by Karina Bliss
“Hey, you wanted me to do this half an hour ago.”
Unceremoniously he stripped her to her underwear, then grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and briskly rubbed her dry.
“W-w-want sss-sssssshower.”
“Not for hypothermia.” At least she was shivering; that meant it was mild. He steered Claire into her bedroom and bundled her under the covers. “Take off your bra and pants while I find something warm for you to wear.” He rummaged through the dresser drawers and settled on a fleecy nightdress.
She was still fumbling with her bra clasp when he turned.
“Here.” Thrusting the nightdress into her arms to protect her modesty, he undid the hooks. She disappeared under the covers and two scraps of sodden underwear dropped onto the floor.
Grimly Nate picked them up and dumped them into the laundry hamper, then began another search for additional layers of warmth, finding a beanie and a woolen scarf. Claire emerged from the blankets dressed in flannelette, hair plastered to her head and looking like a half-drowned rat.
Dropping the woolens beside her, Nate sat on the bed and roughly towel-dried her hair, then pulled the beanie from the heap and covered the damp tangles.
She began to laugh. “Th-th-this is sssssillllllly.”
“Hypothermia is no joke,” he scolded. Now she was okay, he allowed his fright and frustration free rein. “You could have hit your head in the dark. You could have got cramp. As for jumping in a goddamn dress—what the fuck were you thinking?”
“Sssssorry,” she said cheerfully.
Nate narrowed his eyes. Winding the scarf around her neck, he gave the ends a light tug, warning her not to push him too far, and then tucked the blankets in until she was swaddled like a baby.
“Stay covered,” he ordered. “I’ll make a warm drink.”
“Yyyyesssss, ssssir.”
Ignoring that, Nate went to the kitchen, boiled the kettle for cocoa, adding plenty of sugar. Claire was curled up when he returned. With relief he noticed her shivering had abated.
“Sit up,” he said brusquely. When she held out a trembling hand for the cup, he stopped her. “You’ll spill it, let me hold it.”
Obediently she took a sip, her teeth knocking against the rim of the mug. Then grimaced. “Sweet.”
“Drink it.” Her icy hands covered his on the mug. She took a couple more sips. Putting the mug on the nightstand, Nate picked up her hands and rubbed them between his own chilled fingers.
For the first time he registered his own dishevelment. His shirt untucked, the buttons half undone. So was his belt buckle, because his first thought had been to follow her into the water, until she’d convinced him she was okay. Claire shivered again, a violent paroxysm.
“Hell.” Kicking off his shoes, he joined her under the covers. Body heat was the quickest way to warm her and no point pretending otherwise. “Put your arms around my waist and snuggle in.”
She did so without hesitation, one knee instinctively going between his for maximum contact. Her feet were two blocks of ice against his calves, which helped keep his focus on the task, instead of the woman in his arms.
Her woolen beanie prickled the underside of his chin and the hands splayed against his back were as icy as her toes, but gradually the shivering stopped until only Claire’s nose, burrowed into his chest, retained a vestige of cold.
Something in him began to unravel. Her breathing slowed to match his, their ribs rose and fell in instinctive synchronicity. Nate became aware of her breasts under the flannelette pressing against his chest, the warmth of her breath feathering his collarbone and—he closed his eyes—the tension in her body that told him Claire was as acutely conscious of the seductive possibilities of this moment as he was.
He wanted her so badly.
One last inhale of wool, salty skin and woman-heated flannelette, then he rolled away from the warm clasp of her arms to the edge of the bed, and to his feet. “I’ll sleep in Lewis’s room tonight in case you need anything.”
She looked up at him with those blue eyes, and touched a self-conscious hand to the beanie. “Good night, Nate.”
Resolutely he left the room, headed straight to his monastic bed and told himself he was doing the right thing, though every part of him trembled as he fought an internal battle to do nothing.
Minutes later the living room light switched on. “You need something?” he called.
“No, I’m having a shower. Is that okay, Doc?”
“Yeah.”
