Finding Lacey Moon

by Donya Lynne

  “Is this okay?” He stepped back to allow her in. “You don’t think it’s too dressy?”

  With a shake of her head, she eased past him. “I like it. You look…nice.” Try intoxicatingly sexy. She liked a man who looked good in a pair of jeans, but there was something alluring about seeing an outdoorsy guy like Scott dressed up.

  A pleased smile spread over his mouth as he shut the door. “Thank you. So do you.” He took her coat and hung it on the rack as she meandered farther into his home.

  In a way, it felt like they were back to first-date jitters, as if this was her first time in his cabin instead of the second. Lacey imagined that was only because they both knew how important tonight was. Not only because it was Thanksgiving, and he was spending it with her instead of his family, but because of what had happened the last time she was here, as well as how their morning of sledding had played out. There was definitely a different energy in the air between them now. One that was supercharged and hypersensitive…full of sexual undertones.

  A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, and the flat screen was turned to the football game, the sound low. Smells of roasting turkey, homemade cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie drifted from the kitchen.

  “You’ve been busy for the past two hours,” she said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Bowls and pans scattered the counters.

  “Naw, I actually prepared most of the food last night. This is just phase two.” He nodded toward the pie. “Baked that this morning before we went sledding.”

  The guy was a regular Chef Ramsey, obviously comfortable in a kitchen.

  “If you’re such a great cook, why do you eat at Pappy’s so much?”

  He tied on a dark-blue apron and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just like their food.” He opened the oven and basted the turkey. “They’re sort of a town monument. Been here for fifty years. They renovated back about six years ago.” He shut the oven and set the baster on the counter. “What about you? You seem like a pretty good cook yourself.”

  Clearly, he was remembering her one and only attempt at tackling the Julia Child cookbook.

  She held up her hands and shook her head. “That was a one-shot deal.”

  With a chuckle, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. “So I take it becoming a chef isn’t on the short list of things you’ve come up with as you continue your quest to find yourself.”

  “Definitely not. Too much work. But at least I know I’m dangerous enough to roast a mean chicken.”

  He unscrewed the cork of the wine bottle and removed it with a pop. He took two glasses down from the cupboard.

  “By the way, how’s that going? Your soul-searching or whatever you want to call it? Have you made any decisions, yet?” His voice held a hint of concern, as if he worried that as soon as she had her answers, she would leave.

  “Nothing definite.” She took the glass he held out to her. “But I’m getting close. I’ve been reading this book that’s helped clear my head and put a few things in perspective.”

  He stood across from her, one hand on the counter, the other holding his glass of wine in front of him. “Oh?”

  “It’s by Apolo Ohno. You know, the speed skater?”

  He nodded. “He wrote a book?”

  “Yeah. His autobiography. It’s really inspiring.” She trailed her fingers up the side of her glass. “Did you know that he almost quit short track before making it to the Olympics?”

  “Really?”

  She nodded in emphasis. “After he failed to make the 1998 Olympic team, he almost quit.”

  “Wow, just imagine how that would have changed the face of speed skating.” Scott sipped his wine, and, for a moment, he looked like he was reminiscing over his own missed opportunity to play football. “He made a difference to the sport, not just by setting records, but in just about every way. He was a testament not just to speed skating, but to the Olympics, too. You can’t watch speed skating now and not think of Apolo Ohno.”

  “I know, right?” She took a drink and set the glass on the counter. “He sort of went through what I’m going through now. You know, soul-searching, trying to figure himself out and what he wanted to do with his life. After he failed to make the team, his father took him to this isolated cabin in Washington.”

  “Kind of like you, huh?” Scott leaned onto the counter in front of her, his eyes sparkling as he grinned.

  She gave him a lopsided smile. “Yeah, kind of like me. Except for that whole isolated thing.”

  “Except for that.” His gaze danced over hers as he slowly spun his glass with his fingers.

  Tiny crackles burst inside her belly. Scott had her senses on fire with just a glance.

  Forcing down the flutters of excitement, she continued with her story. “Okay, so for nine days, Apolo stayed in solitude. No phone. No computer.” She rested her arms on the counter, around her glass, leaning toward him. “He took long runs and started writing in a journal.” She looked up. “Did you know I’ve started writing a journal, too?”

  Scott shook his head, grinning. “Is it helping?”

  “Yes. It’s helping me organize my thoughts and see what’s important.” And right now, she was looking at the most important thing she’d written about. Him.

  “So, how did Apolo figure out his life in those nine days inside an isolated cabin?” The tone of his voice implied he was asking about more than just Apolo.

  “Well, he wrote in his journal, took long runs—even in the rain—and long rides on his stationary bike, and began watching tapes of short track competition. Nine days later, he went from wanting to quit speed skating to committing himself one hundred percent to being the best. Nine days!” she said emphatically.

  “You sound like you’re in the middle of some kind of revelation.”

  She felt that way, too. For the last couple of weeks, she’d been inching closer and closer to what she had come here in search of. The fog in her mind was gradually clearing, and what she sought seemed to be right there. Just out of reach but so close she could smell it.

  “Maybe I am.”

