by Kait Nolan
He thought he’d done that. Pouring out all those memories into fiction, where he explored the million and one what-if scenarios that had plagued him the past three years. And what would Ivy say if he told her he was a writer, too? He wasn’t anywhere near the level she was, but his self-published military science fiction had found a niche following and earned some minor acclaim. Maybe more surprising, it had given him an unexpected living and the freedom to borrow a friend’s cabin just to sulk for a week. But it wasn’t exorcising those demons. He’d just been reliving them over and over—with lasers and cool, space tech. He’d thought he’d worked through more of it, but Garrett’s funeral and seeing Ty ripping himself to shreds with guilt just brought everything back to the surface.
So what was the answer?
Clearing the debris out of the fuel line, he began to reassemble the fuel pump.
“The alternative is that she looks at the opportunities she’s presented with and actively chooses life, chooses to engage, chooses to feel.”
What the hell did that even look like? Did it really mean choosing to forge some real connection with Ivy? Taking her up on her offer?
God, his hands itched to touch her again, to fill his palms with her breasts and feel the heat of her pressed against him. The blood drained into his lap as he imagined finishing what they’d started, stripping her bare so he could taste every inch of her before burying himself in all that wet heat.
The screws slipped out of his hand. Swearing, he bent over to dig through the snow for them.
He needed to slow his roll. Not that he didn’t believe she wanted him. She’d made that clear enough. But was choosing her, choosing intimacy—he wasn’t under any delusion after that talk that being with her would be just sex—actually a step in the right direction? Or was it more distraction from the essential pain of living?
Did it matter? He wanted her. She wanted him. That should be simple math. But he suspected nothing with Ivy would be simple.
He reinstalled the fuel pump without further mishap. One, two, three cranks and the motor roared to life. Well, at least he knew how to fix some things.
Putting away his tools, Harrison went back inside, dreading the inevitable question of when he could take her back into town so she could get back to the getaway she’d actually planned.
Ivy sat in the chair by the fire, fingers flying over the laptop balanced on her legs. Immersed in whatever she was working on, she didn’t even seem to notice him. She was in the zone. Absurdly relieved he didn’t have to face the issue of town—yet, anyway— he left her to it, using the time to clean up so he didn’t smell like gas.
She was still head down when he came back out. A few locks of hair had escaped the messy bun to brush at her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice as her fingers flew over the keys. He had a feeling a bomb could go off nearby and she wouldn’t register a thing. Feeling a sense of kinship, his lips tugged into a smile. He understood what that level of immersion meant for her, for her career—maybe more for her mental health. The dam had been broken and now she needed to ride the wave of creativity as far as it would take her.
Fly, little bird, fly.
He wanted to keep her here. To protect this little oasis for her where she couldn’t or wouldn’t do it for herself.
Right. Because it’s entirely about her and not because the moment she walks out of your life, everything’s going back to being gray.
Uncomfortable with the thought and realizing he was just kind of staring at her, he moved quietly to the kitchen. He’d just make a pot of coffee and settle in with a book.
Ivy didn’t stir until he set a mug on the little table by her chair. Her nose twitched, her head popping up. “Coffee?”
Her hopeful tone made him smile. “I thought you might want another cup.”
Losing some of that glazed expression, she came fully back to the present. “We have power!”
“We do. I take it the book or outline or whatever is going well?”
She set the laptop on the coffee table and rose, wincing a little as she unfolded her legs. “It is! I have a plot, Harrison. An actual, honest-to-goodness, not-total-piece-of-steaming-crap plot. Or most of one anyway. I’ve got all my major plot points, and a helluva start on both character arcs.”
“Both?”
Her words spilled out in a frantic, enthusiastic rush. “I have to tell Annika’s story alongside Michael’s. Because they’re inextricably intertwined. I didn’t see it before. I had him out there on his own and I wasn’t getting anywhere, but now I am. She needs him. And he’ll change for her. She’s the only one it could be, and I finally see it because of you, you brilliant man.” Eyes gleaming with excitement, she bounced up, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a smacking kiss to his mouth.
It was fast, friendly, and she pulled back almost at once. But it was enough for the taste of her to hit him like a drug. Color heated her cheeks and distress dimmed those silver-green eyes.
He hated it. Hated that she felt a moment of discomfort over sharing her excitement. Hated that he’d done anything to bring her down from that creative high.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She trailed off as he slid a hand into her hair.
“No, I’m sorry.” He skimmed a thumb over her bottom lip and watched the distress melt into confused arousal. “I screwed this up. But I can do better. Will do better, if you’ll let me.” Stepping into her, he lowered his mouth until it was a breath away from hers. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t.” Her whispered reply feathered over his lips and he was lost to do anything but close that last finite distance.
Chapter 9
Ivy’s tiny gasp and sigh sparked a fire in Harrison’s blood.
He didn’t remember kissing her this morning. Not really. He’d been too much in his head, still partly dreaming. But he would remember this. The gradual surrender as she melted into him, her hands curling into the front of his shirt, the silk of her hair in his fingers.
