All Grown Up

by Janice Maynard

  She stared at it, a small smile on her face. “I love mine burnt to a nice dark brown.”

  “Says the woman who doesn’t cook. The trick is to get it hot and gooey without involving carcinogens.”

  “Oh, pooh.” She crouched and thrust her marshmallow deep into the flames. “Live a little, Sam.”

  Again, that odd frisson of awareness. He wasn’t convinced she knew how her sharp-edged repartee was affecting him. But maybe he was naive. Perhaps Annalise Wolff was planning sexual revenge and knew exactly what she was doing. He couldn’t imagine what that would look like or what her goal could be other than to torment him, but already his body betrayed him.

  He wanted to strip her naked and take her there on the rag rug, uncaring that snow drifted deeper and deeper against the windows or that he and Annalise were like oil and water.

  Here—and now—he wanted her.

  Before he could formulate a suitably masculine retort, Annalise stood abruptly. “Hold this, please.”

  When he took the coat hanger from her without complaint, she stripped off her jacket and fanned her face. “I think I’m the one melting, not the marshmallow.”

  Good Lord. That damned silk blouse clung to her arms and breasts with static electricity, outlining pert nipples that riveted his attention even through the evidence of a lacy bra.

  He turned away, shocked by how quickly his arousal segued from piqued interest to heavy, molten lust. “Here. Take it back,” he croaked. “I’m not going to be responsible for cooking this. Do it your own way.”

  “Thank you,” she mocked. “I will.”

  As he rotated his coat hanger in precise increments, Annalise laughed when her marshmallow burst into flame. The sound of that husky, sensual chuckle did to his insides what the hot fire had done to puffy white sugar. He was ablaze suddenly, so hungry for her he was actually stunned.

  “Blow it out,” he said. “Before you ruin it completely.”

  She waited two clicks—two interminable seconds—and then she did as he commanded. “You just can’t stand not to boss me around. That doesn’t bode well for our collaboration.”

  “It’s not a collaboration,” he insisted. “You’re in charge.”

  She snorted. “Yeah right.” Reaching for the rest of her s’more sandwich, she trapped the marshmallow between the other layers and extracted the coat hanger.

  “You’re gonna burn your tongue.”

  Annalise bit into her messy s’more and groaned. “Wow. These are amazing. Great idea, Sam.”

  He pulled his perfectly browned marshmallow from the fire and made his own s’more. He was hungry. And the melted chocolate and marshmallow smelled wonderful. But he couldn’t look away from Annalise. Firelight painted her classic features with warm, golden hues. Her mouth was sticky with sugar and chocolate.

  “You’ve got some on your chin,” he said gruffly.

  She reached up, eyes dancing with laughter, and rubbed a spot. “Did I get it?”

  “No.” Lick it. Kiss it. Make her want you like you want her. The little devil on his shoulder had gotten him into trouble more than once. But something stopped him. A dead certainty that this time he didn’t want to screw things up with Annalise Wolff.

  He took his thumb and rubbed it across the side of her chin. “There,” he said, throat dry. “All clean.”

  The smile disappeared from her face, and her eyes widened, something unidentifiable flickering in the depths of her wary gaze. “Thank you.”

  They finished eating in silence. Watching her lick her fingers nearly did him in. “I’ll get you a flashlight,” he said gruffly. “And there are extra covers in the chest at the foot of your bed.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Once I burrow under a pile of quilts, I won’t come out till morning.”

  “I’ll be sleeping upstairs. Is it going to bother you to be down here alone? If you’re worried, I can camp out on the sofa.”

  Even in the shadowy room he could see her roll her eyes. “Get serious, Sam. Do I strike you as the nervous type? I’ll be fine. Besides, there’s no way you could stretch out on that couch. You’re far too big.”

  Again, a seemingly innocuous comment with an undercurrent of sexual nuance. “Your choice,” he said. And wasn’t that the problem? Given their past, for him to make a move on her was risky in the extreme. But in light of his long-ago sins, the likelihood of Annalise Wolff pursuing him a second time was almost nonexistent.