  If Apolo Ohno could figure out the rest of his life in just nine days, surely she could do it in two months. Maybe her focus wasn’t as tight as Apolo’s, and maybe she wasn’t completely isolated, but she was almost there.

  She sat back and gently clapped her hands on the counter. “Whether I’m revolutionizing myself as we speak or not, his book is really helping me not feel like I’m so alone.” That had been a big part of her problem. Before, she’d felt like the one lone sheep in a pack of hungry wolves. “Like, maybe that no matter what’s happened to make me lose sight of who I am and what I want, it’s not that difficult to get back on my feet and rededicate my life to a purpose…to help me rediscover what I love and to remind me that maybe the path I’m on is the one I needed to follow.”

  She thought back to something Apolo had written in his book. “You know, Apolo questioned what would have happened if he’d actually made the ‘98 team. He wondered if everything else would be different. Or was that just how everything was supposed to happen? If he’d made the ‘98 team, would he have gone on to become the greatest speed skater the sport has ever seen? Would he have found the hunger to be the best and dedicated himself to a regimen that would make most people insane? It was those nine days he took to find himself that changed everything and gave us the greatest short track skater in the world. In his mind, that was the path he needed to take to find what he needed.”

  “I think he’s right.” Scott gave her a meaningful look, his eyes drinking in her face. “Because if you hadn’t felt the need to find yourself, Mattie, I never would have found you. And right now, you’re what I need.”

  Chapter 17

  Scott’s words burned inside Lacey’s mind throughout dinner, during dessert, and even now as she sipped wine in the living room as he finished cleaning up. He’d refused to let her help.

  You’re what I need.

  She
gulped down a swallow of wine as the words echoed in her mind once more. He’d made his declaration then turned away from her to work on the potatoes while she sat stunned and speechless at the bar.

  From that point forward, conversation had been thick with…what? How did she put into words what she’d sensed hovering around them for the past hour? She could barely discern her own feelings. All she knew was that the mood that had sprung to life the last time she was here, when they’d shared their battle wounds with one another, was back with a vengeance. She couldn’t really say the atmosphere was sexual, though, because it was so much more than that. Sexual, erotic, hopeful, expectant…intimate.

  Unable to focus, she wandered his living room, blindly scanning the books on the shelves, the pictures of him and Savannah, the knickknacks he’d picked up over the years. Turning, she spied a corner curio cabinet and wandered closer. Inside were several models of ships…like the ones Columbus sailed to discover America, with the big white sails and wooden bodies.

  She looked closer. One was labeled Mayflower. Another, USS Constitution. One was clearly a pirate ship, with the traditional skull and crossbones on one sail. Scott even had the Santa Maria among his collection.

  In the reflection off the glass, she saw the light turn off in the kitchen. A moment later, he approached behind her.

  “Did you make these?” She kept her eyes on his in the reflection.

  “Yes.” He stopped close enough that she felt his body heat against her back. “I used to enjoy building models when I was younger. Now…” His voice trailed off as his hands eased over her hips. His nose nuzzled her hair, and his eyes closed. “Now, I’m just too busy.” He spoke slowly, his voice breathy.

  The tension that had been hanging over them all night finally broke, and Lacey swayed back as his hands crept around to the front. It was suddenly hot inside Scott’s cabin. Blistering to the point she felt dizzy.

  “Your hair’s longer,” he murmured absently, swirling his nose in a slow circle before kissing the back of her head.

  She licked her lips, losing her grip on reality. Behind her, Scott was mounting an untenable offensive she had no hope of stopping, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. In front of her, she watched the play-by-play in their reflection.

  Every sense was engaged or soon would be. She could see him, feel his touch, hear his breath whisper through her hair, smell the gentle, clean scent of his shampoo. And she knew if this kept up, she would taste him.

  But for now, he seemed content to remain behind her, caressing her stomach, kissing her hair, pressing closer.

  Her focus waned as her eyes closed. Somewhere in the recesses of her awareness, she felt him take her wine from her hand, heard the base of the glass clink quietly on a nearby shelf, and felt his fingers begin unfastening the buttons of her sweater.

  She opened her eyes as he took a step back and slowly dragged her sweater off her arms. She didn’t care where he put it. The floor, the back of the couch, the trash. Just as long as he kept touching her, kept kissing her, kept making her feel like a treasured relic.

  His nose dipped into her hair again, and his chest rose against her back as he inhaled and laid his hands on her bared shoulders, right over the straps of her camisole.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his warm breath filtering through her hair to her scalp.

  She drew in a barely controlled breath as his fingers hooked one strap and slid it down her shoulder. His other arm wound around her waist and pulled her snugly against him so that the hard angles of his body molded into the soft curves of hers.

  “Spend the night with me.” His whispered words lilted like a question, not a request. A moment later, his fingers trembled on her shoulder as he teased the strap of her camisole. The tiny quake rippled up his arm, through his torso, and down his other arm, which tensed around her waist. She felt the tremor’s entire journey through his body.

  He exhaled a shuddering breath that sounded like a light attempt at a chuckle. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous.”

