“I didn’t see the skylights from outside.” She looked at him. “Is the snow a problem on them in the winter?”
“It can be. The trees deflect a fair amount, but I also built the roof with solar panel stripping and additional generator-powered stripping designed to heat up and melt the bottom layer, causing the snow to slide down and off. That’s why they’re on that side and at that angle. It’s the one side that doesn’t lead down to a deck, where an unsuspecting head might be located when the avalanche occurs.” He noticed she’d stopped looking at the pair of skylights that angled on the opposite side of the roof from where his bed was positioned, and was looking instead at him, highly amused. “What’s funny?”
“I was thinking earlier that if I asked you about this house you’d be able to give me the scientific rundown about it much the same way you did about the migration and mating patterns of your seabirds.”
“Nailed it, huh?” he asked, smiling briefly. It was disconcerting to be read so easily, not that he’d taken great pains to mask his thoughts or feelings. It was enough, though, that he had a better appreciation of how she felt when he passed along one of his many insights into her behaviors.
“Pretty much,” she said, grinning. “I was going to say it was a cool design feature that seemed almost whimsical in a home that’s otherwise very function-over-style oriented. But I’m sure you’ll tell me there is some scientific reason for the skylights that has nothing to do with their aesthetic value.”
“Only if you ask me,” he said, lips twitching, but otherwise taking the fifth.
She laughed outright at that and, as her laughter always did, it caught at that place in his heart that was hers. They’d spent less than a full day together as something more than friends, but he was rapidly losing whatever remaining piece of his heart he could call solely his own. He wasn’t as poleaxed by that realization as he’d thought he’d be. In fact, it was his lack of alarm that should be most alarming to him.
He credited his sister with being the one to crack open the heavy vault door he’d kept that particular piece of himself locked behind all these years . . . not that he planned to share that information with Grace. In the brief time since he’d been reintroduced to what life was like when there was a member of the opposite sex in his day-to-day orbit, he’d utilized his special forces training in ways he’d never thought he’d have to.
Never divulge secret information. Mission planning is strictly need-to-know basis, and the other side never needs to know. Of course, he’d also been trained to never surrender, but that had gone out the door the first day Grace had pulled up to Sandpiper’s only dock. It occurred to him that the fast friendship Delia and his sister were forming would likely test him in ways the rangers had never even anticipated, and he might have silently groaned. A little.
He watched Delia look over the rest of the octagonal room. The walls were only four feet high, and then changed to ceiling, which was of exposed beam construction and pitched immediately inward on all sides, rising up to the point at the top. Industrial-strength skylights had been installed in two of the roof sections. His bed was tucked against the wall diagonally below, so the sun rose behind it, and set over the skylights. He’d built drawers and shelves into the walls on the far side of the bed, and a cedar chest into the remaining unused wall section on the near side. Delia had been right when she’d said that functional use of space in a tree house was key.
He also had a taller, narrow rack space boxed out on the office level, which held the few suits he owned, as nothing longer than a shirt could be hung up on this floor. Not that he had any other clothes that required a hanger. At least, he didn’t think they did. He wondered what Delia would say if she knew that the hoodie collection she’d been seeing was pretty much the beginning and end of his sartorial choices.
She turned back to him and he stepped into the room, delighted when she didn’t hesitate but simply moved naturally into his arms and smiled up at him. “You know, I’m thinking when Grace and Brodie have kids, you’ll be like the coolest uncle ever.”
Now that poleaxed him. He’d never even considered the possibility. He was still getting used to having his sister around.
Delia laughed again. “If you could see the look on your face right now.” She slipped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’ll protect you from the rug rats, I promise. I have special forces training of my own when it comes to crowd control and unruly tykes.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I am not too proud to accept any and all assistance in that area,” he said, still feeling a little shaky at the very idea of having nieces or nephews romping about. Okay, maybe a lot shaky. “In fact, it’s possible there could be begging involved.”
She snickered against his chest, then reached around and pinched him right on the ass, which surprised a wide grin out of him. “Didn’t they train you in ranger school never to show your weaknesses?”
“I thought we were allies?” He lifted his head and leaned back just enough to look down into her face. “Don’t you have my back? You clearly think you have my backside.”
Her teasing expression immediately softened and she tipped up on her toes and planted a fast kiss on his mouth. “Always,” she promised. Then she grinned up at him. “For both parts. Doesn’t mean I won’t work things to my advantage whenever possible. That’s what I learned in street-smart school, doc.”
He chuckled. “On the mean streets of Blueberry Cove?”
“You’ve lived through Maine winters, right? I know a whole new level of mean.”
He had to nod at that. “I concede the point.” He started backing her toward the bed. “But I reserve the right to take advantage of your weaknesses then as well.” He levered her off her feet and onto the bed, following straight down on top of her and pinning her hands beside her head before she knew what had happened. “I mean, fair’s fair.”
She smiled up at him, but he hadn’t missed how her gaze had already dipped to his mouth . . . and neither had other parts of his anatomy. “That is true,” she said, then closed her eyes and faked a martyr’s expression. “Just, go gentle with me.”
