Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever)

by Christie Ridgway

  “Are you hungry? The beef stroganoff is ready whenever you are.”

  She hesitated. “Would you...would you mind if I change first?” She glanced down at her jeans and sweater. “I’ve been in this all day.”

  “Sure,” he said, biting off the urge to ask if she needed help undressing. “Take your time.”

  Champagne glass in hand, she headed toward the hall, then paused. “Speaking of the grapevine...did you hear there was another burglary last night?”

  He nodded, almost struck dumb by the picture she made, the low light giving her skin an angelic glow. “Yeah. Ran into Vaughn on the street when I was with Poppy. He just loves being the bearer of bad news. A fancy edition of The Call of the Wild was taken.”

  She turned back toward her bedroom and he stewed about the spree of robberies while she was gone. While he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to burgle the cabins in the first place, let alone make a second attempt, he’d insisted on sleeping on Angelica’s couch.

  Of course, he’d tossed and turned the entire time, thinking of her lying on a bed just a few feet away. But he’d accepted the misery, choosing that over risking more attachment.

  There was going to be a reprise of that same suffering this evening, he reminded himself. Until the bad guys were caught, he was sticking close, no matter how that tempted his control.

  Then she walked back into the room and he thought, Oh, fuck.

  “I thought a fancy meal needed a fancier set of clothes,” she said.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! A merlot-colored dress wrapped her spectacular body. It had long sleeves but dipped deeply between her breasts. Its hem swished somewhere above her knees, revealing her incredible legs. High heels only served to draw his eyes to her magnificent ass as she once again approached the table.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he said honestly. He was supposed to be gifting her, not the other way around.

  She must have realized it was a compliment. “Thanks,” she said, with a little smile.

  He pulled himself out of his sex stupor to head to the kitchen. “You need to eat. You’ve lost weight.”

  “What?”

  “Let me just say I know every inch of every one of your curves.” He glanced at her, saw her head was tilted and she was regarding him with a bemused gaze. “Yeah, I’m a dog like that.”

  She laughed, seeming to take no insult.

  In minutes he had the food dished up. Remembering his mother again, he held out her chair. As she sat, he leaned close to take in a breath of her faint, exotic perfume and the scent tugged at his dick.

  Yeah, a dog.

  He tried to keep his baser impulses to himself as they began to eat. “So when do you move into the big corner office?” he asked, knowing very well there was no such thing at Hallett Hardware.

  She hesitated. “Can we talk about something other than work?”

  “Sure.” Maybe she was a bit nervous about taking on the new responsibility. “Like what?”

  Her fork toyed with the field greens of the salad. “Tell me about the seasons I’ve missed. I saw summer, now it’s autumn.” Her voice lowered. “Tell me about winter.”

  Brett eyed her with some concern. The request sounded strained. As though she wasn’t interested in idle chitchat. He shrugged off the niggle of concern. “We have rain first. When it gets cold enough, snow.”

  She smiled a little. “I think I have that concept down. What’s it like here?”

  “At the cabins?”

  She nodded.

  “This will be the first winter I’ve been here since the fire. Ryan wants to get some snow shoes to explore the woods. I’ve promised Mace and London that we’ll go sledding.” It pleased him to think of that. Sometimes he allowed himself to get too busy to enjoy all the area had to offer. “We’ll find a good run up on the mountain.”

  Her gaze on her plate, she nodded again, as if painting a picture of it in her mind.

  “In spring, there’s daffodils.”

  “What?” Her head came up, her eyes wide.

  “It’s a community project. Bulbs have been planted all along the highway and alongside plenty of the byways, too. In April, they bloom, a bright yellow surprise.”

  “I was here one weekend in March. They weren’t up yet. I’d sure like to see them,” she murmured.

  Thinking of how she’d appreciate the sight made him anticipate their appearance, too. He caught her hand, squeezed. “You will.”

  She stilled, staring at their entwined fingers, and heat rushed up his skin like a flame finding favored tinder. The atmosphere in the room changed that quickly. Like the strike of a match.

