Sleigh Ride to Love

by Rosemary J. Anderson

  Reaching for a bottle, she tipped shampoo into her hand, tritely thinking she’d do as they sang in that film and, “wash the man out of her hair.”

  Later, snuggled up in bed, the curtains open so she could see the stars in the night sky, her thoughts wandered back to Zachariah. She’d met him years ago when she’d first started coming to the Iditarod with her father. Zachariah Black was more than he first appeared. An eminent obstetrician practicing here in Anchorage, he was also a seasoned musher and competed every year in the Iditarod. But he was also the most annoying man she had ever met. Interfering in her life, voicing his unwanted opinions, giving unsolicited advice, and messing with her emotions, he was so, so…

  Searching her mind for the right words, she sighed in defeat—so devastatingly handsome! Although, on second thought, handsome was perhaps not the right word, gorgeous yes, sexy yes and yet so much more. Closing her eyes, she recalled his image. A true alpha male, seeing women as helpless females to be protected at all costs. He was rugged and outdoorsy one minute, yet sophisticated and charming the next, and he oozed sex appeal. He was also gentle, she’d seen that in the way he tended his dogs, and he was kind, she’d seen that when he dealt with all the women that flocked to him, drawn by his obvious wealth and sex appeal. But not to her was he kind and gentle, oh no, to her he was as bossy as hell, a pigheaded despot, and she hated him.

  Sighing in frustration, she closed her eyes. Sleep was what she needed, she had to be up early to see to her dogs, and lying here thinking about Zachariah Black wasn’t conducive to peaceful slumber. However, the image of the man just kept filtering into her mind, causing her to remember the time she had first met him, nine years ago.

  She’d been just sixteen and full of romantic ideals, of love and marriage and a happy ever after, and he’d been a very serious twenty-nine, focused, intense, and—married. At first he’d been gentle, smiling indulgently as she’d followed him around, taking time to include her when he’d converse with his wife and her father, but as she got older he’d changed. He kept his distance, telling her to find a boyfriend, someone of her own age, and he’d meddled, telling her father that the Iditarod was no place for a woman, let alone a child. The male chauvinist pig! And—she ground her teeth—he’d been meddling ever since. Each year he’d turn up for the race and each year she locked horns with him in one way or another. It was funny—she frowned—but clashing swords with Zachariah had become almost a habit, a habit that she’d reluctantly admitted, she enjoyed. Sometimes, just for the hell of it she went out of her way to annoy him. On one memorable occasion she’d turned up for dinner barely clothed in a Lycra miniskirt and a bikini top in lurid pink. She grinned, remembering that she’d nearly frozen to death. But it had been worth it when she’d seen the almighty fury on his face at the sight of her exposed skin.

  Coming back to the present, she turned on her side and thumped the pillow. She sighed deeply, her eyes fluttering as sleep began to claim her. And then there was that one other occasion. Holly stirred restlessly, and threw herself irritably onto her back again. Opening her eyes, she stared blindly up at the ceiling, evoking the distant memory.

  Chapter Two

  It had been last year, the last Iditarod in which her father had competed. She had been there supporting him, sorting out paperwork and supplies when Zachariah had arrived. But not the witty, laughing Zachariah of previous years, this time he was somehow darker, kind of remote, morose even. It had been eight months after his wife had died and he had been still grieving her loss. She recalled how people had avoided eye contact, everyone except her father who, with his usual brashness, had slapped Zachariah on the shoulder and had gone on to talk about the race. Zachariah had all but ignored her throughout the evening and conversed with her father whilst she had sat quietly watching his almost expressionless face. Her stare had been concentrated, noticing everything, every slight cynical twist of his lips, every flick of his long lashes and every new shadow that had entered eyes. Finally, the evening had drawn to a close, with her father expressing his fatigue and going off to bed, leaving her alone in the flickering firelight with Zachariah. He had turned from staring into the fire to staring at her, his eyes dark and brooding. The silence had been long and tense until Holly, giving up trying to find something to say, had stirred restlessly, feeling uncomfortable under his prolonged look. The conversation that followed had been short, but how she remembered it, she remembered it for its directness, for its brevity, but most of all for its sweetness.

