Two in Winter

by Vanessa North

“I want to forget,” she admitted.

  He took her coffee from her hand, tugged her to her feet. “Close your eyes,” he whispered into her hair. His voice stirred her, churning her insides like rapids under ice. She did as he told her, was rewarded by the sound of music filtering through her stereo speakers. A smile tugged its way onto her face for real.

  “Dance with me.” He came and stood behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her bottom tight to him. He took her arm, placed it on the back of his neck as he slid his other hand down to her hip. And then they were moving. She let the music move through her, ignoring the melting ice roaring in her ears. Eyes still closed, she let the beat take over, and the sensuality simmering between them flared to a sharp heat. Like she had at the dance club, she let herself fall into the music, lost herself in it. She could feel him, hard and hot at her back, and the dance wasn’t enough.

  Spinning in his arms, she laced her arms back behind his head, tugged his forehead to hers, and opened her eyes.

  Blue stared back, serious and wanting. Her move. Always her move.

  She bit him.

  Not hard, but she took his chin in her teeth, felt the stubble on her tongue, swayed her hips into his because now he was kissing her, like he had at the club, and it was so good, so sweet and hard and messy and right.

  She felt the groan rumble up in her chest as his hand pulled her leg around his waist. The hand still on her hip pushed her back against the wall, but she only had enough attention for the melting, gushing whirlpool that was tugging down deep. This was how things should be between them. His hips pushed against hers, his erection pressing into warm wet heat.

  She felt him through the pajama bottoms she had pulled on and he felt so good she needed to rub against him harder, sweeter. Her lips pulled from his in a ragged breath and he bit down gently along the side of her neck, bite, suck, bite, leaving a trace of heated marks along her throat as he made his way down her body. Her shirt went up over her head with no resistance and she buried her hands in that soft hair as he lay his head against her breast, right over her heart.

  “Eric, please.” She tugged at the hair. A heated breath against her nipple before he tugged it into his mouth and she was speechless again, writhing against the pull of teeth and lips, hips pulsing into him, dimly aware that she was still moving with music that flooded her veins with rhythm and warmth.

  The mouth disappeared from her nipple, found the other and treated it to the same desperate pull.

  Her pajama pants were down around her ankles now, and she stepped out of them, her own voice a stranger as she mewled and rocked against the hand that was pushing her panties aside. Almost shy, she felt her legs closing automatically.

  “Shhh,” he hushed against her body, sending another thrill through her. “I’ve seen you before, love.”

  “I know,” she whispered, the awkward memory of his hands and cold metal between her legs pulling a blush to her cheeks.

  “It felt wrong, seeing you like that, on the table in the office. I wanted to see you like this, up against a wall, begging me to make you come.”

  “Oh, God…” She whimpered, a rush working its way down her suddenly liquid spine.

  “Let me.”

  “Let you what?”

  “Let me make you come, right here, up against the wall and begging for it.”

  Oh that. That wicked smile. This man wanted her “up against the wall and begging for it”. No one ever spoke to her like that.

  “Do it.” She smiled back before letting her eyes drift closed and her head sink back as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

  Cotton panties pushed aside, fingers spreading, opening, working inside her to stretch her wide. And that tongue. Good God, his tongue was everywhere. Down low, back, sweeping up to swirl and linger then back again. One hand held her still, pinning her under the onslaught of his … oh-God-so-sweet-right-there…

  “Right there?” He murmured against her, sucking “right there” into his mouth. Did she say something out loud? She didn’t care as long as he didn’t stop.

  “Please.” She felt the word rasp from her throat.

  “Yes.” His fingers stroked upward, curling as he rubbed her clit with his tongue, yes right there.

  “Oh God, Eric, I’m going to…”

  “Give it to me, Getty.” His voice hummed against her.

  She fought the feeling, as much as she wanted to experience it, she held back, suddenly afraid of what he was about to give her. Everything, Getty, he’s giving you everything.