  From across the table he could feel her blood coursing beneath her skin. Her face was flushed, even her lips looked swollen, their color a darker pink.

  Like her other lips would be, when he moved down her naked body to slide his tongue between them.

  They were both breathing unevenly.

  “I have a checklist,” she suddenly said, her gaze still focused downward.

  He was staring at her breasts, rising and falling against the thin fabric of her dress. Beneath it, beneath the bra he could faintly see the outlines of her nipples, and they were hard.

  Ready for his mouth.

  What had she said? “Checklist?” He sounded stupid. Or a little drunk. But this intoxication didn’t come from the two glasses of champagne he’d downed.

  “I want to have sex with you.”

  “You have,” he pointed out, then wanted to bang his brain against the table. If she wanted to go another round...but they shouldn’t, he remembered. It sent the wrong message.

  Tonight was supposed to be a gift to her, not another opportunity to screw.

  “I want to have sex with you your way.”

  Her eyes were on him now, those big brown eyes with the feathery lashes that had made him burn from the first day he’d looked up to find them on him. The sun had been bright that day and he’d just taken off his shirt. A tingle had run down his spine and he’d looked about to discover the curvaceous brunette staring at him. His abs had contracted. His cock had gone instantly hard.

  She’d looked like expensive, high-class trouble.

  And he’d wanted to push her into the soft soil he was tilling and drill her like the unrefined laborer he was. For months, he’d thought of holding her down with his dirty hands and availing himself of her body in every manner possible.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t have a way.”

  Her look might have held some pity. “Brett.”

  “What?” He should release her hand. Get up. Take their plates to the sink. Call one of his sisters to babysit the brunette beauty while he went back to his cabin—no, it would have to be a drive to the village where he would get too drunk to climb back into his car. A buddy would give him a sofa or a patch of floor, far from Angelica’s lure.

  Instead of him rising from his seat, she did. He was forced to let her go. Her hand moved to the side of her dress at her waist. One tug, and Brett’s jaw dropped.

  Just like the dress, when she shimmied her shoulders.

  His brain flatlined. Beneath the garment, she wore a panty and bra set of sheer black net that included incongruously innocent pale pink bows: one between the cups of the bra, one at each hip.

  Lust poured into him, making every muscle taut. He came to his feet. “What is it you want?”

  “I told you.” She toyed with the ribbon between her breasts. “I want Brett Walker in bed, not some stifled gentleman.”

  “Stifled?” If she was trying to goad him, it just might be working. “Gentleman?”

  “Don’t treat me like I might break,” Angelica said then. “I’m sturdy, you’ve got to know that by now.”

  She wanted him to prove it. “Oh, angel face.” His feet knew where the rest of him wanted to be. Standing in front of her, he cradled her cheek in his palm. Her skin was warm, her dark eyes trained on him. Every inch of her telegraphed tight nerves.
/>   Was this the gift he could give? His belief in her strength?

  His gaze fell from her sweet mouth down to her body. “That’s some dangerous lingerie, sweetheart. But what’s with the prissy ribbons?”

  She seemed to relax at his teasing tone. “Comes with the territory. You should know. You have three sisters.”

  “I’ve never looked at their underwear!”

  At his faux outrage, she giggled. And he bent to bite the sound right off her lower lip.

  She gasped and her body bowed into his. His arm snaked around her waist and he palmed the plane of her lower back, his pinkie finger trailing beneath her panties to stroke the curve of her plump ass.

  Her body trembled under this new touch and her mouth opened to his. His tongue plunged inside and hers tangled with it, eager to play. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then he tore his mouth away, looking at her again.

  Her lips were swollen, her expression dazed. He supposed his tongue lolled from his mouth as he took her in—heaving breasts, decadent little-nothings, those high heels. His control was officially shot. His reluctance up in smoke.

  “No matter what, the shoes stay on,” he ordered.

