And now the warmth of her tongue curled around him, and the gentle sucking reminded him of the past, when he’d believed she was made for his arms, his bed, his body.
Seared by heat, a log shattered in the fireplace.
“Angie…”
She reached for him and pressed her hand to the front of his jeans. Pleasure gusted deep in his loins. She was a seductress, turning him on in ways he couldn’t imagine. Want coiled into demand.
No, this bold woman wasn’t the same one he’d married. She was willing to ask for what she wanted and needed. Greedily he wanted to know her.
She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, then dragged the flannel from his waistband.
Suddenly he couldn’t get enough of her.
He moved forward, spreading her thighs, and she reached for his belt buckle, unhooking it. With a hiss matched by the fireplace, the leather slid from its denim loops, and metal clanked on the floor.
A pink, frothy confection was the only thing covering her breasts. He traced the skin above the lacy cups of her bra. Her head fell forward until her chin all but rested on her chest, near the golden aspen leaf. A small sound, somewhere between need and a sigh, escaped from her partially opened lips.
A small bow rested at the front clasp of the bra, the tied piece of satin making him think of a gift begging to be opened.
Savoring each second, he parted the fabric and shucked the straps from her shoulders.
Her breasts spilled forward and he caught them in his cupped palms, holding, feeling, testing her feminine weight.
“Shane!”
He brushed his thumbs across her nipples. They hardened and grew, and she cried out.
She was the same woman, and so much more.
Pinching the tiny buds between his thumb and forefinger, he watched her reaction. Honest emotions tripped across her face. Her brows drew together and her eyelids sealed off the vibrant color of her blue eyes. She smiled, then it faded to a gasp when he rolled his fingers. “Stop?” he asked.
“No…it’s…”
Gently he squeezed the distended nipples once more. “Tell me,” he urged.
“Incredible.” She pressed herself forward, against him, wordlessly seeking more.
That he still possessed this power over her shot raw pleasure through him.
He stood and then pulled her up.
She looked at him through hazy blue eyes. He recalled seeing that haze in her eyes when he made love to her the first time, when he learned it had been her first time ever. She’d been saving herself for someone special. For him, she’d confessed.
Five years ago, like now, blood had thundered in him, demolishing every thought but that of being inside her. “I want to see you. All of you.”
He unzipped her pants. His urges gnawing at him, he watched as she wriggled the denim past her hips, then down her thighs. In seconds she was wearing only a pair of panties—and not the sensible cotton type he remembered. These were pink, barely there….
He sucked in a shallow breath. “You’re lovely.”
A piece of wood in the hearth popped.
He couldn’t wait a moment longer.
He undressed as she shimmied out of her panties.
Sitting on the couch, he pulled her on top of him, her thighs straddling his. “I want to watch you.”
“Good, that way I can watch you, too.” She smiled, a secretive smile that walloped him in the gut.
Placing one hand on her spine, he angled downward till he found the small of her back. With gentle pressure, he encouraged her to sit up straight.
When she was positioned the way he wanted, he placed one hand in the rich tangle of her hair, cradling her head.
Her fingers curled around him, as if she never wanted to let him go. He lowered his head, laving his tongue across the tip of her breast.
She shivered; he shuddered.
Shane suckled her breast, cupping her nipple with his tongue and drawing her deeper into his mouth.
Angie wriggled, her body moving rhythmically on his thighs.
Her head pressed against his palm as her back arched. In answer to her unspoken demand, he increased the pressure on her breast, then moved one hand between her legs, finding her most sensitive spot.
Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders as their rocking motion became more intense.
His fingers slipped against her dampness, and he gently inserted one finger into her, then another.
“Shane!”
He pressed the pad of his thumb against her, then stroked her once, then again with even more pressure.
She gasped.
Shane enjoyed hearing her ragged breathing, the sound of his name hanging in the air, then the way she whimpered as she collapsed against him.
Her arms went around him, and instinctively he held her. A fine sheen of moisture clung to her nape beneath the curtain of her hair.
Slowly her breathing returned to normal. And so did his.
After long moments, she leaned back. She reached a hand out, tracing down his unshaven cheek, drawing a finger across his eyebrow.
Her eyes were wide with wonder and excitement.
“I want to make you feel what I just felt, Shane,” she said, tangling her hand in the mat of hair on his chest. She smoothed her palm across him, finding his nipples and gently scraping her fingernails across them.
He sucked in a breath.
Triumphantly she smiled.
Then she moved back, a couple of inches away from him, and cupped her hand around him.
Blood surged through him. As she moved higher, he grew against her palm. She squeezed gently and he bit back a groan.
“Fill me,” she said.
He did.
Lifting her hips, he settled her near the tip of his manhood. Her gaze never leaving his, she gripped his shoulders for support and lowered herself. He felt her body stretching to fit his, and her tightness made him struggle for control.