The water went on forty seconds later. The shower cubicle lay on the other side of the bedroom wall, which meant Claire was only a couple of feet away while she soaped the salt off and shampooed her hair. Nate groaned and turned over, putting a pillow over his head to drown out the sound of water splashing over her naked body.
Which is how he missed her return until something bumped against the foot of his bed.
Nate took the pillow off his head.
“Ouch,” said Claire. “It’s dark in here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Wait.” She bumped his mattress again, then the curtains swept back and moonlight cast pale beams into the room, enough to see she wore a white satin robe belted at her waist. And it was clear from the way it clung to every swell and indent that it was all she wore.
“There’s sand in my sheets,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-two
Nate closed his eyes because it was the only way he could think, but the image of her nipples under the robe had already burned his retinas.
Claire said, “Nate,” and he opened them as she sat on his bed, her scent as fresh as a summer shower. “First, let’s get something straight. I’ll always love Steve. I don’t want you having any doubts about that.”
Relief was bittersweet. “I’m glad.”
“And I’ve fallen in love with you.” Before he could process that, she opened her robe and moonlight fell on the slope of her shoulders, on the curve of her breasts. She leaned forward and the soft fall of her freshly washed hair brushed his bare chest as she paused with their mouths inches apart. “Are you going to reject me again?” she whispered, a lilt of loving teasing in her voice.
And Nate was lost. Lost.
She was offering soul food to a starving man and he was powerless against his response. He stopped fighting it.
He loved her.
And though she knew his greatest regret, his greatest shame, she loved him. How could he resist such a gift? Tangling his hand around the silken strands tickling his pecs, he tugged her the final few inches and closed the gap. His lips touched hers, so warm, so pliant, and opened in a deep soul-searing kiss that held nothing in reserve.
Claire broke free for breath, eyes wide, lips parted, maybe even a teeny bit afraid of the passion she’d unleashed.
He smiled. Captivation worked both ways. Their eyes held.
“Okay,” she breathed, up for the challenge.
“We should talk first.” They’d had no privacy for his final confession.
“Uh-uh, no second thoughts.” She kissed him again, rolling into the tiny bed with him, and he lost his mind as her tongue teased his while her robe tangled around their limbs in an erotic slide of blood-warm satin.
Impatiently, he yanked the fabric loose and dropped the robe to the floor and at last they were body to body, skin to skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, his erection cradled against her soft belly.
Noses all but touching on the single pillow, he kissed her again. And again, each kiss deeper, more passionate, while he stroked her from nape to buttock, marveling over each new discovery, the silken softness of her skin, her finely boned shoulder blades and vertebrae, the sweet indent of her waist and the two dimples below it, the luscious flare of feminine hips and plump bottom.
She was a miracle and he kept slowing himself down whenever hunger threatened to take over because he wanted time to absorb and savor every perfect inch of her.
Claire moaned as he fondle
d and suckled her breasts, shivered as he nipped her neck and chuckled as he nuzzled the ticklish point along the side of her ribs. He could tell by the way her lower body squirmed against his that she wanted his attention there. “Patience,” he whispered. “Let’s make this last.”
With a groan, she caught his lower lip between her teeth and gently bit. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Yeah—” he bit lightly in return “—you do.” And he kept teasing. Until she punished him by teasing back, skimming her palm over his erection and dipping her tongue in his navel, across his ridged abs. “Oh, my God…” She chuckled deep in her throat. “Your body is incredible.”
For the first time he was glad of the endless gym work with Zander that had sculpted his frame into a living work of art. Loving that it turned Claire on.
And between the kisses, through every caress, their gazes returned to each other, intimate and trusting. He’d never experienced such openness with a woman. So this was love. This ache, this intoxicating joy.
They grew hot and sweaty under the blankets and flung them off. Claire stretched, lissome and pale, in the moonlight, her white-gold hair falling to her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare. The shadowy glimpse tantalized; it wasn’t enough. Nate switched on the bedside light and she became warm flesh and blood, her ethereal moon-silver limbs gilded and rosy, earthy and real.
