But she hadn’t made the call.
Instead, she’d left a written schedule of when she would come to the cabin to make meals and check in each day. She figured if he needed her beyond that—and her foolish heart had hoped he might—he could walk across the driveway to her cabin.
Of course he hadn’t. Other than the clean dishes in the dishwasher and a light under his bedroom door, there was no indication anyone was in the house. Last night she’d awakened at three o’clock and gone to her window to check the main cabin. The soft yellow glow had illuminated the pure blackness of the forest at night. It seemed appropriate that the cabin remain dark other than that one shining beacon, so she’d taken to working with only the small pendant above the sink to light her way when she came over before sunrise.
Now he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and flipped on the recessed lights. He wore a loose pair of fleece pants and a white T-shirt that was—damn him—fitted across his broad chest and shoulders in a way that made her mouth go dry. His hair was rumpled like he’d been regularly running a hand through it, and the dark stubble that covered his jaw was quickly turning into a beard.
He looked wild and more than a little dangerous, a strange glint in his green eyes as his gaze raked over her. She’d tossed her down parka over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and wanted to hop over the pieces of scattered plate to wrap it around her.
He arched a brow. “Do you always wear pajamas on the job?” His voice was back to a gravelly rumble. It made parts of her body come to attention, parts that she wished would ignore Connor Pierce.
“Are you done hiding?” she shot back. Tearing her gaze from him, she stepped to the pantry and pulled out the broom and dustpan. When she turned around, he was gone, and she hated the instant disappointment that fluttered through her.
But then he returned, walking toward her with so much purpose she actually took a step back. “Let me clean up,” he said, pointing to her bare feet. “You’re not wearing shoes.”
All business. Right. She handed him the broom and dustpan, careful to make sure their fingers didn’t brush. “I took off my boots at the door,” she said, proud that her tone was even and emotionless. “Jingle is fine, and I’m in my pajamas because I wasn’t expecting to see you. You’ve been like a ghost with an appetite.”
His head was bent as he swept, but she saw one corner of his mouth twitch. “Nice unicorns,” he said softly.
She ran a hand over the well-worn cotton of her favorite pajamas. They had pictures of unicorns jumping over rainbows covering them, a gift from Sara after April’s surgery.
“Did you really leave your inner sanctum to poke fun at my pajamas?”
“No, but it’s a bonus.” He swept the broken dish pieces into the dustpan, and she pulled out the drawer that held the trash can so he could dump everything in it. He leaned the broom against the counter. “I need to get the vacuum and go over the floor. There may be pieces I missed.”
“I can—” April lost her train of thought, yelping as Connor took a step toward her and lifted her into his arms. She was pressed against him from chest to toe, and the scent of mint and spice swirled around her.
After moving her to the far side of the kitchen, away from any remaining shards, he released her. She forced her knees not to buckle. “Don’t walk in here without shoes until it’s been vacuumed.”
“You can’t pick me up like that.” She patted her fingers to her chest, hoping that would calm her pounding heart. Her reaction to this man was intolerable when he obviously didn’t have the same response to her. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re light as one,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
The scratching sound was like some sort of unwelcome mating call and April fidgeted as heat pooled low in her belly. First thing to add to her list of New Year’s resolutions was finally allowing Sara to set her up on a date with one of Josh’s bull-riding friends. Clearly, self-enforced celibacy had negative ramifications.
“What are you thinking?” Connor asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
No way was she sharing her thoughts with him at this moment. Instead, she said, “I’ll get the vacuum.”
He grabbed her wrist as she moved past. “I wanted to thank you.”
She stilled, staring at where his big hand gripped her wrist, olive toned against her pale skin. How could someone who admittedly spent most of his time indoors have such beautifully colored skin?
“April,” he whispered, “look at me.”
Glancing up through her lashes, she sucked in a breath when her gaze met his. For once, his eyes weren’t guarded, and the look he gave her was so tender and intense it made her dizzy with longing.
Stupid longing.
“Thank you for taking care of me these past couple of days.”
She sniffed. “It’s my job.”
He acknowledged her words with a small nod, or maybe it was the bitterness creeping into her tone that he recognized. “How are Ranie and Shay?”
“Do you really care?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Even though I don’t want to care. The other night...on the highway...it affected me. Hearing that scream when the car slid on the road and the headlights moving closer.” He paused and a shudder ran through him. “I’m sorry I disappeared, but I wasn’t fit company for anyone after that.”
“It’s fine.” She tried to hold on to her anger even as it slipped through her body like grains of sand through her fingers. She needed that anger. It was safer with this man. Safer for her heart. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I want to give you one anyway.” His hold on her gentled and he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrist. “I’ve missed you, April. I’ve spent the past three years alone, and suddenly I’m lonely without you. I stopped caring. I didn’t think I had it in me to care, and I’m still so turned around. Every little thing sets me off and I can’t stop it. But I also can’t stop wanting to be near you. It doesn’t make sense.”
She closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions that poured through her at his words and the gentle pressure to her skin.
“Do you know,” he asked, shifting so close now that she could feel his breath against her hair, “that I listen for the door to close after you leave and rush down to the kitchen because your scent lingers after you’re gone?”
She huffed out a laugh that sounded breathless to her own ears. “Are you saying I smell?”
“Like lavender and vanilla. I’ve made an idiot of myself the past two days following traces of you around the house.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know what you do to me, even if I should stay away. It’s better for both of us if I turn around and walk back to my bedroom until you’re gone.”
She waited a moment, but he didn’t move. “You’re not walking.”
“Hell if I can make myself go.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered. Slowly, as if she were gentling a stray animal, she lifted her hand. Her finger brushed the prickly strands of his dark beard, and his lips parted.
“I forgot to shave,” he muttered.
“Too busy?”
He took a breath, released it and then nodded. “Writing.”
“Connor,” April whispered. “That’s wonderful.”
He shrugged and looked away. “Who knows how long it will last. But the words are coming. So damn many, drowning me with their force. It’s like...”
She pressed her palm to his cheek, gratified when he leaned into it. “Like what?”
“Like it used to be.” He said the words softly, as if they were an apology. April could feel the tension in his body and wished, just for a moment, she could transfer his pain to herself. Give him a few seconds of remembering what it wa
s like to live without the weight of guilt and sorrow bearing down on him.
“Look at me,” she said, moving closer to him, pressing into his warmth. His arms came around her waist, his hands splayed open against her back. She could feel their heat and strength through the thin cotton of her pajama shirt. So much talent flowed out of those hands. The worlds he created within his imagination and put on paper for readers to discover. “You have a gift, Connor Pierce.”
“It’s not—”
“Don’t say it. Whatever you’re thinking.” She brushed her lips over his. “Those words are in you. The stories you write are part of you.”
“How can they still be there when I’m dead inside, April? They were part of my life before, but now I’m—”
“You’re here,” she told him, and held her hand to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and sure under her palm. “With me. Now.”
“You make me feel things I’d thought I lost the capacity to feel. You make me want things—” His voice broke off as he drew in another deep breath. He leaned down until their foreheads touched. They stood that way for several long moments, her lips just grazing his. She breathed him in and it felt like she was pulling his essence into her lungs. Like he was part of her. A part she thought she’d lost after the illness and heartbreak that had changed who she was inside.
“I’m sorry I can’t be the man you deserve,” he whispered. “I’ll hurt you and girls. I hurt everyone—”
“Not now.” She pressed her mouth to the base of his neck, tasted the salt on his skin and wanted more. “This moment is ours.”
He claimed her mouth then, kissed her until the feel and taste of him was all she knew. Everything else burned away in the flame that was her need for him. He pulled her closer, if that was possible. Their tongues tangled and his hands skimmed under the shirt and up her spine, sending tingles as they moved. His kiss was demanding and consuming, and every inch of her body burned for him. For more.
His lips trailed over her jaw and he nipped at the sensitive flesh of her earlobe. “Will you stay?”
The simple question rocked her. How was it that such a longing could have been buried inside her and she’d never guessed? Even at her most in-love-and-alive, she’d never felt anything quite like the force of her desire for Connor. Still, she shook her head. “I have to go back in case the girls need me. If Shay wakes up...”
“I understand,” he said, pulling his hands from underneath her shirt.
No, her body screamed. Don’t let him go.
“Come with me,” she told him, lacing her fingers with his.
He stared at her, his eyes unreadable once more. She hated that he could slip behind his mask so easily. She wanted to break through until she saw every bit of him, good and bad. She wanted to know him and, in return, allow him access to all the secret places she kept hidden from the rest of the world.
“This isn’t real life. We aren’t—”
“I don’t care.” She bit down on her bottom lip. She knew what they were and what they weren’t, but now that she’d awakened to her longing, she wasn’t willing to abandon her desire so easily. “We’re here now. It doesn’t need to be more than that. We can agree—”
He squeezed shut his eyes, then looked at her again, his gaze empty. “It’s a mistake, April.”
“Make it with me, Connor.”
She prepared herself for his rejection. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips, turned it over and placed a tender kiss at the center of her palm. “Are you sure?”
“Right now,” she answered honestly, “yes.”
For some reason, that made him smile. “You’re all sweetness on the outside but you have a core of pure steel.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Right now, yes,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m glad.”
* * *
As she led him through the smaller cabin, April pointed to the second floor and placed a finger over her lips. Connor was grateful for the sleeping girls because he wasn’t sure he could actually form words at this moment.