  “Holly,” he murmured, his voice like dark, thick, molten chocolate sending shivers of delight up and down her spine. “Why is it such a beautiful woman as you trailing along behind your father when you should be at home with a husband and a bunch of kids of your own?”

  Recalling clearly how she had with some embarrassment stuttered a response, she now cringed at her gushing naïveté. However, he hadn’t laughed or put her down, but instead had smiled gently, that charming, whimsical smile of his, and she’d been completely and instantly lost. Forgetting all her previous dislike of him, forgetting he was the enemy, and forgetting for that brief moment in time that he was a widower looking for solace, she’d tested her femininity and flirted engagingly.

  Another drink followed, some unimportant forgotten conversation and he’d been walking her to her room. But they had never got there. Now she squirmed with mortification as she recalled how at her door she had coyly asked him where his room was, and had been secretly delighted when he had indicated the door opposite.

  Minutes later and they were inside his room, and seconds later she had overridden his token objections and had been in his bed—naked!

  Closing her eyes on her thoughts, she winced as she remembered pleading with him to make love to her, and how at first he’d demurred, reminding her of his friendship with her father, telling her she was too young, and too inexperienced. But then, after she had thrown her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts up against him, he’d relented and asked her if she was sure, and if she was still a virgin?

  Groaning, Holly turned back on her side. And how she had lied! Yes, she had said confidently, yes she was sure, and no, she wasn’t a virgin, and yes, she was protected. Telling him how badly she wanted him, wanted him to love her, wanted to feel him inside her, penetrating her, possessing her, making her his—if only for the night.

  Coming back to the present Holly raised her arm and covered her eyes in shame. God she had wanted him! Wanted him so badly she had lied. Of course she had been a virgin, she’d hardly had the chance to be anything else, not with her father always around acting as chaperone. But, Zachariah was all man and he stirred something inside her. And even when they were arguing and she was hating him with every fiber of her being, she had felt those very same feelings, a helplessness, a femininity that only his presence created. Zachariah had been so beautiful that night, so rugged and so very masculine, that she’d thrown caution into the wind. How she’d ached for him, ached, to have his lips on hers and his cock buried deep inside her, and when he’d touched her, even a small accidental brush of his fingers, she had thrilled at the contact of his skin against hers.

  Reliving that fateful night, Holly ran her fingers caressingly over her breasts, remembering his touch.

  His hands were so large and slightly callused as they kneaded her breasts, and as he lowered his head and his warm mouth closed over a nipple she nearly screamed in ecstasy. The stroke of his tongue and the abrasive graze of his teeth were almost her undoing, and she groaned, her head thrashing from side to side. Holding the back of his head she pushed him down her body and eagerly opened her legs, begging him to taste her. His tongue was caressingly acrobatic, pushing into her pussy and tasting her smooth, silky essence. Then…

  Suppressing a groan she momentarily came back to the present, gazing into the darkness with unseeing eyes.

  Her eyes closed again…

  Then his teeth closed over her clitoris. Completely losing control, her limbs be
gan to shake with the intensity of her emotions. A tingle that had originated at her clit began to soar throughout her body like fingers of fire, scorching her nerves and flaring in her veins. Then had come his possession! Zachariah moved back up her body, his lips tender as they caressed her shaven mound. Gently he licked her stomach, taking a moment to dip his tongue into her naval. Slowly he savored the skin covering her ribs, licking and kissing her flesh until he reached her breasts. Cupping her golden globes, his thumbs rubbing at her rosy crests, he stared intensely into her eyes. Holding her gaze he lifted his hips and pushed his cock deep into her aching, wet pussy. She screamed! Screamed with the pain, screamed with the force of his possession, and screamed with the realization of what she'd done.