  Another tremor racked her body. He smiled at her, but there was nothing tender in it. It was hot and a little mean, because he was going to take from her what that uncivilized laborer had wanted all summer.

  He wasn’t going to ask permission; he was going to extract every sigh, cry, shiver he could get from her.

  Pointing to the couch, he directed her silently. Angelica gave him a look that was all pleading arousal. “You asked for it, beautiful girl. You’re going to get it...slow.”

  A little moan escaped her lips as she walked away from him. Her high heels made her hips sway...and made Brett sweat.

  He stripped off his shirt. Toed off his shoes and peeled of his socks. She’d reached the designated destination and was staring at him, all big eyes. Something moved in his chest. “Angelica...” he said in a soft voice.

  Her eyes flared wider. “Don’t you dare. I want... I want everything.”

  And so did he, God. So did he.

  Striding to where she stood in front of the couch, he didn’t give any warning, but just reached around to unlatch the bra. It dropped into his hand and he tossed it aside without looking where it landed. Her breasts presented themselves in all their bountiful glory.

  Enough fragrant female flesh to take a man to his knees.

  But he stiffened his, and bent at the waist to slide his tongue over one tightly gathered nipple. She made a sound, desperate and lovely. He moved to the other, wetting it, then sucking it deep in his mouth. Her hands reached out to clutch his shoulders. Grabbing her wrists, he forced them to her sides again. “No touching until I tell you,” he said in a harsh voice.

  Another lovely little moan.

  He moved back and forth between her breasts, toying with them with his lips and tongue, but not touching her anywhere else. Her perfume was rising from her skin, a dizzying scent, and he lifted his head before he fell prostrate at her feet.

  Looking down, he drank the sight of her in: her flushed face, her swollen breasts and their slick wet tips, her thighs, pressed tightly together as if she was trying to relieve a certain ache between them. Her eyes drank him in, as well, and something he saw in them made his belly clutch.

  And made his next action rough. With hands on her shoulders, he pushed her onto the couch. She sat abruptly, her breasts bouncing.

  Shit. “All right?”

  Her glare was molten. “Brett, I’m fine.”

  Then that became his goal. To “not fine” the princess. He wanted her so revved up that when he asked if she was fine she’d just say, “Fuck me, please fuck me.”

  He wanted her so not-fine that she wouldn’t even know his name.

  So he did drop to his knees in front of her. Then he manacled her ankles with tight fingers and propped her high heels onto the edge of the cushions. Her breath was raw in the room—or was that his?—as he reached up to grab the elastic of her panties. He yanked the fabric down without finesse, until stopped by the shoes. Then he pressed on her inner knees and opened her to him, butterfly-style.

  God. So pink. So pretty. So wet she was glistening in the firelight.

  If he died right now—and it was possible—he’d face-plant right into her lovely, beckoning pussy.

  Glancing up, he saw her gaze was as fascinated as his. “Yeah, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re beautiful, there and everywhere.”

  Then, bracing his palms on her legs to keep them flat and open on the cushions, he leaned in to trace her folds with just the tip of his tongue. Instantly, her hips tried to jolt upward, but he held her down, one hand moving to her shoulder now, his other forearm across her knees.

  His next foray wasn’t any less delicate.

  She moaned.

  He didn’t let the sound spur him. Instead, he continued at a slow pace, tracing her with the faintest of strokes. Her fingers touched his hair, but it only took a look for her to drop her hand. “Good,” he said against her wet flesh.

  Then he rewarded her with the flat of his tongue. Her hips tried to rise again, but he held her down, made her his captive. The castle’s gardener finally getting his taste of the treasures inside. Getting his taste of princess.

  She was delicious. Her flavor, her responses, the way she moaned, breathy and low.

  He pushed deeper into the soft layers of her, getting his nose and cheeks and chin wet with her juices, not worrying about his raunchy urges, not trying to hide the crudest, rawest part of his nature. Taking what he wanted from her.