He reached between her legs, finding her wet heat, stroking her until she was sobbing with need, until she climaxed and collapsed limply against him.
He cradled her until she stirred. And said in a steely voice, “Now, Nate.”
He laughed, but then reality hit him and he stared at her in dismay. “I have no condoms.” They’d been the last things on his mind when he packed to leave L.A.
“I have.” Claire rolled over him to reach her robe and pulled out a silver-foiled packet. “Jules gave me a couple,” she murmured, and blushed.
“God bless her,” he said fervently.
She ripped open the foil then hesitated. “I’ve never used one of these. It just rolls down, right?”
The huskiness in her voice made his cock ache. “Right. Want me to do it?”
Claire smiled. “No.” She flung the sheet aside, her gaze hot as she looked at his erection. Which got even harder. Then she took her time, teasing him, until Nate groaned and covered her hand with his, helping her finish the job.
“Can I…?” She straddled him, waited for permission. She was going to kill him.
“Yes,” he growled. “Please.”
She lowered herself onto him and he suffered every torturously slow, tantalizing inch of union, watching her face lose its impish fun, watching her eyes darken.
Clasping her waist, he lifted her, in thrall to the silken strength of her thighs around his hips. She sank down on him again. They both took a shuddery breath and then smiled at each other. Planting her hands on his broad shoulders, she rose again, her face intent, concentrating, and he let her set the pace, losing himself in her blue eyes, in the sensual glide of sex.
Their breathing grew faster, his hold on her waist tightened, his hips lifted, driving up as she sank down. The build to orgasm became a surge, the surge a race, stronger and stronger until she cried out, “Come with me,” and he gave himself up to her with a groan.
In the aftermath, they returned to earth with gentle caresses and murmured endearments. Claire traced his face—his brows, the column of his nose, his cheekbones.
“Hey, you,” she said softly.
Wrapped in his arms, she fell asleep before he could turn off the light. Nate pressed his nose against her hair. First thing in the morning I tell her. The one decision he’d never regretted that terrible day.
Because this woman was his future and secrets weren’t going to be part of it.
* * *
The slam of a car door woke Nate the next morning. Untangling his forearm from Claire’s silky hair, he checked his watch: 8:30 a.m.
“The curtains are pulled.” Ellie’s voice penetrated his haze like bullets through fog. “Surely they can’t still be in bed.”
“Oh, hell.” Falling out of bed, he scrambled into the only clothes he had available, the dark pants and dress shirt of the night before. “Claire, wake up!”
Opening sleepy eyes, she smiled at him, and even in his panic, he registered a moment of pure joy. “Incoming,” he warned. “Lewis… Ellie.”
“What!” On a squeak of panic, she jackknifed upright and he tossed over her satin robe.
“Save yourself. I’ll keep them busy.”
Another door slam, more cheery voices—Dan’s, Jo’s, Viv’s and Ross’s. The whole damn cavalry had arrived.
He hurried to the patio doors and opened them, angling his body to block entry and trying to look as if he hadn’t had one of the most incredible nights of his life.
“Hi, everyone, great to see you.” The way the breeze ruffled his hair suggested it was sticking up all over the place. “Is that a white heron on the point?”
“Where?” Lewis’s gaze followed Nate’s pointing finger, but the adults stared at his formal clothes with a dawning comprehension that made unexpected heat rise to his cheeks as he tamped down his cowlick. He felt as self-conscious as a teenager caught by his parents.
Ellie’s lips tightened.
Shit. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It was important to get Lewis’s approval before going public. To break it to Ellie gently. “To the left of the pine,” he said desperately.
“Where’s Mum?” Lewis continued to search for the nonexistent bird.
“Sleeping in… You, um, know she’s not a morning person.”
“That’s slander,” Claire said behind him. “I’ve been up at least five minutes.” Breathing a sigh of relief, Nate stepped onto the deck and turned around. His lover wore a bright smile, white jeans and a baggy pink sweatshirt. She’d also sensibly taken the time to tie her hair into a neat ponytail. It gave an excellent view of the beard burn on her neck.