Finally she’d taken him in all the way, and she rested for a moment, her knees sinking into the cushions, her thighs cradling his hips. Her arms were crossed behind his neck, and her full breasts were crushed against his chest. Woman to man, just as it should be.
Her hair draped across his chest as he’d fantasized, reminding him of a silken waterfall. He curled his hands into the strands, then let them sift through his fingers.
The fantasy wasn’t as incredible as the reality of it, of her.
As if they’d made love yesterday and not five years ago, they moved in harmony, Angie’s body meeting each of his insistent thrusts.
Need built, churning. She was close; he felt it. Arching up, he drove deeply, spilling himself inside her.
She continued to move, drawing more from him until he pulsed against her womb.
It was long moments until he could breathe normally.
Slowly Angie leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently kissing his temple. Her body was sweat-slickened and sexy, her fit around him was perfect.
Rationally he knew he might regret their lovemaking. But with Angie in his arms, this moment was the only thing that mattered.
“You’ve got goose bumps.”
“I’m getting chilly,” Angie admitted.
“Let me take you to bed, or we can move in front of the fireplace,” he said, glancing up at her.
She licked her lower lip. “The fireplace.” It was closer.
He reached for the Navajo throw on the back of the couch and tossed it onto the floor. Then he helped her untangle herself. She stood, but only for a second, before he scooped her off her feet again. At one time, he’d done that more figuratively, but with the same, heady effect on her.
He placed her on the throw, then smoothed it out and grabbed a pillow and plumped it behind her.
He moved between her legs, and she spread her thighs, inviting him in.
They’d made love dozens of times in the past, but Angie never recalled it being like this.
She
was bolder, she realized, but Shane didn’t seem to mind. He was different, too. He took her response and demanded more than he ever would have before. And that thrilled her. They moved together in perfect harmony, a give and take unlike any she’d ever known with him. And after it was over, he covered her with the blanket and cradled her. The covering of dark hair was downy soft, tempting her to explore.
But it was his face that made her lungs seem to shrink. His eyes were more moody than ever. Their rich depths now spoke of hurt and resolve. And in that instant, she knew she might have his body and his masculine response, but she’d never again have his heart.
In asking him to make love to her, she’d hoped for an emotional connection between them. But that was one thing he wasn’t offering.
He fingered her hair tenderly, and she blinked back tears. This was impossible. Why couldn’t she remember the past five years? Why had she believed she could make love with him and keep her heart separate from her body?
How was she ever going to survive this?
She’d left him once before. But surely that couldn’t be as difficult as doing it a second time….
Six
“Morning,” Shane said softly as Angie stirred against his chest. Just for a minute, he allowed himself to enjoy holding her. Then, quietly he added, “It stopped snowing.”
Her hand tightened into a fist near his middle. “I guess they’ll be able to get a snowplow out soon.”
“Yeah.” It would be for the best, he figured. She was getting close to him again, and that meant he was sliding into dangerous territory. Shane didn’t much care for dangerous territory. “I need to shower.”
He slowly disentangled their bodies, trying to ignore the noble part of him that wanted to reassure her.
Shane left her in the bed, grabbed some clothes, then spared a quick glance over his shoulder. She was rigid, the bedcovers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were wide and the blue was frosted with unasked questions.
Tension gnawed in his gut. More powerful than sexual hunger, this emotion bit him.
He closed the bathroom door between them.
Even though she didn’t recall seeing it before, she recognized the chilly expression that clouded his green eyes.
Yesterday was over. Today, if he could arrange it, she would be leaving.
The click of the door had sounded final.
She didn’t know how she felt. Confused, mostly. Part of her wanted to stay. The part that had been exposed and was now vulnerable wanted to run.
Needing some sort of action, she got up and pulled on one of his cotton flannel shirts. She crossed to the window and stood there, listening to the water run in the shower and trying not to think about their incredible lovemaking.
She stared through the icy windowpane at the vast white landscape, broken only by towering ponderosa pines. The sun was shining, reflecting off the sparkling layer of snow crystals.
It looked as cold as her insides suddenly felt, and she shivered. The world lay silent and still, as if holding its breath.
Unconsciously she touched the golden aspen leaf that still hung around her neck. Had it been a talisman for the last five years? she wondered. Or had she put it on just before coming back to Colorado? And if she had, why?
She dropped her hands to her sides, more frustrated now by her lack of memory than she had been earlier, before they’d made love.
In the other room, the water stopped, and she heard the glass door bang in its casing. Galvanized into action, she hurried to the closet, looking for the box where he kept the things she’d left behind. She didn’t want to be half-naked when he came out of the bathroom.
She pulled out a box and dragged it into the bedroom, then opened the lid, expecting to find jeans and sweatshirts inside. Instead, she found her bridal bouquet.
Her breath nearly choked her.