  Where did that leave a man who was breathless with wanting and aching for one woman in particular?

  “So when do you break out the generator? I assume there is one.”

  “Yes. But we don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck, so I suggest we use it sparingly. If you can make it through this one night, we’ll power it up tomorrow to cook a decent meal and take showers, anything else we need to do.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Annalise was not a whiner. Thank God for that. As soon as he gave her a flashlight, she disappeared with a muttered good-night. It didn’t escape his notice that when she left him, the novelty and fun of being snowed in vanished. Now he was cold and grumpy and hard…with a long, unpleasant night ahead.

  He made sure both of the fires were banked and the screens in place. After clearing up the mess from their bedtime snack, he found his way upstairs. The air was so cold he almost expected to inhale ice crystals.

  His bedroom, the one he stayed in when he visited his grandparents, was furnished with more modern items, including a king-size bed. Since he was well over six feet tall, he appreciated the concession. Sleeping in a narrow antique bed had never interested him. At least not until tonight. If Annalise had invited him to share hers, he’d have been more than willing.

  In the modern, newly renovated bathroom he made quick work of washing up in the dark. A shower at the moment was out of the question. It might have done him some good considering the fact that he had been semi-aroused for the last three hours. But the house was just too damn cold.

  He never used pajamas, and tonight, he bitterly regretted that decision. The sheets felt damp, even though he knew they were not. Huddling into the covers, he tried not to think about what it would be like to have a warm, feminine body curled against his.

  Exhaustion claimed him quickly, but he slept in fits and starts. Dreams plagued him. The unrelenting winds rattled the windows and howled around the eaves. At one point he sat up and looked at his phone. Hell, it was only 2:00 a.m.

  The cold seeped into his bones. He started worrying about Annalise. But her room was just off the living room and no doubt had benefited to some extent from the fire. And he couldn’t imagine that she slept naked. As much as she enjoyed pretty clothes, she probably packed all kinds of sleepwear.

  In lieu of counting sheep, he began picturing her in various sexy outfits. Teddies. Football jerseys and knit shorts. Elegant negligees. Camis and thongs.

  His imagination was regrettably thorough. Cursing roughly, he cupped his hand around his aching shaft. He didn’t want to find relief in that way. He didn’t want to be alone.

  Another half hour passed. He was more awake than ever. Surely a warm room was preferable to this misery, even if he did have to sleep with his legs hanging off the end of the couch.

  Climbing out of bed, he winced when his bare feet met the cold wooden floor. He dressed rapidly in a pair of old, soft jeans and a flannel shirt that he wore when he did chores in the barn. Dragging two pairs of socks over his feet, he grabbed his flashlight and crept downstairs.

  Sadly, Annalise’s door was firmly closed.

  He walked quietly into the living room and shut himself in, away from temptation. His nose detected the faint scent of burnt marshmallow in the air. He had to smile, despite his discomfort. Annalise was never boring.

  Crouching on the hearth, he shoved twisted newspaper into the midst of the glowing coals. When a tiny flame erupted, he fed it, using an old-fashioned bellows to encourage the sparks. He thought ruefull
y of the high-tech gas fireplace in his condo overlooking Charlottesville and the mountains beyond. His home was exactly that—a home. He entertained there, relaxed there, and sometimes when the mood struck him, even worked from home.

  He had bought an industrial loft five years ago, torn out almost every wall and redesigned the space exactly the way he wanted it. The resultant living areas were open and roomy, but comfortable and welcoming at the end of a long day.

  Like his father, he had a hard time turning down new clients. He loved what he did, and it was both challenging and personally satisfying to give families and small businesses a manifestation of the dreams they carried in their hearts and minds.

  Seeing a new structure come to life on paper was a creative and artistic endeavor. Making the reality happen involved hard work and occasionally a dose of informal mediation when a husband wanted a man-cave and his wife a mini-gym.