He wanted her to remember it, too, so he took his time, exploring her lips and drinking in every little nuance. As he traced the seam of her mouth, she opened for him, instantly angling her head for a deeper kiss. Her ready acquiescence had his patience straining, but he continued to sip, to savor, steeping himself in the taste of her. She was so sweet, so…open. He could get drunk on kissing her alone.
The pulse in her throat hammered against his thumb, urging his own heartbeat into a gallop. But still, he held himself in check. If they were going to do this, he was going to take his time. He’d make it good for her. Make it worth her taking this chance on him.
Rising to her toes, Ivy pressed more firmly against him. His erection nudged her belly. She was short. Too short for them to easily line up while standing. Blindly, he backed them toward the sofa, praying he didn’t run into the table and upset the coffee. Abruptly bumping into the sofa, he sat down hard, breaking their kiss. Ivy followed him down, finding his mouth again like a heat-seeking missile as she straddled his lap, fitting herself against the bulge in his jeans.
Harrison groaned, skimming his hands up her back and into her hair.
“Too many clothes,” she complained.
“Working on it.” His hands went to the belt of her sweater, tugging the knot free.
With considerably less patience, she shoved his flannel shirt off his shoulders, growling a little when it caught. The sound shot straight to his cock. He couldn’t stop himself from holding her close and bucking against her heat, torturing them both. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, even as she tugged up his t-shirt, seeking skin. More than happy to oblige, he broke the kiss, yanking the shirt up and off.
Ivy’s pupils all but swallowed up the green of her eyes as she took in the sight of him. She sucked in a slow breath. “I didn’t have adequate opportunity to appreciate this earlier.” She trailed a finger down his shoulder, over one pec to circle his nipple. “God was in a very, very good mood when He made you.”
“Pr
etty sure that was the United States Army.”
“God bless America.” Her mouth came back to his, unabashedly greedy as her hands streaked over his chest and shoulders.
He loved every second.
Tunneling beneath her shirt, he stroked his fingers over her back, her ribs, and higher to cup her breasts. On a moan, Ivy arched into the touch, her nipples pearling. He wanted to taste them, wanted to see them but contented himself for the moment with exploring by touch, seeing how she responded when he tugged down the cups of her bra and skimmed his roughened fingers over her tender skin.
“More. Very definitely more of that.” As if to help him along with that decision, she grasped the hem of her shirt and tugged it off.
The sight of the livid bruising slapped him in the face again. It ran from her left shoulder down to her right hip, clearly showing where she’d been thrown against the seat belt. His hands stilled. She’d been in an accident just yesterday. What the hell was he doing?
Ivy cupped his face in her hand, forcing his gaze up. “It looks worse than it is. It doesn’t hurt.”
He’d been bruised countless times, in countless ways. He knew the stages, knew the level of pain associated with each. There was no way in hell this didn’t hurt.
“Please don’t stop.”
She wanted this, wanted him, and God knew, he wanted her. So he wouldn’t stop, but he’d damned well find some control and finesse and be gentle about it.
Leaning forward, Harrison pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, where the angry purple began. Ivy’s breath hitched, her fingers spearing into his hair to hold him to her. He traced the path of the bruising with his mouth.
“I was never a fan of the whole kiss it make it better thing, but you’re changing my mind.”
He smiled against her skin, taking a moment to linger between her breasts as he unfastened her bra and drew it off. He traced the inner curve of each breast with his tongue, wanting more, needing more, but holding himself back. He had a mission to complete now—to make her forget she’d been injured at all.
Lifting his head, he combed his fingers through her thick, brown hair. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She slid off his lap, sending him a heated look over her shoulder as she crossed the room. Harrison thought he’d happily follow her anywhere. He admired the sway of her ass as she preceded him up the steep, narrow staircase, and maybe that was how he missed when her nerves crept back in.
As he stepped into the loft, he saw her deliberately unclench her fingers and straighten rounded shoulders, a quick flash of uncertainty giving way to relief. The realization that she’d thought he might change his mind and turn away from her again was a punch to the gut.
Jesus, he’d been a jackass.
Wanting to put her at ease again, he framed her face and kissed her, long and deep, until she relaxed against him, her arms snaking around his waist.
“Still okay?”
“Why aren’t we naked yet?” Ah, there was that sweet tone of demand again.
His lips kicked up. “You in a hurry?”
“Kinda.”
“Too bad. I’m not.” Determined to make up for giving her any reason to doubt him, he drowned the protest she made with another kiss designed to make her forget exactly what she was complaining about.
Nudging her back on the bed, Harrison efficiently pulled off her shoes and socks. Instead of starting in on her jeans, he crawled up the bed, up her body, close enough that the hair of his chest brushed against the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her breath hitched and she arched into him. And didn’t that just put her long, lovely neck right there for his mouth to feast on?
Ivy tipped her head back as he began to explore the side of her throat. “More skin-to-skin.”
Harrison had been a soldier for a lot of years. He knew how to take orders. He dragged his stubbled cheek across her collar bone. “I intend to taste every inch of your skin. Does that work for you?”
