by Judith Yates
She stared up into his eyes, deep blue pools reflecting the passion in which she was drowning. “I need you.”
He continued to gaze at her, searching her face, her eyes. “We’re connected, you and me,” he finally said. “I don’t know how—I’m not sure why. But we are.”
He pulled back, reaching down to the hem of her T-shirt. He glided the soft fabric up the length of her body until Amy helped him lift it over her head. She took the shirt from his hand and dropped it on the floor.
Paul’s eyes and hands roamed over her body. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her breast. His tongue curled warmly around her nipple, making it pulse with desire. Her stomach tingled with creamy warmth. Then he showered the same attentions on her other breast, kissing and caressing it until her hips arched with need. She moaned for him to come inside her.
Cradling her to his side, Paul pulled open the nighttable drawer. She watched him, moved because—unasked—he’d thought to protect her, wanted to keep her safe. Amy felt cared for, cherished. Even more, she knew she’d been right to trust him.
When he was ready, he reached to turn off the bedside lamp.
“Don’t,” she said. “I want to see you.”
The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable as his body covered hers. “Anything for you, my lady. Anything.”
And more than anything she wanted to be filled with his desire. As Paul moved against her, she opened her body up to him, ready to share the untapped passion in her soul. All trepidation and doubt had vanished. In her heart she knew he wanted her for the woman she was, and not for one thing else.
Her eyes widened as he thrust himself inside her. Her body quivered with pure delight as he thrust again and again. These sensations bubbled through her, expanding in her blood, his kisses and whispers thrilling her further. As Amy moved with him, she felt the joy in giving herself freely and the gratification of giving a man physical pleasure.
Excitement rippled through her, hot and fast, until a rush of intensity burst into delicious fulfillment. She clung to him and cried out his name. Paul groaned in response as his body tightened over hers and then shuddered and trembled with his own release.
They held each other for a long time, not moving, not speaking. Weak from the floating warmth of lovemaking, Amy lay beneath him, her thoughts drifting over the weeks and days leading to this moment. Paul had been right; this was inevitable. Fate had decreed them connected—if only for a time. Wrapped in his arms like this, Amy knew giving herself to Paul was something she’d never regret.
Finally, Paul lifted his head and planted a silken kiss on both her eyelids. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
She opened her eyes and found his gaze warm with tenderness. Filled with an overwhelming tenderness of her own, she caressed his rough cheek with her hand. “I wanted to be here—even earlier when I was being so awful to you. I don’t know why I—”
He pressed his fingers to her lips to quiet her. “You don’t have to explain. We’re together now. That’s what matters.”
Paul could barely lift his eyelids when the ringing telephone finally roused him. He squinted at the clock radio as he fumbled to answer the phone. Good Lord, it was almost noon. Glancing at the warm, soft woman curled beside him, he couldn’t help but smile. She continued sleeping, oblivious to the telephone rings. After Safety Santa and walking a mile through a veritable blizzard, then making love several times during the night, they both had collapsed into a deep sleep.
Keeping his voice low when he answered, Paul listened as Dirk filled him in on road conditions and the situation at work. He was at the office with a skeleton crew and Mr. Snead—whom he’d taken home in anticipation of the storm. As usual, Dirk had everything under control.
Amy began to stir just as Paul hung up the phone. Before she opened her eyes, he prayed there would be no morning-after awkwardness. He’d hate to lose that closeness of spirit they had achieved by the early hours of the morning. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being uncomfortable with him after what they’d shared.
She blinked several times until her eyes focused on him. Then she stretched beneath the covers, a lazy, sexy smile zapping his fear to bits. The contented look in her eyes made it clear that her smile was for him and because of him. He was happy to know he’d put it there.
“Was that the phone I heard?” she asked, her voice raspy from sleep.
“It was Dirk. The storm hit Tremont pretty hard,” he said, trying not to sound as unreasonably pleased as he felt. “Looks like you and I are snowbound—for today, at least.”