  Sam prided himself on being able to give them both. He was a problem solver. Unfortunately, one of his biggest problems at the moment lay only a few feet away, fast asleep. It was anyone’s guess as to whether or not he and Annalise would reach an understanding…or perhaps even something far more interesting.

  Adding a final log to the fire, he rose to his feet, stretched and turned to survey the sofa. It sat farther back in the room at right angles to the fireplace. It wasn’t much of a decision to choose the leather chair and ottoman he had occupied earlier. Pulling them even closer to the fire, he grabbed an afghan and prepared to stretch out for what remained of the night.

  Before he could sit down, he realized he hadn’t replaced the fire screen. He picked up the unwieldy antique and moved it into position, but in doing so, knocked over the bellows, which in turn tumbled into a large brass urn, crashing it to the floor.

  He froze, hearing the sound echo through the house. Was Annalise a light sleeper? Ten seconds passed…fifteen…the silence told him he was home free.

  With a groan of exhaustion, he settled into the chair, pulled the cover to his chin and crossed his ankles. The position was semicomfortable. His eyelids grew heavy, and he watched the wildly dancing flames through his lashes, remembering bonfires from when he was a kid.

  He was almost asleep when a female voice, laden with irritation, spoke not two feet behind him. “Good Lord. What are you doing down here? You scared me to death. I thought an animal had gotten into the house.”

  Closing his eyes and counting to ten, he tried to assess the situation rationally. But even the sound of her voice turned him on, despite the fact that the tone was more angry than amorous. “I couldn’t sleep. That upstairs bedroom is like a morgue during an ice storm.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I thought you weren’t afraid to stay down here by yourself,” he taunted. That’s right, Sam. Provoke the beast. Sarcasm will make things better. He tossed aside the light blanket and stood, only to feel a blow to the chest when he saw her for the first time. In one hand, she brandished a can of pepper spray. With the other she clutched the flashlight he had given her. But what was in between…sweet heaven…

  Crimson silk edged in expensive black lace slid sinuously over her body, whispering seduction with every move she made. He scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes and yawned, giving himself a chance to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat. Annalise Wolff had grown into an exquisitely beautiful woman.

  The stunning view was imprinted on his brain. The gown plunged in front, revealing the swells of soft, creamy-skinned breasts. The thin robe that covered the gown was long-sleeved, but hung open, hiding little. On her feet Annalise wore black satin slippers embroidered in red and gold thread with tiny birds and flowers.

  The fact that he could describe her footwear in so much detail only spoke to how hard he was trying not to stare at her chest.

  When he finally looked up, she was eyeing him curiously.

  “What?” he asked, wondering if he had soot on his face.

  She shrugged. “I’m accustomed to seeing you in a suit and tie, or even a tux. This casual ‘cowboy’ look takes some getting used to.”

  He might be half-asleep, but he knew interest when he saw it in a woman’s eyes. Rounding the chair, he took the flashlight and spray from her hands and set them on a bookcase. “Do you often have animals in the house at Wolff Mountain?” He was standing so close to her he could see the faint throb of a pulse in her neck.

  She flushed. “We’ve had the occasional bear.”

  “Inside?”

  “I’ve read stories about such things.”

  “And you were going to attack a bear with your bare hands? Surely you know that pepper spray makes them more aggressive…and that flashlight is not big enough to do any harm.”

  “You’re insufferable. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Without her habitual three-inch heels, she seemed much smaller…fragile even. And in the middle of the night, with her defenses down, infinitely more approachable. “You have,” he said, studying her moist, curved lips. “A dozen times. At least when you were willing to speak to me.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, waiting to see if she would react, perhaps slap him.

  She was heavy-eyed and sleep-rumpled, her thick, shiny black hair hanging almost to her waist. “What are you doing?” she questioned in a husky voice that made him imagine long Saturday mornings in bed.

