christmas tree lights twinkled in the far cor
ner. Compared to the decorations Amy had put up at her house, his were meager, but it still had a welcoming feel. Someone—most likely Derek—had set wood in the fireplace so all it needed was a match set to the kindling. And someone—probably Sophie on Amy’s orders since Derek’s and Noah’s idea of cleaning were no different than his own—had tidied the kitchen counters, swept the floors and shoved his skates and hockey equipment he’d dumped by the door into the closet.
Meg stamped her feet on the matt outside before stepping in. She took off her hat and banged the snow that had gathered on it against her thigh as she examined the rough wood beams they’d left in the ceiling. “It’s gorgeous. They’ve done a wonderful job—you got so much done so quickly.”
Welcome home, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat on the onslaught of lust pulsing through him, tinged with sadness that this wasn’t her home, and probably never would be. His home would be wherever she was, and they could always stay here whenever they visited.
“What?”
“Nothing. And yeah, we busted our asses to get this done.” Once he’d hung up her coat, he held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
He led her through his bedroom, ignoring the bed and how he wanted to crawl into it with her, and headed into the bathroom where he turned on the taps to the jetted double-sized tub.
“Oh my God, what did you do? Have that thing specially made for you? It’s massive.”
Any tub would have been massive compared to the dinky shower stall she’d had at her latest posting. “I know how much you love soaking in the bath so when we were designing this place, I made sure I got the biggest one we could fit into this space.”
It had taken a redesign of the loft, and reinforcing the floor, as well as a special order, but he’d managed it. Two weeks after it had been finished, he’d left to visit Meg so they could spend Thanksgiving together. It was during that visit he’d made up his mind to leave Porter’s Mills. When he’d told Derek and Amy that he didn’t want them to rent it out, he knew it was a shortsighted idea. But it was his personal space, his retreat, and the idea of sharing it with anyone other than Meg just felt wrong.
Once he’d ensured the water was to the right temperature, he focused completely on Meg, who had already pulled her sweatshirt over her head, revealing a set of thermal underwear beneath.
“Not very sexy, I’m afraid.”
“But warm. And practical.” Practical. That was Meg to a T. So unlike him. At least until he’d inherited Noah and Sophie, when practicality had been shoved upon him.
He pushed her hands away from the button at the waistband of her pants. “Let me.”
The thermal underwear wasn’t a union suit, thankfully. Before the steam from the hot water completely obscured the mirror, she stood in front of him naked. The lights highlighted the ivory column of her neck and the soft skin of her shoulders that hid her strength from the unwary. He cupped the undercurves of her breasts, toying with the coral nipples until her eyes closed and her breath hitched.
He skated his hands over her shoulders, down over her belly, surreptitiously checking for bruising or welts from the seat belt, grateful to find none. Unable to resist, he reached between her legs and his fingers were immediately drenched. “Christ, you’re wet.”
She cupped his erection, outlining its length over the fabric. “And you’re hard.”
Hard was an understatement. “That’s all for you, babe.”
“Right back at you.” She splayed her hands over his pecs and hmmed. “I’ve been fantasizing about getting you back in me since the day you left.”
So had he. “Assume the position, Corporal.”
Oh man, he loved it when she dropped into parade rest position with her hands clasped behind her back like that, giving him permission to do whatever the hell he wanted. And right now all he wanted was to taste her.
He dropped to his knees and tapped her ankle until she widened her stance. He buried his head between her thighs and licked her velvety folds. Her taste exploded on his tongue like a honeyed candy and he swallowed it down like a man starving. Steam from the shower fogged up the mirror, warming the room so there was no need to rush. So he didn’t. Her moans echoing off the tiles, she braced herself against the counter and lifted one leg over his shoulder, opening herself to him. He lapped up her cream, teased her clit with his tongue until her thighs trembled and she whimpered what might have been his name.
Her ankle tightened around his neck, pressing his face harder against her cleft. Using two fingers, he breached her drenched pussy at the same time he nipped at her clit. That simple combination ignited her climax. He caught her before she could sag to the floor, cradling her head against his chest until her breathing slowed.
“Wow.”
“You’ve been saving that one up for a while.”
“Ya think?” She squirmed, her hip pressing his dick in a delicious taunt. “Can I return the favor?”
“Later, first I want to get you warmed up.”
“I thought that’s what you just did.” She tilted her head back so she could look at him. If he hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, he’d have dropped to his knees to worship her.
“That’s act one.” He lifted her off him and stood to check the water. Perfect temperature. “Climb in.”