  Shock stilled Zachariah’s movements and he stared into her tear-washed eyes in disbelief, and she felt shame. The shame of a virgin throwing away her purity on a whim of desire, the shame of his knowing of her innocence, and the shame of being an easy lay. But as the pain receded things changed and she still wanted him. Completely, desperately, unashamedly. After that it she lost all control, and almost of their own accord her hips began to move, thrusting up against his in an invitation as old as time.

  Squirming at her thoughts, she recalled pleading with him, begging him in a desperate voice to fuck her and fuck her hard.

  And he had.

  Losing herself back in time, she relived the moment.

  A moment’s indecision and then he began to move. His hips moving like pistons, he began thrusting his cock into her hard and fast. Lifting her legs she wrapped them around his waist, her body and her words urging him on.

  “Fuck me, Zach, please fuck me.”

  No matter what the future might be, at the moment what she was doing, what they were doing felt so right, so very right. She was made for him and him for her. Their joining was kismet, his body fitting perfectly together with hers or so she told herself. Then suddenly, giving a primal cry of elation, she felt the rise of an orgasm, the tingle that was the prelude to a climax, and she began to spin wildly out of control. His groan, a primitive earthy sound that rumbled from his chest, mingled with hers, and she exploded into an orgasm crying out his name in exaltation.

  The last thing she’d remembered before she’d fallen asleep was of Zachariah pulling out of her, leaving behind an emptiness, an aching void that only he could assuage.

  However, the morning after had been the worst.

  She remembered it with shame.

  Holly opened her eyes, she ached, ached in places she hadn’t known she had. Then it all came flooding back. Slowly she looked to her right. There he was. She stared. He was so beautiful, his skin tanned and glowing, his chiseled jaw with its dark stubble indicating he needed a shave. Her glance travelled lower, from his firm muscled shoulders down over his muscular chest, past the hard male nipples, his clearly defined ribcage and lower still. She gulped, and could feel her eyes growing wider as she took in his flat, rigid stomach and lower, to where the white sheet covered his manhood. She wanted to reach out and touch, touch the thick bulge that was tenting the sheet. She wanted to touch his hard, thick cock. She stilled as he moved. Oh god, she couldn’t be here when he awoke, it would be too humiliating. She couldn’t believe she’d teased and tormented him, almost begging him to make love to her. And she couldn’t believe she’d given no thought to the possible consequences. Quickly throwing back the sheet she scrambled around picking up bits of her clothing. Hastily getting dressed she took one last lingering look at the figure in the bed and scurried to her own room.

  Full of self-recrimination, she spent the morning avoiding all the places she’d knew he’d be.

  It was later in the morning when he’d sought her out and confronted her with her lies. Trying not to cry, she tried to brazen it out. It wouldn’t do for him to know that she’d fallen so helplessly in love with him. Grabbing her arm as she went to move past him, he swung her around to look at him.

  “Holly, I need to know that you are okay. That last night was the same for you as it was for me, just a pleasant interlude, and one which we must never repeat.”

  Pulling free of his restraining arm, Holly stared him straight in the eyes and lifted her chin, even whilst her heart was breaking.

  “Of course it was, Zachariah. Don’t go thinking that because we had sex that I’m going to declare my undying love, because I’m not. You were an itch I’d felt for a long time, and last night, well, last night it was time to give that old itch a scratch. So sorry to disappoint you but I needed to leave my childhood behind and enjoy my sexuality, and thanks to you, I am now able to do so.”

  “Somehow I don’t believe you, Holly, your father…”

  “My father,” she interrupted, “has kept me his little girl for far too long, and now I intend to live my life my way, not the way my father wants me to live. And believe me last night has given me the confidence to do so, so no sweat.”

  Zachariah stared at her, his jaw tight.

  “Okay, Holly, have it your way, but should there be any consequences you must…”

  “There won’t be any, Zachariah. I’m not so foolish as to go to bed with a man without some sort of protection, so as I said, no worries.”

  Giving a slight nod of his head Zachariah let her go and she could feel his silent presence as he watched her climb the stairs to her room.”