  “Getty…” He was the one pleading now. “Let me see it, gorgeous.”

  So good, right there on the edge. Ice floes breaking loose and everything swollen and she didn’t have a chance to tell him anything as she felt herself being dragged under. Instead of the cold, it was burning heat and her head cracked back against something hard, her legs were falling out from underneath her, but he had her pinned to the wall and she wasn’t going anywhere but oh God, right there.

  The pleasure speared out of her and into her at once. Wave after achy wave pushed her into the wall and then into his mouth, and she just rode the feeling, trying to hold on to it, trying to keep it there, keep it hers.

  She was sinking down the wall, but he had her, cradled her to his body as her muscles refused to do the job.

  No more ice. Ice was hard and stiff and she was anything but; she was a puddle of what happened to ice when it got too close to fire.

  “Getty…” His voice was rough, strangled.

  She opened her eyes, seeing strain in his face, she clucked at him, attempting comfort as she stroked a hand over his brow. But then the icy thought crept in.

  “I don’t have any condoms,” she whispered.

  Chapter 10

  Her words crept into his head, bumbling around, a drunk in the dark.

  No condoms.

  Doctor brain kicked in… She’s in the luteal phase of her cycle, she can’t get pregnant. I haven’t been with anyone since Lesley, and she had to have tested clean for the fertility clinic to agree to treat her. It’s not a problem … we could…

  “It’s okay,” he whispered back, kissing her forehead.

  Brown eyes widened, and she looked at him like he had three heads. Uh oh.

  “Look … I haven’t been with anyone since Lesley… And you had to have tested clean before starting treatments. We’re okay.”

  “But what about…?” Her voice got quiet and her eyes closed. “Pregnancy.” The word slipped out.

  Something about the resigned way she said it, something nagged at his brain and no matter how much he wanted to bury himself in her, he couldn’t let that nagging go. Against everything his body screamed at him, instead of telling her it was impossible for her to get pregnant during the luteal phase of her cycle, he had to ask.

  “What about it? It’s not like you aren’t trying…”

  “To get pregnant, I know. But…”

  She wanted a baby. She didn’t want his baby.

  Oh.

  It all made so much sense now, why she’d pushed him away from the beginning. She had always been serious about going it alone. Single parenting by choice. She didn’t want anyone else to have a claim on her child. That’s what this was about.

  “You want a baby. You don’t want my baby,” he finished for her, pushing himself away from her. His balls drew hard and tight against him in protest and he scowled at her.

  “Dammit, Eric, I hardly know you.”

  “I know. But it’s not like you know the anonymous donor either.”

  “That’s fucking different,” she shouted, standing now, clapping a hand over her mouth as though she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  “How?”

  “Because…” Her hands tangled in her hair, that glorious blonde messy hair he had thought he was finally going to get to see spread out over a pillow while he made her gasp his name. That fantasy seeped away, rain to dry earth, as she continued. “B
ecause I do know you. Hardly, but I still know you. And if I get pregnant … and you’re the father…”

  “You don’t want me to have that kind of power in your life.” He’d guessed as much, but the way she nodded still stung. “I see.”

  “Think about it.” She held her hands out as though she were explaining something to a simpleton. “If you and I were intimate, without protection, and there was a chance I could be pregnant with your baby, how would you feel about me going to your clinic a few days later, spreading my legs for that catheter full of anonymous sperm?”

  He flinched as the jealousy filled him. He’d be pissed. Beyond pissed. He’d be a resentful caveman snarling outside the door.

  “I hate to break it to you, Getty, but we’re already intimate. And I already hate the idea.”

  “See? That’s why we can’t. We’re not … together. And I’m not giving up on my plan just in case this thing between you and me works out.”

  “Right. The plan. The map drawn in stone. Do you have any feelings at all? For anyone? Other than yourself, and maybe Anna?”

  “That’s not fair, Eric.”

  “Of course it’s not! Do you think the way you’re handling this is fair?”