  She’d asked for it. And revealing his animal side was revving him, his lust building as he explored the hot center of her. He speared her with his tongue, feeling her muscles clamp down on him and he almost lost it inside his jeans.

  Her body was trembling, all of her strung tight. The hand at her shoulder drifted to her breast and he tweaked and toyed at her nipple again, noting it was tighter and harder than ever.

  “Please,” she said. “Oh, please.”

  Music to his ears. He glanced up, saw that her eyes were at half-mast, her bright pink cheeks shadowed by her spiky lashes. Her teeth sucked in her puffy lower lip. Stunned by the absolute splendor of her, his belly clutched again. His tongue wiggled up the cleft of her sex and he pierced her channel with two fingers just as his lips latched on to her clit with a firm pressure.

  She gasped, every muscle shuddered like an earthquake, and then she was coming, each pulse of pleasure communicated through the clench and release on his fingers.

  When she quieted, he gentled his mouth and slowly withdrew his fingers from her. Sitting back on his heels, he saw she didn’t move from her open pose, even though he no longer held her in that position. “So pretty,” he said. So trusting, he thought.

  She blinked, her eyelids moving up and down like a sleepy cat. “Is that all you’ve got?” she asked, her words slurring as though she was half-drunk.

  And that killed him. He’d just gone down and dirty on her and she was still challenging him, still standing up for herself.

  Still trusting.

  Shit, he thought. He rose to his feet, palming his stiff cock through his jeans. Her gaze followed the movement. “I want that,” she said pointing at the bulge.

  And for some reason, his temper spiked. He didn’t know why that was—offense, defense, a resentment fostered during all those weeks when she’d seemed so far above his reach—but it fed a mean streak that was part of his pessimistic temperament.

  Without warning, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her off the cushions. She rocked on her high heels, and reached down to pull her panties up in a hasty movement.

  “Don’t bother,” he said in his scariest voice, though he allowed her to complete the action.

  His hand still on her arm, he hauled her to the end of the couch and bent her over the padded arm and fished a condom from h
is wallet. Then he used his bare foot to push her legs apart. His hands stripped those panties back down as far they would go, to the tops of her knees.

  His heart knocking against his chest, he tore open his jeans and shoved aside his boxers to release his cock. Angelica trembled at the sound. Good, he thought. Now you know who has the upper hand here.

  His own hand shook as he palmed one ass cheek. She made a sound. He told himself he would be gentle if she asked, but there was blood rushing in his ears, lust firing it hot like gasoline.

  Then Angelica glanced over her shoulder at him. Not afraid. But lusting. And so full of trust.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, took the moment to sheath himself in the condom, and then he fitted himself to her, sliding inside her pussy to do just that. She took him easily, her hips tilting to accept the deep thrust.

  His body pistoned and she pushed back on every drive, taking him in. Taking him as he was.

  Taking.

  He knew what it meant, even as he knew her excitement was growing, as well. Bracing with one hand on the small of her back, he kept lunging inside of her, telling himself this was his turn, reminding himself that he didn’t need to be tender or gentle or even care if she got off on this round.

  Hadn’t she asked for him to be who he was?

  Hard, wary of attachment, insulated from feeling.

  But even as he thought that, he was curling over her back, pressing his cheek to hers, kissing her ear, her temple, the corner of her mouth. Her head twisted and they were lip-to-lip, the kiss tender, even as he was pounding into her body.

  It was a dichotomy, a contradiction, every perverse and perverted urge she brought out in him.

  The climax rose from his toes and coiled in his belly, a whirlwind of pleasure that was gathering, gathering. His hand slid around her hip and along her belly until he once again found her clit. She jolted back at his touch, taking him another inch, and then he was coming...and then so was she.

  In the aftermath, he lay heavily on her body, panting.

  She was quiet.

  When he could, he stood and pulled free from her, unsurprised she didn’t stand herself. He zipped his pants, then managed to lift her into his arms. Her head fell heavy to his shoulder as he carried her to the bedroom.