Amy’s eyes widened when he told her about closed roads and stranded motorists. “Sounds like we’ll be lucky if we get plowed out tomorrow,” she said as she fluffed up the pillows behind her. Sitting back with the slyest of grins on her face, she added, “What a shame.”
Paul wanted to make love to her again right then and there. But both their stomachs were growling audibly, demanding nourishment. He sent her into the shower, while he scrounged through his kitchen for enough food to make a decent breakfast.
His shopping habits had always been spotty, mostly because he didn’t care for cooking and eating alone. And today the pickings in his refrigerator were even slimmer than usual because he’d been away for several days. But he had eggs and cheese, and a couple of loaves of bread in the freezer. With his solid supply of gourmet coffees and nonperishable foods in the cupboard, he figured they could eat fairly well for days. Should he be so lucky.
When Amy joined him in the kitchen, scrubbed and glowing in her elf jumpsuit, he gave her a hot cup of coffee and a kiss on the lips. Her freshly washed hair felt soft as it brushed against his chin, and smelled like the crystal-clean snow glistening outside the door.
“Thanks for bringing me the hair dryer. And my clothes, of course,” she said between sips of coffee. “I’m kind of getting attached to this silly green thing.”
“I’m very attached to it.”
“Maybe I should gift-wrap it for you for Christmas.”
“Only if you’re in it,” he replied as he served the eggs and toast.
Clearly famished, she ate with relish, declaring it the best breakfast she’d ever had.
Paul was skeptical. “You just haven’t eaten in over twelve hours. Anything would taste good.”
“You’re too modest, Paul. I can’t poach an egg to save my life.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek, adding sheepishly, “I’m still hungry. Can I have more?”
As he prepared another helping, she leaned against the counter, marveling over the professional quality of his pots and pans.
“They’re Bernadette’s doing,” he explained. “After this kitchen was completed, I was too busy at work to furnish it. But she kept after me about it. I guess the thought of empty drawers and cabinets was driving her nuts. Finally I handed her my credit card and she went wild with the restaurant-supply catalog.” He couldn’t help chuckling. “I don’t even know what some of these utensils are for.”
“You’re just lucky Bernadette takes such good care of you,” Amy said, her eyes full of mirth, yet her voice tinged with affection. He had sensed Bernadette was growing on her.
Paul showered and dressed quickly after their late breakfast. Then they bundled up and headed outside to shovel the doorways and steps. Snow was everywhere, and the afternoon sun bounced off it, blinding them with its glare. But once their eyes became accustomed to the glistening splendor surrounding them, precious little shoveling got done. The snow was just too tempting. A teasing snowball fight led to creating a band of snow angels in the pristine drifts—which led to yet another round of snow flinging.
Squealing with laughter, Amy hid from his dead aim behind bushes and trees. She smacked him with the occasional icy ball whenever his back was turned, but was no match for him in face-to-face combat. Yet when Paul had ambushed her into a corner, she snuck past him, whooping with triumph as she ran around to the other side of the house.
He held his fire when he caught up with her. She was standing stock-still, her dark hair moving with the gently blowing wind. He followed Amy’s gaze to the panorama of snowy hills and mountains spread out before them and understood the wonder in her face. He felt it every time he looked out his windows.
“Now I know why you want to live way out here,” she said as he curved his arm around her. “This has to be as close to peace on earth as a person can get.”
He snuggled Amy close to his side and kissed the top of her head. Her observation meant more to him than she could know. After the mess in San Francisco, he’d craved the very peace she’d mentioned. He had found it here. Not everyone understood—Bernadette had questioned why he wanted to live out in the hills all by himself. Bridget and Maura, too. Yet, with a few brief words, Amy Riordan had gotten to the heart of the matter.
Amy moved in his arms. “You know, Paul, this looks like a decent sledding hill.” She leaned forward to peer down the winding incline. “Have you tried it?”
