Melt

by Natalie Anderson

  “As in like earthquakes and floods and stuff,” he explained.

  Emma blinked. That was hardcore. “Tell me more.”

  He drew a breath. “The primary goal is to enable the local people to rebuild their homes and towns themselves. But every place is different. It’s always uncertain, and change is rapid.” He shrugged. “So we have to design and build to the unique environments and the requirements of the people and place. Re-establish some kind of normal.”

  Emma mulled over what she knew to be the “spiel” he probably gave people all over the world. Why she was stunned she didn’t know—the guy was tough and strong, but he was also funny and kind. He’d helped her get in touch with Grandma Bea, and he’d been concerned for her welfare when she’d been sore from painting. It made total sense that he had a “save the world” type job.

  It also made her fall even harder for him.

  “So you have no permanent base?” Somehow that idea didn’t surprise her—but it sure made her heart ache.

  “I guess New York would be it,” he said. “But I’m really only in and out for a few days. I keep most of my things in a storage facility.”

  Yes, all his precious things were locked away—including his heart.

  Everyone finished work an hour or so early on Christmas Eve to get ready for the evening. Emma had lied in her earlier grump to Hunter—she did have something to wear. So now she showered and dressed in the one skirt she’d brought with her—a cute black A-line number—topping it with a clean white fitted tee. It felt good to go feminine again; she’d missed her skirts after two weeks of overalls. She tied her hair back into a ponytail and wound a bit of tinsel around it—she’d pilfered the sparkle from the decorations in the lounge. Rubbing glossy balm on her lips, she got to thinking of the one thing she’d been trying very hard not to think of all day.

  That one real benefit to her prolonged stay.

  Another two nights near Hunter. The sensual memory of last night still sizzled along her nerves. She was a mess of frustration—aching to be back in his arms, aching to be beneath his body. She wanted the experience of a lifetime that she knew he’d give. And nothing else mattered.

  There were no promises from him. He’d offered no false declarations of adoration. He’d just admitted his attraction to her and the simple desire to be with her. There was absolutely no prospect of any future. There was only the present.

  Her Christmas present.

  …

  Hunter was in the kitchen already when she got there. He glanced up and froze, his gaze locking on her lips. She waited for his focus to lift and his eyes to meet hers. Blue irises shone brilliantly but his pupils were huge, black, and bottomless. And as she watched, she saw the faintest color surge across his cheekbones—was the guy blushing?

  She would have put on a little war paint before if she’d known it would affect him this much.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked him directly.

  His lips twisted in a tormented kind of smile. “Dessert.”

  There were no fresh berries to top the Pavlova—they’d been coming on that last flight in, the one she was supposed to have gone out on.

  “Use grated chocolate instead. And we have some kiwifruit somewhere.” The cook was flying around the galley.

  “No problem.” Emma washed her hands.

  Hunter stood beside her, humming as he chopped the chocolate for her.

  Emma turned and stared, stunned. “Are you humming ‘White Christmas’?”

  “I’m thinking it’s one of the pros about you being stuck here. You’re guaranteed a White Christmas. Being a New Zealander, you’ve probably never had one before.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Christmas had always been a warm summer’s day.

  “And I bet you’ve never had real eggnog before, either.”

  “No, that’s not one of our things.”

  He flashed a killer smile at her. “Get ready for an American-style Christmas, then.”

  And so it was that in between food prep and decoration, serving up and then clearing what seemed like a million dishes, Hunter Wilson put on an American Christmas for her. Well, he put on an American Christmas soundtrack to their kitchen duty.

  Emma had never laughed so much in all her life as he invented new lyrics to old Christmas tunes, hung a popcorn lei around her neck, and danced her around the bench.

  At one point he kept glancing upward.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The mistletoe.” He winked. “Can’t believe none of the stuff grows down here!”

  “You’re crazy.” She giggled, not shifting his hand from where it was comfortably curved around her hip.

  After dinner, they were called through to the lounge.

  “There’s something we all have to do.” The base boss was up at the front. “Everyone follow me, please.”

  All fifty of the people on the base followed single file to the new laboratory. Emma broke into a sweat when she saw they’d hung a cloth over her painting.

  “We didn’t get to do this earlier because of the problems with the conditions, but it means we can do it now.” He smiled at Emma. “Want to unveil it?”

  No, she didn’t, but in front of all these people she had no choice. She stepped forward and took down the fabric hiding her mural.

  As soon as she did, the gasps and the applause burst out behind her. She closed her eyes for a second before turning back to face them. People were already swarming forward to shake her hand and congratulate her. Her heart soared as she saw their smiles and genuine enthusiasm for her work. She’d given them pleasure and earned their admiration. She was so thrilled they liked it.

  She walked back to the mess sandwiched in a throng of people, but there was a bonus to how tall Hunter was. She met his gaze over all their heads and bathed in the warmth of his smile.

  But back in the mess, her emotions seesawed again when she realized there was a Secret Santa thing going on. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be there, so she had nothing to give anyone. She felt terrible, especially when there was a package with her name on it. The guy dressed as Santa gave it to her, but it was to Hunter that she instinctively glanced again.