  The room was full of shadows, the hour late. He was tired of reliving the past with this woman. Time to start something new. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  Her eyes flared wide, but other than that, she made no response. He still had no guarantee this wasn’t entrapment. Perhaps he ought to have worn some kind of protective clothing. He knew from hearing Vincent brag that Annalise had a black belt in karate and was fully capable of taking Sam down.

  He wanted her to make the first move, craved it, really. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the painful memory of the last time they both stood on this precipice echoing between them.

  Bending his head, he nibbled her neck, inhaling a scent that was so intrinsically her. Feminine, yes, but strong, unforgettable. His hands slid down her arms, around her waist, over her butt. She was firm and fit, her soft resilient skin underlain with sleek sexy muscles.

  Never had he felt or seen her so still, so submissive. And it worried him. Pulling back, he searched her face. “Touch me,” he begged. “Please.”

  As if his words had broken some kind of weird spell, she moved. With a little murmur that might have signaled any one of a number of emotions, she wrapped one arm around his neck and found his mouth with hers. With her free hand she shoved up the tail of his shirt and stroked his chest. Her touch burned him. It had been years since their first and only kiss, but he remembered the taste of her as if it had been only yesterday.

  His tongue plundered the sweet recesses of her mouth, tangling with hers. Gasps and moans were barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

  The erection he was unable to hide pulsed between them, thick and hard and ready. When he ground his hips against her belly, she whimpered. Need built and crashed over him, invisible but inescapable. He slid the robe down her arms and let it drop. Lifting her by her ass, he carried her to the chair beside the fire and held her in his lap, bending her back over his arm to kiss her wildly.

  Her hair was a silken waterfall. He grabbed handfuls of it, using the grip to guide her mouth to his. Somewhere, deep inside a single rational thought cell, he acknowledged that this was insanity. But the impossible had happened. Annalise, who would normally as soon hiss at him as speak cordially, was actually passionately, eagerly, returning his kiss.

  His hands trembled, moving recklessly all over her body. A nipped-in waist, delicate collarbone, gently curved stomach. Nipples that begged to be touched, pinched, soothed with a kiss. He left the bodice in place. If he stripped her at this point, it was all over. He lifted the hem of her gown and touched her leg, finding nothing but hot skin.

&
nbsp; When he moved halfway up her thigh, Annalise clamped her hand over his, blocking further exploration. “Stop,” she said hoarsely.

  He did, but it cost him dearly. Every sinew in his body throbbed with the need to take, regardless. “I want you, Princess. God knows, I do.”

  There was a momentary hesitation as if, even for her, the interruption was agonizing. Without warning she slid from his lap and faced him, arms wrapped around her waist, ebony hair a mad tangle. With the firelight behind her, he could see the outline of her slim legs through the thin fabric of her gown. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her distress strafed him with a thousand knives. Why could he never get this right?

  He stood as well, but she held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Talk to me,” he begged. “Tell me what you want.”

  Her eyes were tragic, the blue dulled almost to gray. She began to speak. Stopped. Swallowed hard. It almost seemed as if she were holding herself tightly to keep from shattering into irreparable pieces. “Did you have this in mind when you came here this weekend?” she asked, her voice low and broken.

  “No,” he muttered, staring past her into the fire for a moment and then returning his gaze to her face. “No,” he said more forcefully.

  His groin ached, his eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and his breath came in great gulps that did nothing to help him relax.

  It was the wrong answer. Somehow he knew that instantly. Grief flashed in her eyes and disappeared, leaving nothing but blank, mute misery in its wake. “I know we’re snowed in, Sam, but surely you could go without sex for one night. I won’t be your easy lay, your sadly predictable one-night stand.”

  “That’s not what this is, damn it.” His gut felt like the time he had suffered an appendicitis attack. “You’re special. How can you not know that?”

  He took her in his arms again, and this time she didn’t protest. But the fevered beauty he’d held moments ago had turned to ice. He kissed her again and again…tender kisses, slow drugging kisses. All he accomplished was making himself miserable.