  “Look, forget it, okay. I’m sorry, but this is how it is. I still want to spend time with you, see where this is going … but … not at the expense of everything I’ve worked for.” She reached for him, stroking down his chest toward his still-aching erection, but he flung her hand away.

  Seething, he looked at her and held up a hand.

  “Honestly, Getty, I want a handjob from you right now about as much as you want to have my baby. I’ll let myself out.”

  Chapter 11

  Getty winced when the door slammed. She felt numb. All those great post-orgasm endorphins flooding through her had gone cold while she and Eric argued. It wasn’t fair. They barely knew each other, was he really volunteering to get her pregnant strings-free? Of course not. More likely, he wanted her to put her plans on hold so he could have his post-divorce fling worry-free.

  It was too late to stop the ice melting; instead she found herself trying to sort through this flood of emotion. There was no way she was going to let a man manipulate her into giving up her plans. She didn’t make it to where she was in life by giving up something for a promise of nothing.

  She gathered up the clothing from the floor, turned off the stereo, and headed for the heat and steam of a hot shower. She visualized the guilt she felt flowing off her and down into the drain, but it didn’t work. She’d dated plenty of the type of selfish lovers who took their own satisfaction and left their partner to fend for themselves. From the look of regret and deprivation on Eric’s face when he left, it was safe to assume she’d just joined their ranks.

  When she stepped out of the shower, she heard her phone ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Getty! It’s Stace. Skip’s having some kind of shindig over at his house and he thought you might like to come.”

  “Oh, Stacey, I don’t know.”

  “C’mon, Getty, it’ll be fun. Even Anna’s coming.”

  “Anna? To Skip’s house?”

  “Yeah, they’ve made nice now that he and I are actually dating.”

  “Is Eric going to be there, Stace?”

  “Ugh, what is it with you and this dude? He never gave Skip a straight answer. I don’t think he’s coming.”

  Getty thought about it. He had said he didn’t have anywhere to be today. “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll come?”

  “Okay, I’ll come.”

  * * * *

  Skip’s house wasn’t at all what Getty expected. It was a quiet little bungalow on a quiet little street that seemed unlike his party-boy persona. A perfect wintry gingerbread home with icicles lining the snow-covered roof. It was … cute. Domestic. Stacey gave her a hug as she walked in the door. Anna hadn’t arrived yet, but there were several people there Getty recognized from the fertility clinic. Of course—Skip worked there, he’d have friends there.

  As she handed off her jacket to Stacey, she accepted a beer and wandered out of the busy kitchen to the living room. A little blonde girl with snowy boots and glowing pink cheeks was giggling and laughing, swinging from Skip’s arms as he spoke to a leggy brunette in hushed tones. Something nagged Getty as familiar about the brunette, but she shrugged it off—probably someone else from the clinic.

  “Hi.” The little blonde sprite stopped swinging on Skip and came over to Getty, who squatted down to greet her at eye-level.

  “Hi. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Nossie. That’s my uncle Skip and my mommy.”

  “Your uncle Skip’s pretty cool, huh?”

  Earnest blue eyes sparkled at her. Eyes that reminded her… No. She was seeing him everywhere after the fight this morning. This little one, she couldn’t be his. He’d have said something.

  “Nossie, are you bothering the nice lady?” a musical voice asked, and the little girl looked up at her mother, shaking her head.

  “She’s fine, really. A sweetie.” Getty smiled as she stood up again. “I’m Getty.” She held out her hand to shake and once again found herself looking into clear blue eyes. Now the resemblance between the child and Eric made sense—this had to be…

  “I’m Erica. I’ve heard all about you. I’m Eric’s sister.” Erica was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Getty had ever seen. As tall as Getty, with long, straight hair and those soft blue eyes, exactly like her brother’s. She held the little girl in her arms and scooped her close to kiss the end of her nose.