He leaned in and caught at her bottom lip, suckled it, then moved around and nipped her earlobe, making her hips instinctively arch up into his. “You sure about that?” he murmured against her ear.
“How about—” She broke off on a gasp as he lifted up just enough to strip her sweatshirt straight up and onto her arms, but not off altogether, leaving her hands and wrists bound by the twist of heavy cotton. Her eyes were wide, but her pupils had almost swallowed up all the glittery sapphire surrounding them. “Fine, just do your worst then,” she said, but her faux defenseless victim ploy was ruined by the way her gaze kept getting all tangled up on his mouth, then his eyes, then his mouth again. “I’ll never crack.”
“Oh, I don’t want to make you crack,” he said, then started working his way down her torso. “There is something else I’d like to make you do, though.”
He was drawing the tip of his tongue in a line straight down from her navel when, between gasps and the sweetest little moans he’d ever heard, she managed to say, “Please tell me . . . they didn’t teach you this particular . . . kind of torture . . . in ranger school.”
He glanced up as she writhed beneath him. “Some things just come naturally.”
“Please God,” she panted, pressing her head back hard against the bed, “let me be one of them.” He chuckled, and then she let out a long groan that ended in a hot little growl as the tip of his tongue found nirvana.
By the time he’d driven her up, slowly and quite deliberately to the edge, considering every one of those growls his reward for a job well done, he’d lost control of his own hips, which pressed repeatedly into the mattress, getting little to no relief for the effort.
“Ford,” she gasped, wriggling under him.
Then her hands were on him, her fingers weaving through his hair, and
he realized she’d been wriggling her hands free from the sweatshirt sleeves. She tugged him gently—well, maybe gently was underselling her urgency a bit—and prodded him upward.
“Please,” she said, and the rough need in that one word was all he needed—or, more to the point, all the more needy parts of him required—to abandon his current post and move on to a new mission entirely.
So intent was he on enjoying the trip from base camp number one, to base camp number two, with a decided and intensely pleasurable layover in the hills he had to cross in between . . . the opposition pulled a surprise attack.
One second he had his lips wrapped around the most deliciously hard nipple, and the next he found himself flipped to his back and a wild, red-haired virago straddling his hips and pinning his wrists to the bed. His CO would have drummed him right out of the rangers for it, but he gave up without making even a token struggle. His wide grin was a further indictment as it indicated his complete lack of remorse on that matter.
“My turn,” she said, releasing his wrists and sliding her soft palms along the undersides of his arms.
He considered making it at least a little more challenging for her, but then she slid her palms to his chest, shifting back a little, before sitting upright . . . and sliding right down onto him in the process. So his countermaneuvers would have to wait, until his eyes stopped rolling back in his head.
She began to move on him, and he decided surrendering completely wasn’t entirely out of the question, either.
Her little gasps every time she moved her hips downward finally had him opening his eyes, and then cursing himself for missing even a second of the incredible view before him. If she’d been a pale Venus before, this time she was a virago goddess. In command, if not entirely in control, as her own body challenged her with every shift and slide to keep her focus on anything other than her own pleasure.
He watched her take her pleasure from him, working herself higher, then higher still, and thought his heart might explode from the thundering pace she’d driven it to. He was torn between the gift it would be watching her fall apart all over him when the inevitable climax ripped through her . . . and rolling her to her back right that second and claiming her like the wild animal she was turning him into, not certain he could survive both.
But then she let loose a keening wail as the edge was reached . . . and raced right over, followed by the intensely satisfied pants and groans that followed as her body rode out the wave, milking it for every last ounce of pleasure that could be had from it.
By some miracle, she didn’t rip him straight past the edge with her, but his control had frayed beyond his ability to hold on any longer. And when she pressed her thighs to his hips and let loose with the most incredibly satisfied laugh, he rolled her to her back and pushed every last inch of himself into her so fast, so hard and deep, they almost moved past the edge of the opposite side of the bed. She didn’t even pause, her smile turning to a delighted if devilish grin, her eyes back to glittering sapphires once more as he took her again, and again . . . and again, until it was his turn to groan and growl.
When his body finally slowed, finally stopped convulsing, he was so utterly spent, he barely had the strength and wherewithal to shift to the side and pull her to him rather than simply collapse the entirety of his weight on top of her.
“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured into his chest, then pressed a kiss over his still thumping heart. “I like the feel of your weight on top of me.”
“Good . . . to know,” he managed. “Next time.”
She kept her cheek pressed to his chest, but slipped her hand up and cupped his cheek, then drew her fingertips along his jaw, across his lips, and down over his chin in a gesture that was both sweet and intensely erotic. That he could even register the latter in his current state spoke volumes about the impact she had on him.
“Deal,” she said drowsily, then tucked her foot between his calves, and relaxed into sleep.
Ford dragged the heavy down comforter over them, then slipped his arms around her and let his head sink back farther into the pillow, every protective instinct he’d ever owned all but raging inside him. Only this time, the instinct wasn’t to protect himself. It was for the woman he held cradled to his chest.