  Coming back to the present she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  She’d been successful, successful beyond her wildest imaginings in convincing him that the whole incident had been nothing more than a pleasant interlude. Her woman-of-the-world act had served her well, maybe too well. She sniffed, wiping her nose on the corner of the duvet. Maybe she should have cried all over him, told him she’d made a terrible mistake in throwing away her virginity in a moment of madness. Maybe then he’d have married her. But would she have wanted him that way? Yes, she thought, knowing with utmost certainty she would have had him any way she could, such was her lack of pride.

  Holly sighed. That had been last year and they’d never mentioned that night again. Lifting a trembling hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks, she firmly put the past and Zachariah behind her, at least for the moment.

  Chapter Three

  Morning came and Holly was up bright and early, her stomach fluttering with butterflies. Showering quickly she consigned breakfast to much later and went out to deal with her sleigh and dogs. Checking the supplies for one last time she turned to see Zachariah watching her, his scrutiny intense, soul searching.

  Ignoring him she doggedly turned back to the task at hand.

  “What do you want?” she asked rudely.

  “Nothing in particular. I was just checking to see if you had come to your senses and were prepared to withdraw from the race?”

  “Oh my God! You’re still at it aren’t you? Always harping on about me being a woman and not being prepared for the rigors of the journey. You really are the limit!”

  “I’m glad that you are at least prepared to admit the journey is going to be rigorous, that at least shows a modicum of common sense. And as to you being a woman—” His gaze swept her thickly clothed person, lingering on her heaving breasts. “In my opinion, sexist though it may be, the lack of comfort, the mental and physical stamina required, and the hardships of such a trek are too arduous for a female, especially one so delicate and pampered as yourself. But…” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “If you insist on undertaking such a foolish and hazardous expedition, I can’t stop you. But at least I can ensure you have all you need, and make certain you are as prepared as you can be.”

  Biting her tongue on the words she wanted to scream at him, Holly instead took a deep breath and, drawing back her shoulders, lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eyes.

  “You keep harping on at me about competing in the Iditarod, but what about Astrid? I don’t see you trying to dissuade her.” She stared hard at Zachariah. “Nothing to say? I didn’t think so. Well, I can
assure you, Zachariah, that I am completely prepared for any and all possibilities. You know full well that for years I helped my father, learning from him, and as to the rest, well we can only trust in God. But I thank you for your concern.”

  “Don’t sweat it, honey. But believe me, my concern for your well-being is more because of your father than you, for the respect I had for him, first as a man and a friend, and then as a musher. However, as I can’t change your mind, I wish you good luck all the same.”

  Angry and also somewhat hurt by his reply, Holly stubbornly set her mouth. Refusing to answer or even wish him good luck, she turned her back. However, not before she saw Astrid Buchannan sidling up to him.

  * * * *

  This was it! The musher in front of her had just set off and in two minutes she would be on her way. Holly felt nervous tension flutter in her stomach and dry her mouth. Her thickly gloved hands tightened on the handlebar of her sleigh. She looked forward, out toward her team of dogs. Champing at the bit, they were energized by the excitement in the atmosphere and eager to be on their way.

  Her dogs had been her father’s dogs, Siberian Huskies, blue eyed, tough, experienced and loyal. Her safety was to a certain extent in their control and she had the utmost faith in them. Her thoughts drifted to her father. She could almost feel him beside her urging her on, encouraging, but also cautioning her not to take too many risks. She remembered that although competitive, he had always been safety conscious, checking and double-checking everything, equipment, supplies and even the route. She recalled how he’d get before a race, tense, excited, efficient and strangely almost absentminded, forgetting some of the most simple things, his thoughts on the race and nothing else. He’d always enjoyed entering the Iditarod, not necessarily to win, but for the experience, for the testing of his wits, and for the challenge and sheer exhilaration of it, a bit like Zachariah Black in fact. She tutted, why did he always have to encroach into all her thoughts and deeds?