True Heart: A Red Hot Winter Story

by Delilah Devlin

  She was wet, her sex steamy. He thrust two fingers into her and watched her eyelids dip, her nostrils flare.

  He dragged in the steamy scent of her and swirled his fingers inside her.

  “True,” she groaned.

  He thrust deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her clit, relieved to discover it was hard.

  “True,” she said, her voice higher, more urgent.

  He kissed her forehead again, smiling softly to himself. “What, baby?”

  She nuzzled his cheek then whispered in his ear, “Got a condom?”

  He pulled his fingers free and rolled to his back, stretching to reach the drawer to the nightstand. He pulled it open and fished for a packet, cursing when the drawer slid farther out and tilted downward. But his fingers closed around a small square just before the drawer crashed to the floor.

  He came back to her, bit the foil and ripped it open. “I need two hands.”

  “Let me?”

  He gritted his teeth, wanting to cloak himself, because her hands were shaking and her fingers were cold, but he gritted his teeth and waited, watching while she plucked the center of the circle to stretch the tip, then placed it over the head and began to slowly roll it down his length.

  Either she wasn’t very skilled or she was nervous. She only rolled it halfway down his shaft.

  “Been a while,” she said, then bit her lip.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  Her fingers were too tentative and the latex stubborn.

  Finally, he pushed away her hands and gripped himself, gliding the condom downward until he was sure it wouldn’t come off when he began stroking her. Then he rolled and came over her.

  Her breaths gusted in shallow huffs. Her hands gripped his shoulders.

  He nudged her apart with his knees, but rested on his elbows so he wouldn’t overwhelm her with his weight. “Put me inside you.”

  She fisted him. This time her fingers closed tighter around his shaft. On his knees, he reared back a little, gave her room to position him, then he flexed his hips and thighs, pushing forward and finding her center. He thrust slowly inside.

  Her hand drew away, slid over his side, scooped at his lower back then traveled lower. Her fingernails scraped over his ass and dug into his flesh.

  “True…”

  “Yes, sweetheart.” He pulled back, leaving just the crown inside her.

  Her head tilted back, digging into the mattress. “Fuck me,” she said, her voice deepening. “God, I ache for you. Please, don’t tease. Don’t be gentle.”

  Pulsing forward once, he bent to rub her lips with his. “You sure you’re ready?”

  Her nails dug in harder, her head rolled side-to-side, her hips surged upward, trying to capture him as he pulled away again. “Bastard, just do it.”

  He almost smiled, but his desperation made it a grimace. He sank, sliding deeper and deeper, and then hooking at the end to force her hips to move with his. When he was as far as he could go, he ground hard, moving side-to-side, stretching her, drilling—needing to be as deep as he could go, wanting to force her to recognize how well he filled her—giving in to the primitive, primal urge to imprint her with his masculinity.

  Honey didn’t seem to mind. Her body shivered against him, her hips bucking under him. Her thighs crept around his waist and held tight, giving him a glimpse of her own possessive urges. She pressed her lips against his shoulder then bit him there. “Move, please,” she groaned. “I need you to move.”

  He came up on his arms, peering down at her, his gaze raking her spiked breasts, her undulating belly, then staring down at where their bodies joined. He eased from her, watching his cock, reddened and glazed pulling from her lips, before stroking in again, screwing her slowly.

  Honey’s features blurred, her cheeks reddened, her breaths became jagged. “Talk to me,” she gasped.

  True shook his head. “What?”

  “Talk to me. You’re staring, but what do you see?”

  “Beautiful. Baby, let me talk…after.”

  “I need you to talk, to help me relax. I’m hot…hurting even…want to come, but I’m too tense.”

  “Not a good time.” He bent and skimmed his mouth along her jaw, but she turned away and her fingers curved around his shoulders, holding him back.

  He leaned his head on her shoulder. “This something he did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not him.”

  “I know that. But I’m…”

  “Are you scared?”

  “A little. I want this so much, but I can’t let it happen.”

  He drove into her again, but her legs weren’t squeezing around him now. She wasn’t lowering them, but she wasn’t participating anymore. “Dammit.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  He grunted and slowed his motions, trying to gather back the frayed edges of his control. If she needed him to comfort her, he’d give her that. However hard it was for him to do this. He wasn’t used to talking during sex. Didn’t quite know how to start. “I’m not an easy man.”

  “I think that’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” she said breathily. “The fact you weren’t easy. I thought you didn’t like me much.”

  “I didn’t not like you. I just didn’t want you on my mountain.”

  “Because I’m a girl.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t anything personal.”

  “Do you still feel the same?”

  “Guess I do. It’s a hard place in winter.”

  “And yet you’re fucking me.”

  True snorted and ground into her. “I’m a man.”

  “And I’m available.”

  He pulled out and thrust in again. “It’s not like that.”

  Honey’s lips thinned. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t get bent out of shape.”

  “I wanted something I’ve been missing, something you can’t give me. Obviously. Let’s just fuck. That’s all you want anyway.”

  “Dammit.”

  Her smile didn’t hold an ounce of humor.