  “I think one of Santa’s elves got busy for you,” he murmured.

  Emma stared at the small wrapped parcel and willed her silly emotions to get back under her control.

  “You’re supposed to open it,” Hunter nudged.

  Yes, but she didn’t often get presents. Now she couldn’t decide whether to rip it open or go slowly. In the end she went for slow, carefully removing the tape so as not to ruin the bright colored paper and to draw out the sweetness of the moment. Finally, she lifted back the paper and gazed at the tiny gift. He’d carved a solid Hägglund out of wood and painted it. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand.

  “I know you were disappointed you didn’t get to drive one here.” He looked a little embarrassed.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  He smiled, his brows lifting in one of his roguish, irresistible moves.

  And at that moment, any lingering defense was shattered. She stepped closer to him. “I have a present for you, too.”

  “You do?” he asked quickly, a faint note of surprise lifting his tone.

  “You need to come to my room to collect it, though.”

  “Really?” His gaze sharpened and he stepped closer. “You can’t give it to me here?” he asked, dropping to a low, almost breathless, whisper.

  She glanced around at the crowd now singing “Jingle Bells” with gusto. “No.” She smiled slowly. “You’re going to have to come with me.”

  “I am?” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Should I come quickly, then?”

  “No,” she admonished with a laugh. “You can take your sweet time, but I promise you’ll get there.”

  His cheeks were flushed again and he drew in a deep breath. “I’m going to have to get out of here now.”

  “I’ll meet you a
t my bunkroom in five.”

  Emma was so glad Bridget was having Christmas out at her field camp—it meant she still had the bunkroom to herself.

  She stopped in at the bathroom, smothering her laughter as she scooped up a handful of those free condoms that Hunter had shown her were supplied there. But she had no pockets with this skirt. Damn. Still, it was Kiwi ingenuity that had seen a New Zealander be first to the South Pole. She giggled as she put the packets down the front of her knickers. This was crazy, she knew, but it was so right.

  When she got back to her room, he was leaning against her door. Silent, watchful, serious. She wanted the super flirt back.

  “Honestly, it’s not the songs at Christmas,” she said quietly, walking right into his personal space. “It’s not the food. It’s not even the presents—although don’t get me wrong, I love this.” She pressed the little carving to her chest. “I’m going to treasure it, I really am. But it’s not the things at Christmas that make Christmas for me.” She put her hand to his jaw. “It’s the people. Doesn’t have to be a whole huge family, either.” She’d never had that. “Even just one person.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t be with her.”

  “So am I. But I’m so pleased to be here with you.” She spread her fingers, caressing—he’d shaved before dinner, his skin hot and smooth. “Thank you for making Christmas for me. Even though I know you don’t do Christmas, you did it for me.”

  “I didn’t want to see you so glum with your lower lip stuck out like that.”

  He could downplay it as much as he wanted, but it still meant so much to her.

  She smiled and whispered, “I was sticking it out in the hope you’d suck on it.”

  He inhaled sharply. “This isn’t why I did that. I mean. I want this—you—but I didn’t do the Christmas thing because I thought it would help me gain points.”

  “I know that. And if I didn’t want you to be here, I wouldn’t have invited you.” She ran fingertips down his chest. “Now do you want your present or not?”

  “I would love my present,” he murmured hoarsely.

  “Then follow me.”

  She locked the door behind them.

  “Are you sure?”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “I know there are no promises. There’s only now. The present. This is your present…and mine.”

  His smile was slow, his lips tickling the edge of her palm. And then his tongue came out to play, a lick against her skin.

  “Are you going to unwrap your present?” she asked, removing her hand while she still had strength in her muscles.

  “I always unwrap my presents very slowly, too, you know.” He ran light fingers down her arm. “To prolong the pleasure.”

  She stilled, suddenly shy.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked as he kissed down her neck. “Do you have any idea that every single man here thinks you’re utter perfection? They all want to whisk you away.”

  “They don’t.” Now he was over-egging it.

  He nuzzled the side of her neck—almost kissing her but not quite. And while her knees were weakening, other muscles were just itching to get into action. Heat burst through her body.

  “They do,” he murmured. “You’re this can-do goddess, so fragile-looking but so strong.”

  She wasn’t as strong as she probably needed to be. She was vulnerable—to him. And she needed to believe in only his touch. That was all she could afford to need.

  So she reached up, capturing his face between her hands and brought him down to kiss her—ending all conversation. It wasn’t words that communicated now.

  He swiftly took the lead, understanding what she needed. Yes, he kissed her long and deep and slow—infusing her body with nothing but anticipation. She shivered as he stepped back to slip her T-shirt over her head. Breathing as hard as she, he looked down at her breasts—breasts so swollen they were spilling over her bra cups.

  But he said nothing, just planted his wide hands on her waist and bent to trail kisses of fire across the lace edging.

  His hands slid to her back, first up to unclasp her bra and then lower to undo the zip of her skirt. As the skirt fell to the floor, he fell to his knees—kissing down her sternum, her belly. But then he paused and looked at the odd shapes poking through her small briefs.