Everyone stared. Ellie’s hand crept to her mouth.
“I know it’s shocking!” Claire misinterpreted their expressions. “No coffee made yet.”
Nate coughed, but she refused to meet his eye.
Lewis started to turn. “I can’t see that bird.”
Jo stepped forward to block his view of his mother. “What are we looking for again?”
“Yes,” said Ellie. “Just what are we looking at here?”
Lewis answered. “A white heron.” He pointed the direction for Jo.
Viv was the first person to swing into action, propelling a confused Claire backward into the bach. “Let’s get that coffee started,” she said cheerfully. “Ellie, you relax in the sun. Being the matriarch has to have some privileges. Guys, get Ellie a chair.”
Dan pulled one forward with alacrity; Ross pressed on Ellie’s shoulders to make her sit. “Looks like Viv will be marrying me in the very near future,” he said, shooting a grin at Nate over her head.
Reluctantly, Ellie gave him her attention. “Congratulations.”
While Ross kept her occupied, Nate glanced inside. Viv had pulled a powder compact out of her handbag and expertly covered the beard burn on Claire’s neck. Tough job—his beloved’s whole complexion flamed red.
“Speaking of flying away…” Ellie’s tart tone dragged his attention to her. “You’re still leaving tomorrow, aren’t you, Nathan?”
Lewis pricked up his ears. “What, you’re thinking of staying? Cool.”
Nate opened his mouth, but Jo got in first. “How about you guys unpack the food from Dan’s car?” she suggested. “I’m eating for two, all going to plan.”
That distracted Ellie. “Are you pregnant?”
“Nearly,” Jo said.
Claire reappeared at the open ranchslider, the beard burn hidden by concealer. “How are we all doing,” she beamed. Without waiting for a reply she grabbed her son’s elbow. “Lewis, help me fetch more deck chairs.” And she steered him down the
side of the building, where a small door gave access to a dugout under the bach.
Ellie stood to follow. Gently, Ross pressed her down again. “I want you to talk to Viv about honeymoon lingerie,” he told her. “Viv, hon, come out here, will you?” He helped Dan shepherd Nate toward the ute. “I’m totally reliant on your judgment,” he called earnestly to Ellie over his shoulder. “But FYI, I do have a soft spot for corsetry.”
* * *
The makeshift basement under the bach was a rough-hewn storage space cut out of the earth, not quite deep enough for a six-foot man to stand upright without ducking under the overhead joists supporting the building’s floor.
It smelled of dry dirt and mustiness, and spiderwebs draped from the beams like post-party streamers. Reaching into one of the crevices, Claire pulled out a couple of folded deck chairs, the jaunty blue-and-white-striped canvas brightening the gloom. It wasn’t really the place to ask her son’s permission to bring Nate into their small family, but Ellie’s expression suggested she had no choice. Claire had to get in first.
“Sit down a minute,” she said, unfolding a deck chair. “We need to talk.”
“In here.” Lewis looked at her, clearly puzzled. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She waited until he’d lowered himself into the canvas sling. “How would you feel about Nate staying…living with us? For good.”
“As your boyfriend?” he said. “I mean, I can see how much you like each other.”
Claire blushed. “Probably more serious than that.”
“You mean, your husband?”
She took a deep breath. “Probably…yes.” Wryly, she hoped she was speaking for Nate. But she was absolutely certain he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And equally convinced he felt the same about her. Must be love. “Which would make him your stepfather. So lots to consid—”
“I’d like it,” he interrupted, “but Nana won’t.” So he’d picked up Ellie’s hostility. “She’ll be worried that he’ll try to replace Dad.”
Claire crouched beside the deck chair. “Does that worry you, son?”
“Nah, Nate wouldn’t do that.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “He loved Dad, too. So we don’t have to worry about hurting his feelings when we talk about him.”