“Please, God,” he prayed, never more sincere in his life, “don’t let me ever let her down.” Only he knew, even as his eyes drifted shut and he slipped into slumber, that the only one accountable for not letting that happen was himself.
Chapter 18
Delia was awakened by the pitiful bleating sounds of a hungry puffling.
She blinked her eyes, or tried to, and pushed haphazardly at the hair that had tumbled into her face, trying to figure out what that sound was and, more important, where she was.
The warm skin under her cheek would have resolved the second question, but she’d already breathed in the distinctly pleasurable scent that she was happily and swiftly becoming quite attached to. “Ford?” she murmured, untangling their legs and managing to shift so she could prop herself up on one elbow and stare down into his beautiful sleeping face.
The dim light coming through the skylight proved they’d slept straight through the night. It also proved that while the rain might have stopped, the skies were still quite overcast. “Like having your own little weather station right over your head,” she murmured to herself.
Ford didn’t so much as grunt at the sound of her voice, so a delighted Delia took the opportunity to drink in her fill of his face. She might have peeked at the rest of him while she was at it. Island living might have its challenges, her little voice said, but it certainly does have its benefits. His body couldn’t have looked any better if he’d still been undergoing the daily rigorous routine of a special forces operative.
She smiled and had to stifle an utterly smug little giggle when she thought about the rigorous routine they’d put each other through. Twice. She wasn’t as successful at hiding the wide grin that came with that, but there was no one around to see, so she took the opportunity to simply revel in the moment, to soak in all the goodness and joy she was feeling. Who knew what the day would hold, much less the days that were to come. Right now, in that spot, for that space of time, Delia O’Reilly was happy. Stupidly, giddily, perhaps- even-foolishly-but-who-cares, deliriously happy.
Her self-satisfied little moment was cut short by another pathetic bleat from below. “Poor puff,” Delia whispered. She started to turn with the intent of sliding as quietly from the bed as possible to go check on the little thing, but stopped, looked back at Ford, and then dropped a short, sweet kiss right over his heart. Feeling the smug smile again, she returned to her initial intention, only to have a strong arm clamp up and around her waist.
Her gaze flew to Ford’s face, but his eyes were still closed and he appeared for all the world to still be deeply asleep. Not another muscle in his body had moved other than the arm he’d quite swiftly and most decidedly wrapped around her. She’d just begun to wonder if perhaps it was some latent instinct from his ranger training and if she had anything to be concerned about, when he slid his other arm around her, then let the flat of his palm trace the curve of her waist, her derriere, and down to where that curve met her upper thigh.
“One more,” he murmured, the rough gravel of his voice doing delectable things to all of Delia’s most pleasurable nerve endings.
So, okay, his hand on her ass might have had a little bit to do with that as well. “One more . . . ?” She braced herself, preparing to find herself on her back any second; then, when it didn’t happen, she smiled and leaned down again. “We have a hungry puffling to feed.” She kissed his chest again.
He made a deep, happy groaning sound, and his lips curved upward. “Thank you,” he said. “Those are nice.”
She was briefly confused. “Those . . . oh,” she said as comprehension dawned. She was surprised to feel a little blush steal into her cheeks. She’d thought he wanted to start the new day the same
way he’d ended the last one . . . when what he’d wanted was another little heart kiss. Which was possibly the sweetest thing ever. Ford Maddox, stop making me fall madly in love with you, she wanted to beg him. Or she should have been wanting to beg him. Somehow she was still smiling and not feeling at all panicky. What was up with that?
There came a more demanding bleat from below, and she stifled her laugh against his chest, but looked up to see him grinning, too. He finally opened his eyes and dipped his chin to look down at her. And dear Lord help me, those eyes are only making the fall an even more rapid descent.
Gone was inscrutable Ford, or Dr. Rambo Ford, or exasperated Ford, or even grinning, calculating Ford. She knew exactly what to do with those Fords. The eyes she was staring into now, if she wasn’t mistaken, looked like a whole new Ford she’d never met before. Affectionate and open Ford was a complete and total stranger.
But every fiber of her being yearned to do whatever it took to get as up close and personal to that Ford as was humanly possible.
He drew his hand what felt like reluctantly back up her body, and then paused to play with the ends of her curls as he continued to regard her with that new Ford expression of his.
“We should probably feed the poor little thing,” she said.
“We should.” His stomach chose that moment to growl and she snorted a laugh, and then laughed even louder when she saw him look a bit chagrined at himself.
She poked a finger in his flat belly. “We should feed you, too, apparently.” She started to sit up, but he simply shifted her body so she lay completely on top of him.
“I have a particular menu in mind,” he said, and the grinning, calculating Ford returned.
Delia’s body was perfectly willing to welcome him back, too. “You know, you can’t just manhandle me because you’re bigger and stronger than I am,” she said, trying, and epically failing, to sound aggrieved at his high-handed maneuver.
Sandpiper Island (The Bachelors Page 25