  She found his disquiet sexy and strangely flattering. What woman didn’t want to feel as special as he was making her feel this very second? She was the first woman he’d dated in ten years. That alone was enough for her to believe she was a cherished treasure. But to witness his barely contained anxiety in the moment was extraordinarily intimate. Erotic even.

  “I like it.” She spoke softly, keeping the mood intact. “It’s…charming.” She bowed her head, biting her lip as he played with her hair.

  His deep voice rumbled quietly. “Charming enough to say yes?”

  The embers in the fireplace sizzled, adding an apropos soundtrack to Scott’s intoxicating seduction.

  Her soul sang for his touch, his lips on hers, his warmth.

  The ethereal moment stretched, his breath going still as he waited for her reply.

  Placing one arm over his, she inhaled his clean scent. Then, smiling impishly, she said, “I like hot tea with my breakfast.”

  He exhaled then brushed her hair aside. “Is Earl Grey okay?” She heard the relief in his voice.

  Butterflies lit in her stomach. “It’ll work.”

  A moment later, the most tender of kisses heated her nape, following by the fiery, moist stroke of his tongue.

  They’d danced around this for weeks. All the kissing, the touching, the suggestive stares…everything culminated into this. The now. The only thing left keeping them from being fully together. Last week had merely been a prelude to the main event. An appetizer that had only sated their hunger temporarily, whetting their appetites for the main course.

  And she wanted to be devoured. Heedless of her secret and what would happen after she told him the truth, she wanted this one incredible night with him. If she could have this, at least she could hold onto that forever if everything else fell apart.

  He released her, and she heard the soft rustle of fabric as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor. A moment later, he gently pushed his hands up the back of her camisole and around to the front, lifting the formfitting wisp of fabric until he reverently drew it from her body.

  Their eyes met in the reflection as his palms grazed her breasts, making her nipples tighten and a moan escape her throat. Again, he circled his hands over her supple curves, increasing the pressure until she couldn’t stand the onslaught of sensual pleasure.

  Laying her head back on his shoulder, she reached around to clasp the back of his neck and drew his face to hers until their mouths met.

  If it had been hot in the cabin before, it was beyond tropical now.

  Scott claimed her mouth like a man deprived of affection for far too long. And he had been. Ten years was a long time to wait to be with a woman again.

  He shivered as he gripped her sides and twisted her around to face him, deepening the kiss as he exhaled tremulously through his nose. As his body trembled again, Lacey sensed he was on the verge of losing control, scarcely containing himself.

  She forced herself to pull back. If she didn’t slow things down, it would be over before it began. Holding his face in her hands, she held his gaze as his fingers dug into her hips.

  “I don’t know why I’m shaking,” he said, breathing hard. His gaze blazed into hers before burning a path to her mouth and breasts, feasting on her nudity, before returning to her face.

  “Sshh.” She knew why he was trembling. Because it had been so long since he’d made love to a woman. Because he didn’t sleep around. Because he took physical intimacy seriously. Scott was a moral man, principled and gracious. For him to ask her to spend the night meant he respected her and saw her as more than a casual affair.

  Taking a step back, she slid the fingers of one hand through the dark hair on his chest with deliberate slowness. She needed to calm him while keeping the fire burning, but she also wanted to drink in his physical beauty.

  The scar on his biceps was matched by one on his shoulder and another on his chest. She ran her finger
tips over them, paying each badge of honor the respect it deserved before moving to the next. Scott didn’t move, barely breathed, hardly made a sound. Only stood there, chest pumping, muscles tensing under her touch, watching her as she stepped to the side and ran her hand over his shoulder and down his arm.

  Almost as if he knew she was admiring his body and locating the scars from his past, he remained still, facing the curio, as she eased behind him and dragged the tips of her fingers over the solid, supple curves of his back. He had no scars here, just smooth skin over hard muscle. The manual labor involved in running the resort and performing his volunteer work obviously kept him in tip-top shape.

  He was a physical god.

  Leaning forward, she placed a sultry kiss at the top of his spine, then came around the other side and smoothed her palm up his arm to his shoulder before trailing it down his chest to the dark treasure trail that disappeared into his slacks.

  “Did I pass inspection?” he said, markedly calmer but still seething with need. His eyes glinted in the firelight.

  She pursed her lips together and, with only a moment’s hesitation, slid her palm over the bulge under the smooth fabric. He hissed, and his hands curled into fists as the muscles in his upper body flexed.

  “Yes.” She felt drunk. “You definitely passed.”

  Now she was the one falling under his spell. Again.

  She liked this give-and-take they played with each other. First he’d enraptured her. Then she’d done the same to him. And now it was her turn again.

  All she wanted was to keep touching him. She wanted to feel the dips and valleys of the muscles of his abdomen, on up to his chest, which was covered with the same thick, dark hair that formed his treasure trail. His nipples hardened against the tips of her fingers, and her own tightened in response when a quiet, staccato moan broke from his throat.

  “You’re killin’ me here,” he said softly, closing the short distance between them.

  She blinked up to his face. “I’ve never…you’re…I…”

  “Sshh.” One side of his mouth lifted in an affectionate smirk.