  “Ah.” He smiled, tracing a finger around some of the shapes, making her shiver when he let that finger slide lower. “I think I’ve found some of my present.”

  She smiled down at him. Was it wrong to feel such pleasure and power with having a fully clothed big man on his knees before her—all his passion barely leashed? Oh, she wanted it. She wanted all of it.

  He hooked his fingers into the elastic at her hips and then tugged her knickers down. Her handfuls of condoms scattered to the floor.

  “So many presents,” he murmured, sparing them a quick glance before leaning in to whisper against her upper thighs. “I can’t wait to play with them.”

  But then he pressed his mouth to her most vulnerable flesh.

  Groaning, she shamelessly spread her legs wider for him, yearning for more intimacy. Her body was on fire and so unbearably close so soon. Her hips rocked, her most sensitive spot desperate for his touch. She’d been desperate for this for too long already.

  Without warning he lashed her with his tongue—again and again and on the third stroke it hit.

  Shaking uncontrollably, her legs failed as ecstasy rippled through her.

  “Hunter,” she moaned, doubling over—gripping his shoulders to keep balance as he lifted his hands and held her hips firmly so he could taste every orgasmic contraction shuddering through her.

  His tongue worked yet more magic, kissing, savoring, inserting into her slick heat. She needed more.

  “I need to lie down.” She needed all of him inside her.

  “Not yet.”

  She heard the pull of his zipper and he shucked his shirt in record time. As he stood, he left both his jeans and boxers at his feet. In his hand was one of his little square presents. He unwrapped and rolled it on. “Now I’m wrapped and ready for you.”

  He backed her up against the small ladder that led to the top bunk and lifted her so one foot was on the lowest rung, lifting her other leg to wrap around his waist.

  “I’ve had fantasies about these bunks,” he groaned.

  “I can tell.” She gasped for breath, stunned at his strength.

  “Emma.”

  She met his eyes—his glittering, deep eyes.

  Growling through clenched teeth, he gripped her hard as his flesh parted hers. His breath hissed, and his fingers tightened to the point of pain.

  But she was in too much ecstasy to care. Her head thrown back, she half gasped, half groaned, almost cried as so slowly he filled her. So good. So deliciously slow and full and fabulous and almost everything she’d ever wanted.

  Wholly sheathed inside her, he held still. Emma hovered unbearably on the edge. Their rapid, harsh breathing mingled. She couldn’t believe it could be this good. That she could feel this hot.

  “Please. Please move.” She couldn’t, trapped between the bunk and him, her hands clasped tightly over his shoulders. All she could move were the muscles deep inside her—tight and lax, tight and lax—again and again.

  His response was to kiss her—thoroughly—while he held torturously still.

  “Hard,” she mumbled breathlessly beneath his plundering mouth. “I want it hard.” She wanted it bad. And she wanted it now.

  But he wouldn’t be rushed. He lifted his head back to watch her face as he pulled out again—almost all the way, before slowly pressing back deep inside.

  “Please.” She shook her head side to side in desperation as she went one notch nearer oblivion. “Please.”

  He moved one hand, fingers slipping to the front, between them, and tormented her. She rocked—any which way she could—trying to flex her hips to make him ravish her. His hand lifted, palming her breast with
a sure caress before grasping her butt with one hand again in a strong, possessive hold, the other grasping the edge of the top bunk rail for leverage, and then he moved, grinding closer. She gasped as he deepened his actions, then finally, thankfully, he quickened them.

  “Hunter.” She curled her arms around him, pressing her mouth to his damp shoulder as he took almost all her weight. “I knew…but I didn’t know.”

  She didn’t know it could ever be as good as this.

  His head tipped back as he thrust harder. “I know.”

  Words ceased, just heavy breathing and harsh moans as their bodies reveled in the pleasure. They pushed, frantic need driving their rhythm.

  His skin was slick. All over she too was damp as he made her body work. She pressed forward, panting, rubbing her breasts against his chest. The pleasure was too intense. Higher and higher he pushed her, as harder and harder he drove into her. Faster. His kisses deepened to rough and hungry to match the movement of his hips. The pressure he put on her from his ministrations was so immense—she had to shatter.

  Her whole body, mind, spirit locked for an infinite moment of eternity. Frozen in shock, she gazed at him in that split second before the ecstasy he’d wreaked broke over her. The intensity wrought a scream from deep within that tore through her throat.

  His mouth crashed down, his lips crushing hers, muffling her shriek. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, compulsively contracting as wave upon wave of unutterable delight slammed through her.

  He demanded more—still surging powerfully against her until with a fierce, quick movement, he arched back, pulling all of her weight onto him, as his release blasted out.

  She gasped for long minutes. Unable to get her breath back or slow her heart. So close to fainting. He cradled her, demonstrating his immense strength again as he lifted her onto the bunk and then came to curl around her.

  “Wow,” Emma said, simply unable to think of another word.

  He chuckled and swept his hand across her breast. “So tell me what you want me to do now.”

  “Now?” she repeated. “Already?”

  “Uh huh.” He knelt above her, stroking her limbs with light, tormenting fingers. “Can’t you think of anything?” he teased.