“You always were bossy.” But once she’d settled into the tub and the water lapped at the underswells of her breasts, her eyes closed and a peaceful look crept onto her face. “Heaven.”
He wasted no time in peeling out of his clothes. “Scoot down a bit.”
Once she did, he climbed in behind her, and pulled her back against him. Yes, this was heaven. It would continue to be heaven if she stayed right where she was, in his bath, in his place. Except that was an impossible wish—she couldn’t stay, not without giving up her dreams. Something he’d never ask anyone else to do, the way he’d been forced to.
Intent upon not wasting a minute he had with her, Ryan dunked a face cloth into the water and squeezed the warm water over her breasts. Droplets sparkled as they trickled over the swells, hovered at the ends of her nipples before dropping into the tub. He soon dumped the cloth, using his hands to scoop more water over her, then picked up the rosewater soap Amy had left him.
With a quiet hum of approval, Megan closed her eyes and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder as he lathered her breasts. “I’m sorry about your truck. I feel responsible.”
“Not your fault.” He cupped her breast in his palm, trying not to imagine what might have happened if they’d gone over the guardrail.
“You drove all that way just to meet me and what happens? Your truck gets smashed up. I should have rented a car, or stayed in a hotel overnight until the weather was better.”
“It was my choice to come pick you up, and it wasn’t your fault that kid didn’t know how to drive in the winter. Besides, the weatherman hadn’t predicted freezing rain, so you probably would have tried driving up here and ended up right where we are anyway.”
The thought of Meg being in a rental car—she’d probably be frugal and rent a compact—being hit by that stupid in-a-rush teenager chilled his gut. He could have lost her forever. Derek was right. It was time for him to leave Porter’s Mills. He didn’t want to waste another minute not being with Meg.
He lowered her head and kissed the soft skin beneath her ear. “I love you.”
I always have. I always will.
Her breath hitched when his hand dipped beneath the water and over her belly. Her legs fell open, pressing against his, as his fingers continued their journey over her mound and between her folds. He toyed with her clit, teasing it until her pulse sped up. When he speared her sheath with two fingers, her hips arched into his hand, causing water to slosh up dangerously close to the top.
“Oh God, yeah.” She writhed against him, rubbing her ass against his erect cock in an erotic torture.
On occasion he wished he was a photograp
her, that he could capture the dreamy expression on her face as she started to come, could forever immortalize the creamy hue of her breasts with their cinnamon nipples now taut and hard. Oh he could sculpt her expression and her face, but it would be hard marble, which couldn’t capture the warmth, or clay, which couldn’t match the softness. But no camera, drawing or sculpture could convey how her body clenched and rippled around his fingers in sync with the soft puffs of breath with each stroke. Nor could they capture the heady scent of her arousal, or the spicy taste of the cream coating his fingers.
Her moans vibrated through him, echoing off the marble walls, until his balls drew up close to his body. He’d had to satisfy himself with handjobs since he’d seen her last, and as much as he wanted to bury his cock deep in her body, this time was all about her needs, not his.
Without warning, her hand clasped his and pulled him from her body. Before he could object, she shifted to face him, her eyelids heavy and sensual. “I want you inside me. Not just your fingers.”
Their mutual groan as she straddled him and lowered herself onto his shaft mingled with the rhythmic waves of water slopping over the side. He dug his fingers into her hips as she pressed him into the tight fit of her pussy. She felt so fucking tight, so fucking good.
“I missed you, Ryan,” she whispered, her voice husky with need. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He let her set the pace, content to simply feel her both inside and out. From the muscles rippling around his shaft to the silken skin of her thighs caressing his, the strong grip of her hands on his shoulders as she lifted and lowered herself, to the soft tendrils of hair brushing the side of his face. With her breasts so close, he cupped them and alternated between suckling and biting the sensitive peaks.
He slipped one hand between them and found the sensitive bud. His lips curved into a smile against her breast at the way her body spasmed with each stroke. He suckled harder, feeling her pussy tighten with each tug of his mouth.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, biting into the skin; he couldn’t care less. From the way she was vibrating, she was close, so close to her orgasm. He used the bite of pain to hold off his own impending orgasm and held her still, as he drove into her with hard and fast thrusts. A shift of angle churned the water into a cascade over the sides but pressed him deep against her core. Fuck the floor, fuck whatever was downstairs—it didn’t matter if it flooded into the mill room. He needed to show her how much he loved her by giving her this pleasure.