He’d never expected to be in this place again. Wanting. Needing. The ache he felt for April went beyond the physical. It was elemental, as if in the span of a few short days she’d become a necessary part of him, vital to his very existence.
He’d never believed in a muse, but something about April had given new life to his creativity. He’d written close to a hundred pages in the past two days, and it wasn’t the garbage he’d forced onto the page over the previous six months. The drivel that had prompted a call from his editor and a suggestion that he start over on the story. He knew as the words were pouring out of him that they were the best he’d even written.
Every time he thought about the beautiful redhead now leading him up the stairs, his fingers itched for the keyboard again. Not as much as they itched to touch every inch of her delicate skin. To know if it was as creamy everywhere as the places he’d seen and touched. He wanted it all, and he was worried that he might never get enough.
It was stupid since, after the holidays ended, he’d be back to his solitary life. The isolation that had once felt like a refuge now loomed like a dark, desolate wasteland.
But he wouldn’t think of that now.
She turned to him in the doorway of the bedroom at the end of the hall. “Well, this is it,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, then untucking and then retucking. Nervous. She was nervous.
Connor smiled despite himself.
“We’re good?”
“Sure.” She smiled, crossed her arms over her chest. “Yep. We should...um...I mean I know what to do. It’s just...”
He stepped closer, cupped her cheek and kissed her gently. “What’s going on, sweetheart? It wasn’t that long of a walk across the driveway.”
“You’re the one who said it was a mistake.”
He licked the seam of her lips. “I’m an idiot. Ask Ranie.”
She laughed. “That girl likes you. A lot.”
“And you, April?” He tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Do you like me?”
“Against my better judgment,” she admitted.
He pulled back, searched her deep brown gaze. “Tell me now, April. Is this a mistake?”
“No, but...” She pressed her lush, kiss-swollen lips together. “I haven’t been with a man since my husband.”
“I haven’t been with a woman since my wife.”
“You don’t understand. I haven’t been with a man since my cancer.” Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. “My breast cancer.”
She said the words like they were a challenge—as if she expected him to run from the room at the mention of her cancer. The knowledge of what she’d been through shocked him, but he wasn’t scared by it. It only made him admire her more. “I’m sorry, April.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she whispered. “I’m a survivor. But it’s changed me. It’s changed my body.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he clarified. “I’m sorry for anything that caused you pain, but never doubt that you are beautiful.” He stepped closer. “I think you’re beautiful.”
“You haven’t seen me.”
“I’ve seen the most important parts,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Your intelligence.” He slowly drew one finger down the side of her face, over her neck and collarbone to the center of her chest. “Your beautiful heart.” He lowered his mouth to brush against hers. “Although I’m partial to this part of you, as well.”
She kissed him back, but her body remained stiff. He took her hands in his and slowly drew her into the room, shutting the door behind them. “Tell me what you want me to know,” he said when she sat on the edge of the bed.
She bl
ew out a breath. “The cancer was caught early, so I opted for a lumpectomy and then a course of radiation and chemo as my treatment plan. There’s a scar and... I’m not a young girl anymore. My body—”
“Is perfect,” he interrupted. “Because it’s yours.” He pulled his shirt over his head and turned so that his back was to her. He heard her gasp and let his eyes drift closed. “During the accident, my seat belt malfunctioned and I was thrown from the car as it rolled. I landed against the edge of the guardrail.”
Her fingers traced the length of his scar. Other than the hospital staff, no one had touched that part of his body. He was surprised to find that the skin there was still sensitive after all this time, or maybe it was simply a reaction to April’s touch.
He shifted to look at her and found her eyes bright with unshed tears. “No, April. No crying.”
She swiped at her cheeks and nodded. “I haven’t dated or been with a man since my divorce because I’m afraid to show anyone that part of me. The physical reminder that I’m not who I was.”
“We don’t have to—”
She reached for the hem of her pajama top. “I want to, Connor. With you.” Her smile was wry. “Even if it’s only temporary. I have to start somewhere, right?”
Those words sent a stab of jealousy piercing through him. He had a feeling that once he started with April he would never want to finish. To think of another man with her after he was gone was a sharp pain in his chest. But then she lifted her shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor and all he could say was “Thank you for starting with me.”
She wore a pale pink satin bra, the soft color a perfect complement to her creamy skin. His gaze snagged on the jagged edge of an incision he could see above the fabric. At this moment, he wanted to throttle her ex-husband for letting her go and also express his gratitude for the man’s stupidity since it allowed Connor the gift of having April here with him.
He wanted so badly to touch her, but forced his hands to remain in his lap. “There’s one thing,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting this and I don’t have protection.”
A wisp of sadness flitted across her gaze before she smiled. “One benefit to the cancer, I suppose. My treatment sent me into early...” She paused, as if the word was too difficult to say out loud. “I can’t get pregnant.”
Christmas on Crimson Mountain Page 8