  Feeling as though he’d failed a test, he pumped harder inside her. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk too much. We can’t manage to do that without having an argument.” He’d bet she never had that problem with her paragon of a husband, but as soon as he thought it, he felt guilty. The man was dead. She’d loved him.

  He was jealous of a dead man.

  True pulled free and pushed her legs off his hips. “Turn.”

  Her eyes widened, but she did as he said, turning slowly onto her belly, then coming up on her knees in front of him.

  This view of her body took his breath away, made him so hard he could barely squeeze a breath from his lungs. Round, peach ass, soaked, reddened labia. Her slender back quivered.

  True tucked his fingers inside her, coaxing more of her natural lubricant down her channel then removed them. Fisting his cock, he fed it into her cunt, pushing deep. Finally, clasping her hips, he rocked forward and back, faster and faster.

  When her head dropped between her shoulders, he reached around her and swirled his fingers on her clit, circling relentlessly while he hammered her.

  Her back arched, her bottom thrust against him, backing up to take him deeper. He had it right now. Could give her this if he couldn’t give her anything else of what she seemed to need from a man.

  When her pussy clamped hard around him and she mewled like a kitten, he clutched her hips again and hammered faster, harder, not relenting until she gave a muffled scream.

  True said his own hallelujahs in silence and pumped twice more before emptying himself inside her. He rocked in and out, milking every last sweet convulsion until she’d wrung him dry. Then he pulled free, settled on his side and dragged her into his arms.

  He might not be the man she wanted, but he was the one holding her now.

  Chapter Five

  Honey woke just as dawn broke. In the gray light, she knew instantly tha
t she was alone, and she didn’t have a clue when True had left the bed.

  She was glad he wasn’t here because she’d made a mistake. How fucked up was she? True wasn’t Kenny, and yet her husband had been here in the bed with them. She’d dragged him here, comparing the two. Asking True to fill the void Kenny’s passing had left, if only for the short time they’d screwed.

  She hadn’t been fair to True. She should have kept her mouth shut, given him a smile and taken everything he’d offered. But she’d been greedy. She’d wanted it all—the closeness, the feeling of being cherished and loved.

  God, she had to get out of here before she saw him again, but that was going to be difficult when she needed someone to take her home.

  Honey showered in a hurry, dressed in the clothes she’d packed, and then silently crept through the house. Why? She wasn’t sure. True and Lonny were ranchers and had likely been up for a couple of hours already. She wasn’t going to wake them, but she didn’t want to alert either that she was up, not until she had a chance to put on a happier face.

  She’d have to brazen it out, pull H.A. Cahill’s boldness around her, pretend that last night hadn’t been earth shattering.

  When she crept into the living room, her shoulders fell. Lonny sat on the couch, already dressed for the weather outside. He held a knit cap in his hands, twirling it in his fingers until he saw her. His glance looked her up and down, and he stood. “I’ll take you home.”

  “True ask you to?” she said, her throat tightening in disappointment.

  “Yeah, said you might need a little space.” His lips thinned into a narrow line. “Are you all right? I thought you two would get along. Did he hurt you?”

  Honey shrugged, not able to hold his gaze for more than a second. “He didn’t hurt me. I…it was all my fault. But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “To me?”

  “To anyone. Not right now.”

  He nodded and strode to the door, lifted her jacket off the tree and held it for her as she slipped her arms inside. She zipped up and moved away while he lifted her bag and headed outside. She grabbed her snow pants and followed.

  The temperature had dropped. A sharp wind rustled tree branches and stirred last night’s snow. Lonny’s vehicle sat in front of the porch and he climbed on then held out a hand to help her mount behind him. She tucked her pants under her bag and climbed on.

  The trip was mercifully short. He pulled up to the porch and began to dismount, but she was already pulling her gear from under the bungee cord on the back of the saddle. “Don’t bother, I can manage.”

  “But you’ll need help with the stove.”

  She didn’t want him inside. His presence would only remind her of how she’d let down her guard and invited him to touch her the last time. “I’m an expert now,” she said, giving him a tight smile.

  “Look, if you need anything…”

  “There’s the phone. I’ll call. Promise.”

  He didn’t look happy, but nodded and pulled away.

  She climbed up the steps and opened her door. Inside the air was freezing, and she hurried to the stove, adding kindling and striking a long match. When the kindling caught, she fed the fire a couple of the logs.

  The stove was lit, the air slowly warming. She took off her coat and hung it on the peg. She’d give her computer a chance to thaw before she opened up her story and started back to work.

  While she waited, she shuffled through the kitchen, starting coffee and eating an energy bar. Anything to keep busy and not think about how True had looked when he’d tipped up her chin and asked her what was wrong.

  He’d just tried to be kind. But she’d melted. And she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself at the time, but he’d scared her, because she’d wanted to latch on to that hint of tenderness and make it into so much more. She’d fought her instincts and had muddled everything up. He had to be confused. He’d thought he was getting a sexpot writer in his bed, and instead he’d gotten a basket case.