Ivy’s entire body clenched beneath him in anticipation. “Given what your mouth is doing to me so far, I suspect it absolutely will. But just so you know, I really want to feel your hands again.”
He didn’t often have cause to think about his hands in a positive light. The things he’d done with them in the line of duty— Harrison cut off the thought, glancing up to where they circled her wrists, pinning her loosely in place. If she liked the idea of his hands, he was more than happy to put them to better use. “Where?”
“Everywhere,” she breathed.
Oh yeah, he could get into that. “How about we do both?”
“Please, God, yes.”
He used them on her—fingers, tongue, teeth, lips—until every exposed inch quivered with need and sensation. She encouraged him every step of the way, saying exactly what she liked, what she loved, what she needed more of. Then, and only then, did he strip off her jeans and panties to continue his thorough exploration, working his way up her legs from her delicate ankles.
As he began to nuzzle the soft, soft skin at the inside of her thigh, Ivy muttered, “I might simply burn up and die if you don’t hurry up and put that mouth where I need it most.”
Smiling again—he’d smiled more since this woman came into his life than the entire past year—he asked, “Do you always talk this much during sex?”
“What?” The word came out strained.
“You’ve had this kind of one-sided dialogue going since we got started up here.”
“I have?”
“Mmm.” He kissed a couple inches higher.
Her body tensed. “I used to be a sleep talker as a kid. I didn’t know I was a sex talker.”
Sorry he’d inadvertently embarrassed her, he gently pressed apart the knees she’d begun to close so he could look up the length of her body into her eyes. “I love knowing what I’m doing to you.”
The vulnerability on her face had little to do with his position between her legs. “You do?”
“It’s incredibly fucking hot. And, for the record, you won’t die. Not on my watch.”
“Good to knooo—oh God.”
At the first touch of his tongue down her center, she bowed up off the bed, hands fisting in the covers. He simply used his hands to hold her hips steady as he began to lick and suck at her most sensitive flesh, until the only word she could manage was his name. She screamed it as the orgasm ripped through her.
Best sound ever.
As she lay gasping for breath, Harrison prowled up her body again, reaching for one of the condoms in his wallet on the bedside table.
“You lied.” Because the words sounded conversational instead of accusatory, he didn’t slow his movements.
“About what?”
“I really don’t think I just lived through that. It was too good. Glad I went out on a high note, though.”
This woman was good for his ego.
On a chuckle, Harrison rose over her, loving her flushed, sated look in the middle of the rumpled bed and knowing he’d done that. “You’re quite the soprano, but I expect we can find proof of life yet.” He stroked the blunt tip of his cock through the wetness between her thighs.
Already arching up to him, Ivy levered up to brush her lips over his. “I do appreciate a man who loves a challenge.”
Harrison followed her mouth back down, covering her body with his as he eased inside her. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she dug her heels into his ass, urging him deeper.
Christ almighty, she felt so good.
And she was suddenly too quiet. Shit. “You stopped talking. You okay? Did I hurt you?”
Ivy framed his face, eyes searching his for…what?
He couldn’t stop himself from cupping her cheek, wanting to do something, anything to reassure her. She shouldn’t ever have cause to doubt him again.
Evidently finding what she needed, she offered the sweetest smile as she tipped her mouth up to his. “So very okay.”
He’d make sure she stayed that way. He began to move in a torturously
slow, controlled rhythm that had her body coiling again for the climb. He was climbing with her this time, drawing on every shred of control he possessed not to simply plunge into her and lose himself. Because she was better for him than her books, better than writing. Right here, with her, he couldn’t think of anything but the slow, blistering glide of their bodies coming together.
Her hands streaked over him, fraying his control as she met him thrust for thrust. As she neared the edge, her body beginning to ripple around him, he fought to hang on, to put her first.
“Harrison.”
His gaze sharpened on hers. She looked up at him, seemingly into him, and he felt more exposed than he ever had in his life. But what shields could he have here, buried inside her? Did she see that he was broken? That he didn’t deserve this? Didn’t deserve her?
He faltered.
Her hands curled into his shoulders. “With me. Come with me.”
At her demand, he dropped his brow to hers. “Ivy.”
“With me,” she repeated, her climax already gripping him. “Let go. You can let go.”
And like the good soldier he’d been, he followed orders.
Every single one of Ivy’s nerve endings was alight. If she opened her eyes, she was positive she’d be glowing. She’d have to check. In a minute. Or twenty. Her limbs felt heavy. So did Harrison’s weight stretched out on her, though he’d tucked his arms alongside her torso to keep from crushing her.
“I’ll move in a minute.” His voice rumbled against the crook of her neck.
Because her hand was conveniently already there, Ivy stroked it through the hair at his nape, enjoying the slide of the strands through her fingers. “No rush. You make an excellent blanket.”
They lay there, still joined, breathing together in the silence. Ivy waited for that to feel strange. Instead it felt…peaceful, as if they’d done this countless times before. Her life would definitely be richer if they had, and she had high hopes that they would do it again. Preferably as soon as he was physically able. And maybe sometime later. Or a lot of times later. She was really beginning to see the benefits of a blizzard.