“I haven’t sledded since I was a kid.”
She appeared disappointed. “Guess that means you don’t have a sled somewhere in the garage.”
“Sorry.” As he shook his head, however, a boyhood memory came to mind. “I have something else that will do the trick. Wait right here.”
His mission didn’t take long, and he was shuffling back through the knee-high snow within minutes. Amy zoomed in on the two silvery objects he carried in his hands.
“Cookie sheets?”
“Bernadette told me these would come in handy someday.”
She was still staring at the oblong trays. “You want to slide on these?”
“Sure. We used to do it all the time when we were kids.” From the surprise on her face, it was clear Amy had never had that particular opportunity. “It’ll be great, trust me.”
She didn’t seem convinced as he instructed her on the art of cookie-sheet sledding. “Hope Santa leaves a real sled under the tree for you this year,” she grumbled as he helped position her bottom just so on the cold, flat pan.
“Hold on tight now. I’ll be down right after you.” A good firm push sent her shooting down the hill, yowling as she picked up speed.
At the bottom, a jubilant Amy jumped up from the tray and began waving at him with excitement. “You’re right—it’s wonderful,” she called up the hill. “Come on down.”
They rode down the hill and trudged back up it many times, until their clothes were soaked and their muscles trembled from exertion. “How about one more run before we go in?” Amy suggested.
He looked at her ruddy, wind-chapped cheeks and snow-matted hair. “You’re crazy.”
“Oh, come on. We’ll make it a race. The loser gets kitchen duty tonight.”
The shining challenge in her sapphire eyes was impossible to resist. “What does the winner get?” he asked.
“The winner gets whatever she—or he—wants tonight.”
The seductive tinge in her voice got his blood pumping double time. The numbing sensation of wet clothes on cold skin melted away. “You’re on.”
They started at the top side by side and kept an even pace until midway down the hill. Then, with a stroke of luck and a smooth, clear path, Paul pulled ahead when Amy was slowed by a patch choppy with footprints and fallen icicles.
“See you later, sweetheart,” he taunted as he slid away.
In a matter of seconds, he heard Amy cry in distress and call his name. Panic surged through him and he struggled to stop. Finally on his feet, he turned to see her rolling over and over in the snow until she rolled into the thick trunk of an old willow oak.
“Amy!” he cried.
She was flat on her back, not responding, not moving. Terrified, Paul ran to her as fast as he could in the deep snow. Reaching her motionless body, he got down on his knees. “My God, Amy. Can you hear me?” He yanked of his gloves to touch her. “Talk to me, Amy,” he pleaded.
She was breathing, yet so silent and still. He felt her skin, but his hands were too cold to detect anything. Leaning over her, he slid his fingers beneath her jaw to take her pulse. With his heart pounding in his ears, he began to count. Suddenly, Amy’s gloved hand clamped down on his fingers and her eyes flew open.
“My hero,” she said with a sigh, breaking into a devilish grin.
His stunned relief evaporated into indignation. “You— you faker. You scared the hell out of me.”
“You were wonderful,” she said, eyes shining as her hands cupped his shoulders. Then she tugged him down on top of her, capturing his mouth with a hard, impassioned kiss.
Amy held him tight against her as he opened his mouth to her warm tongue, which tasted and prodded, until hot shivers ran from his neck to his loins. They might as well have been stretched out on a bed of hot ice instead of layers of snow. He groaned with pleasure, thrilled by the way she wanted him. She finally let him come up for air, but her contented smile aroused him even more.
“Am I forgiven?” she murmured.
Her kiss had driven the prank from his mind. This reminder scarcely nicked the sensual haze encompassing him. “Just remember—I won the race,” he growled in her ear. “The night is mine.”
Back at the house, after discarding their wet coats, boots and gloves, Paul opened up his closet to her. She found a deep blue flannel shirt that skirted her shapely thighs and somehow made her dark eyes even bluer. They both knew his long-legged jeans and slacks would do her no good.