  “Nice to meet you.” Getty smiled. “Eric mentioned he had a sister. He never mentioned a niece.”

  “Well, kids can be one of those topics that put people off. He likes you, he probably didn’t want to scare you. He and Skip are the closest things Nossie has to a father.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Getty was growing distinctly uncomfortable with this line of conversation. She didn’t want to hear about how paternal Eric was with his niece. That would only add to her growing guilt.

  “I’ve been raising Nossie alone for over a year now. Eric living next door and Skip a few blocks away has made everything a lot easier.”

  Eric lived just a few blocks away? She was going to kill Stacey.

  “You’re lucky, to have such a great support system.” Getty began to cast panicked eyes around for Stacey and Skip, but she didn’t see them anywhere.

  “I am. Being a single parent is hard. I never had any idea I’d be going it alone like this. I still hope … well maybe someday we won’t be alone anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Getty found herself unable to say anything more. “Excuse me, I need to go find Stacey. It was nice to meet you and Nossie.”

  “You too, Getty. I hope…” Erica shook her head. “I just hope you find what you need.”

  Chapter 12

  Damn. Eric looked down at his phone. He was late to Skip’s party. And he didn’t feel like going anywhere. He was still torn up by the thing with Getty this morning.

  The thing. Right.

  The almost-sex thing.

  Which, if he was honest with himself, he had pushed her into. Taken advantage of her emotional state to get what he wanted. Even if he didn’t get off, he sure as hell made sure she’d felt used. If he was really, truly honest with himself, he had been using her.

  Ever since he met her at the club, he had this idea of who she was: a bombshell, sexual and alluring, perfect one-night-stand material. Even after seeing her at the clinic the day they had done her first insemination, he hadn’t read her chart, not the important parts. All he’d read were dates of service, something he could use to attack Skip. She’d been an obsession he’d nurtured, ignoring who she was in favor of who he wanted her to be.

  He was so sure he knew who she was, he never looked past the warm friendly exterior to see the other woman hidden inside. Cold, focused, intense. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be just a
s warm as she appeared on the dance floor. But there was no way he was going to tap into that side of her if he pretended the obsessive businesswoman didn’t exist. If all he ever treated her like was a piece of ass… That’s all he’d ever be to her.

  He’d been flabbergasted upon discovering she wasn’t interested in having his baby. What an egotistical asshole he must have seemed. If anything screamed “Hey I haven’t paid attention to a word you said, but your tits are awesome!” that did.

  They had chemistry. Enough of it to blow up your average bedroom. And yeah, he didn’t like the idea of sharing her with some anonymous dude’s sperm. But he knew better than anyone the way a woman’s fertility declined after the age of thirty-five. She was already of advanced maternal age, medically speaking. He had no right to ask her to wait and see if their chemistry could turn into something more.

  It could.

  He knew it could. He didn’t just want her, he liked her. He liked the way she took care of her friends, and the way she focused on what she wanted, and how driven to succeed she was. He saw the fire she kept hidden, and he wanted to touch the flames.

  But he knew damn well that Getty Gymirsdottir hadn’t turned a no-name designer into a commercial success in fifteen years by giving up what she wanted most for what she wanted in the moment. She wouldn’t deviate from her plan, and he couldn’t ornament it. Where the fuck did that leave him?

  He pulled out his phone to call Skip and give his apologies. He wasn’t surprised when Stacey answered.

  “Oh, hi Eric. What’s going on? Your sister’s over here, pretty much everyone. Even Anna and Getty showed. Although Getty’s in a mood and I don’t think she’ll be staying long. And Anna, well. She’s Anna. Are you coming after all? You can bring Lucky if you want, I so want to teach him to roll over.”

  “Stacey. Mastiffs don’t roll over. They’d start an earthquake.”

  “But, you’re coming, right? Please come over, Eric. Skip would really like you here.”

  “Okay. I’ll be over in a few.” Maybe he could apologize, set things right with Getty. He owed her that.