One hand pressed to her throat, she reached toward the silk flower arrangement and traced her fingertips over the rose’s pink petals. She remembered it and the dress she’d worn. She recalled the ceremony, of walking toward him on the arm of his friend and best man, Slade Birmingham. It might only have happened yesterday, so clearly did she see Shane’s anxious smile and the wary set of his lips, as if he expected her to turn and run. She hadn’t, at least not then.
Her hand shook as she moved the bouquet aside and took out their photo album. These were snapshots, not professional portraits. They couldn’t afford a photographer, so a couple of friends had taken candid shots. The pictures were grainy, the colors watery, but her and Shane’s expressions were indelibly etched.
There was Shane, kneeling in front of her. He’d lifted the hem of her dress to take off the garter, but intentionally blocked the view of the photo taker. Another showed her delicately feeding him a sliver of cake, yet another showed him feeding her. In one, she looked up at him, eyes wide and asking for his trust.
That was one battle she’d always fought. He didn’t trust easily, not after first his mother, then his fiancée, abandoned him. And now, with the pictures as proof, she saw the underlying tension where her traumatized mind had only remembered happiness.
Pain lanced across her forehead, leaving a pounding in its wake. She needed aspirin, needed…
Her eye was drawn to her wedding ring, and her hand followed. She picked up the plain band as well as her engagement ring and slipped both on her finger.
The thundering in her temples increased, and she momentarily squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the pain.
Shane opened the bathroom door; light glinted off the tiny diamond. She scrambled to her feet, the photo album thudding to the floor. He moved toward her, then stopped and rested his hips against the dresser. His gaze was narrowed, and…
Her heart missed a beat, then another.
And…
In that moment her past crashed back.
She remembered.
Everything.
Every awful, horrible detail, the heartache, the flood of tears, the realization she had no option but to leave him.
Her mouth fell open and her hands dropped helplessly to her sides. Her knees sagged, and she reached to steady herself on the dresser.
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
Including the reason she couldn’t stay with him. More than ever, she regretted their intimacy, wished she was dressed, rather than facing him in only an oversize shirt. He clearly had the advantage. Freshly showered and shaven, dressed in faded denim and soft cotton, he was all man to her smaller woman.
Quietly he asked, “So you know why you left?”
She nodded, then tipped back her chin to face his fury. She deserved it, she supposed. If the situation were reversed, she would have been furious. “I do.”
Whiplash fast, he added, “And you know why the hell you’re back?”
“Shane—”
“Why, Angie? Why did you rip my heart out five years ago? And why in God’s name are you back? To stomp on it?”
She exhaled a shaky little breath. She refused to be intimidated by Shane, no matter how much a renegade part of her longed to be back in his arms. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said honestly.
He scoffed.
In the dull morning light, Shane saw regret in her blue eyes, regret mixed with resolve. This wasn’t the woman he’d loved last night, the woman who’d cried out his name.
This was the woman who’d coldly left him.
Part of him wanted to believe their lovemaking had changed something deep inside him, dulling his anger, but it hadn’t. Five years of suppressed fury rushed to the surface.
He had a hundred questions—and he vowed to get an answer to each. One question, though, overrode the others. “Where’s your dearly beloved husband?”
She shuddered. “I’m not married.”
“Two divorces in five years? Not bad for a woman who swore she’d only have one marriage, ever.”
“Jack’s dead.” She
sifted a hand through her hair, shifting the locks that had fallen across his chest in sleep. The cut on her forehead stood as a reminder that she wasn’t completely recovered, but damn it, she remembered.
Her shoulders drooped. “It’s been a long time—”
“Five years, four months…” He glanced at the date. “Two days.”
She sighed, and her breasts rose, then fell beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. Just the memory of what lay beneath the material had the ability to arouse him, and he coldly shut off his purely reflexive response. Yesterday, last night had been a mistake, one he wouldn’t repeat.
“I told myself you would have gotten over me.”
He took another step toward her.
“You didn’t forget,” she said.
“Or forgive.”
Even though he’d taken a couple of steps toward her, she stood her ground. The old Angie would have retreated.
“Let’s start with now—tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to show up, uninvited and unwanted at my house.”
She winced. “I was going to my aunt’s house.”
“Only a fool goes out in a Colorado snowstorm.”
“It wasn’t snowing at Denver International Airport.”
“And it didn’t occur to you that we could have a blizzard on this side of the pass? No,” he continued, “it wouldn’t have. You didn’t make it past the second week in September. You never saw a mountain snowstorm, did you?”
“Do you want answers to your questions? Or do you want to rant and rave at me?”
“I don’t rant and rave.”
“No, you don’t,” she agreed. “That would have meant exposing part of yourself, showing that you were human.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re always so controlled.” She wrapped her arms around her, pulling the shirt up a little higher.
“I don’t know about that,” he said softly, not having as much success as he’d hoped at ignoring the fact that she was a half-dressed woman, only a few feet from a rumpled, inviting bed.
She dropped her arms. “I’m not talking about sex. That wasn’t ever a problem.”
One Snowbound Weekend... Page 6