“I’m comfortable enough,” she said, rolling the shirt’s long sleeves up to her elbow. “If my feet and legs get cold, I’ll borrow some socks.”
He followed Amy into the kitchen, where she put water on for tea and studied the contents of his cupboards. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’ve been told I have a knack with store-bought spaghetti sauce.” She pulled a jar of sauce from the pantry. “Just wait, you’ll think it’s homemade.”
Paul knew he’d love anything Amy made for him—almost as much as he loved watching her move about in his big kitchen. When he caught her eye, she gave him a shy smile. Then she shooed him off to the living room. “I’ll bring your tea in when it’s ready.”
He lit a fresh fire, put a soft jazz CD on the stereo and stretched back on the sofa. Gazing into the rising flames, Paul realized this was one of the best days of his life. Perhaps it was the fantasy quality of being snowbound with a soft, beautiful woman: making love, playing in the snow, having her cook for him. It was a different world up here together on the hill. Perhaps it was the way she brightened the day with laughter and sweetened the night with warmth.
When he’d been building this house, he had often daydreamed about the life he would have in it. Home, love, family. The very things he’d lost when his parents had died. The kind of life he’d failed to hold on to in his marriage. With time, however, the daydream had faded into a hazy abstraction—it didn’t seem to be in the cards for him. True, there had been women in his life these past four years—but never for very long, never here and never like this with Amy.
Amy stole a glimpse of Paul through the open kitchen door. Her heart somersaulted at the sight of him gazing at the fire, long legs stretched out in front of him, his golden hair damp and shaggy after their hours outside. He seemed lost in thought. Was he thinking about her?
Leaving the pot of spaghetti sauce to simmer, Amy poured two mugs of tea and tucked the stack of unopened mail she’d found on the counter under her arm. When she joined him, Paul’s face lit up as if he hadn’t seen her for hours. He made room for her on the couch, pulling her close to his side when she sat.
“I thought you’d want to look at your mail,” she said as they twined their legs.
“Dirk brought it in for me while I was in Richmond. It sure adds up after a few days.” He began shuffling through the envelopes. “I’m always amazed by the number of Christmas cards I get every year. Especially since I don’t send any.”
“I always do.”She felt a pang of gu
ilt about the cards she hadn’t gotten around to sending this year. “Because I love receiving them.”
“Yeah, it is nice to hear from people I rarely see anymore. Would you mind?”
Shaking her head, Amy sipped her tea and watched Paul open his Christmas cards. She loved the way his eyes smiled when he read each signature aloud and showed her the card. Old army buddies, neighbors from when he lived out West, former newsroom colleagues—she was surprised by the variety of friends who’d thought of him at this time of year.
The next to last card did not bring a smile. “My ex-wife sends a card every year. I’m not sure why.”
When he put it down on the coffee table with the others, a small photograph slipped out. Amy reached over to pick it up off the floor. “This is her family?”
He nodded, barely looking at it.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off it as Paul went on to the last envelope. It was a typical family pose, husband and wife side by side, children in front. Paul’s ex was blond, petite and pretty, her husband attractive, their two boys sweet. The younger child had a silly toddler’s grin on his face, but the older boy&h;
Amy just stared at him, suddenly shaken to her core. After years of working with children, she could determine a child’s age with little more than a glance. And her professional eye screamed that this blond, blue-eyed boy was seven or eight years old.
Paul had been divorced only four years.
Maura’s vague impressions and Bernadette’s evasive answers reverberated through her stunned mind. What was going on? Clutching the photo with trembling fingers, Amy didn’t know what to think. Paul had a child no one knew about? A child he didn’t acknowledge? A child he had no contact with?
“Amy, you’re as pale as a ghost. What’s wrong?”
She searched his startled face, hoping for a sign or clue that would allay her anxiety. There was none. Untangling her legs from his, she sat up straight and gave him back the photograph. “Why would your ex-wife send you a picture of her family?”