  That her emotions were so close to the surface disappointed her. She was ready to move on and take a new lover. That part of her life couldn’t be over. She hoped he’d give her another chance because she remembered how’d he’d been, how gentle and gruff, how masterful and how well he’d filled her.

  The sound of crackling logs stirred her from the counter, and she strode toward the furnace, ready to add enough wood to last the morning. She bent and opened the door.

  Yellow-orange flame billowed out and she jumped back, but the fire caught the scarf she’d forgotten she was still wearing, causing it to crackle and curl. Frantically, she pulled it from her neck and flung it away, then stepped back.

  Christ, how many times had Lonny told her to be careful opening the door?

  Crackling behind her, louder now, drew her glance. She looked back and her heart stopped. The scarf had fallen on the sofa beneath the window. Flames licked at the throw and raced up to the curtains. Smoke was beginning to fill the room.

  She lurched toward the table, grabbed her thumb drive and bent to get beneath the smoke near the door. It was her only exit, she didn’t have much time. The fire was running across the walls, scorching the ceiling. She didn’t have time to reach for her coat. She swung open the door, cool fresh air rushed into the room, fanning the flames. She ducked, raised both arms to protect her head and plunged through the door, coughing. She fell down the steps, and scurried away on her hands and knees, not halting until she was several feet away. Gasping, she climbed to her feet and turned back to see flames in the window catching the wood frame, licking up the roof and igniting the cedar shingles.

  Fascination kept her rooted to the spot even though her boots sank deep into the snow. Flames, yellow, orange and red, could be seen through the window. The whisper of the fire as it consumed more fuel grew into a roar.

  Shivering in the snow, she watched in horror as the fire leapt across the roof to the lean-to beside the house, the one where the gasoline for the generator was stored.

  That realization, at last, pushed her to move. She turned and ran as fast as she could, feet sinking in snow, down the road toward the Wyatt brother’s house. Shock receded from her mind and she realized how much trouble she was in. Already shivering hard, without a coat or gloves, she stood a good chance of freezing to death before she reached safety.

  Honey shoved away that thought. She wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t going to lose a single finger either. She needed those to type. Shoving her hands under her arm pits, she slowed and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She’d get there.

  No way in hell would she die and let True have his final proof that she’d never belonged here in the first place.

  True gunned the engine, enjoying the burst of power and speed, not even minding the frigid wind that blew past him. He’d needed to get away from the house, from the woman sleeping in his bed.

  Once she’d fallen asleep, Honey had snuggled up close against his side. He’d enjoyed her mingled scents—something floral, feminine musk and sex—and had decided not to bathe before heading out because he’d wanted to let Honey’s smell linger just a little longer on his skin.

  Not that he needed any reminders of what it had been like to be with her. She’d fit just right, her head on his shoulder, her hip snuggled against the side of his, her hand lying on his belly. He’d lifted it cautiously, not wanting to wake her, and measured the length of her small fingers against his. She was small and delicate, and yet she’d taken everything he’d given her.

  Shame washed over him. He hadn’t been as patient as he should have been. She’d had things on her mind, memories so haunting he’d seen the shadows in her eyes, and he’d wanted to obliterate every one of them. Wanted to imprint himself on her.

  But she wasn’t his to keep. He hadn’t the right to expect her to cleave to him alone, to forget about any other man she’d known before. And did he really want that?

  He’d only dozed after that, wak
ing to think about what he ought to do for her, how he could make it up to her. He’d wrestled with his own jealousy, his own hang-ups, but had concluded he needed to have a talk with his brother.

  He drew close to the crest of the ridge and considered heading to her place. However, he still wasn’t sure what he’d say to her. Maybe he’d start by saying he was sorry.

  The sound of another engine coming up behind him made him slow. Lonny pulled up alongside him.

  “I took her home.”

  True nodded, ignoring Lonny’s expression. His brother had a bone to chew, but True wasn’t in the mood. “How was she?”

  “Brittle,” Lonny bit out. “She wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

  True’s stomach sank. “I’ll go see her.”

  “If I were you, I’d give her some time alone.”

  True clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to listen to Lonny’s advice.

  “Guess we should head back.” True glanced up at the ridge. “What the fuck?” He twisted the throttle. The snowmobile shot forward.

  It had to have been a branch, a shadow…something other than what he suspected, but already he could smell it on the air.

  Smoke.

  He turned to Lonny, who rode beside him. “Honey!” he shouted, punching a finger toward the plume.

  Lonny’s glance whipped toward the sky.

  They crested the ridge. True’s stomach dropped. The cabin was fully engulfed. He searched the clearing but didn’t see a sign of Honey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He started forward, but Lonny cut in front of him, halting him. “The lean-to, bro,” he shouted.

  An explosion rocked the clearing. Burning timbers flew into the sky.

  True ducked, raising an arm against the bright light, but as soon as the debris crashed to the ground, he was speeding down the hill, hell-bent for the cabin. Staring at the flames, at the smoke billowing out the broken windows, his heart thudded dully against his chest. No one could live through that.

  He pulled up next to the house, killed the engine and swung his legs over the side.

  “True,” Lonny shouted over the roar of the fire.