by Kyra Whitton
He knew she hovered behind him. He had to. He became too still, too focused not to know. He didn’t tense, but his breathing hitched slightly, quickening, and then holding. She appreciated his silence, allowing her to take pleasure in brushing her gaze over him, committing the lines and ridges of him to her memory.
Pressing close, she brushed her lips over his shoulder blade. He tensed and she slid further into him, the thin layer of her cotton shirt only a flimsy barrier at best, and her breasts flattened. Alec stiffened immediately and started to turn.
Evie stopped him with a hand to his hip, her fingers curling around his front, skimming her fingers over the muscle of his hip flexor, her palm pressing forward over his waistband. Her breath whispered over his skin, the rippling muscle of his back, her lips barely rasping over him.
“How do you make me feel this way?” Her eyes drifted closed.
All feeling pooled in her center, her skin pricking and begging to be touched. She pressed her lips against his back, again, trailing her lower lip over his spine as her hands gripped his arms just above the elbows. Evie rested her forehead between his shoulder blades, breath stuttering out of her, her grip tightening and eyes closing.
“I don’t feel like myself around you,” she admitted, caressing the curve of his muscle with her cheek. “And just when I think I have you figured out, something changes.” She ran her palm down his arm, her fingertips blazing the trail over the hard muscle.
He moved, but she fitted her fingers between his, curled them up, stilling him.
“With you, I feel it all.”
She turned her lips back into him, her tongue darting out over her own to capture the saltiness of his skin. She pressed a kiss to the center of his spine, and a tremor ran through him.
“You make me angry. And excited. And young. Old. Innocent. Stupid. Brilliant. Lost. And hot.” She tightened her hold on his hands. “I’ve never felt less like myself. Or more like myself.”
She dropped his hands, slipping her own around his chest, her fingers carding through the soft hair.
“And I don’t know why. Her voice broke, her muscles slackening.
He whirled on her, crushing his mouth to hers as his fingers dove into her hair, getting caught in the tangles. She stumbled back, steadying herself by clapping both hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into the hard muscle.
A sweetness of apple still clung to his lips, and it mingled with the sharp tang of whisky. Their teeth scraped as she pushed closer, demanding more with her mouth, plucking and sucking, his stubble scraping her soft skin.
He walked her backwards until the edge of the wooden table bit into the soft skin around her hips. In one swift motion, his hands trailed down her back, her waist, the tops of her thighs, and he lifted her up just above the knee, settling her on the top of the wood. He stepped between her spread legs, bracing one hand behind her, and leaning in until his hips were cradled against her. He braced one hand on the table behind her, pushing his chest into her, quickening his kisses, and then breaking again, his hot mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.
His fingers dipped into the waistband of her yoga pants, looping into her plain, cotton panties, and edging them both over her hips. She bicycled her legs, pulling and pushing the fabric down as she clung to him, mouth parting, breath heavy and quick, blood pounding in her ears. The spandex capris awkwardly bunched around her ankles, and a hint of embarrassment crept up her chest when he dropped to his knees before her.
She gulped anxiously as he pulled black fabrics over her ankle, dropping them to the floor. And then, before she even realized what he intended, he buried his face between her legs.
She gasped, leaning back, immediately trying to disconnect her flesh from his seeking lips, but his hand shot out, steadying her, and pressed her more closely to him. As his tongue connected with her most intimate parts, her hands began to shake. No one had ever touched her like that, before. Her knees trembled, her arms shook, and she dropped her head back between her shoulders as her center muscles contracted and relaxed.
Tensing as his tongue flicked over the little bundle of nerves, her whole body vibrated as he worshiped her. She nearly melted into the table, one hand bracing against his shoulder, her short fingernails digging into his taut flesh. His hand ran up the trembling muscles of her thigh, over her scars, his thumb rubbing in a soft circular motion. Comforting. Quieting. She willed herself to relax with each gentle reminder.
And then he lifted up her thigh, hoisting it over his shoulder, forcing her to tip back. Her free hand, the one not kneading the muscle just above his collar bone, was forced back onto the wood to keep her from falling flat on her back.
She didn’t recognize the mewls echoing in her ears as her own, but when his hand slipped beneath her shirt, slid into her bra, and plucked at her nipple, the sound slipped out again. She moaned, her hips rocking, pushing into him, and he encouraged her, the hand not at her breast cupping her buttocks, pressing her closer.
Evie’s breath hitched as she came closer to finding the ultimate pleasure in him. She was close, but wanted so much more before she let herself go. She wanted him, all of him, and she’d only been given a small taste. She pulled at him, bending her knees and dislodging him. He stood standing between her thighs, and brought his mouth down on hers. She thought nothing of the taste of herself on his lips; the only thing she wanted was his kiss. They met hungrily against each other, her hands fumbling with his jeans, both of his hands now under her shirt, pushing it up into her underarms.
She popped each button from the loops of his jeans, but that was as far as she got. The stiff denim rasped and rubbed against her naked flesh, and she shuddered. So close to coming undone. But she wanted more. Needed more. Needed him closer. Needed him inside her.
He stepped away, drawing a condom out of his back pocket, and she leaned back, chest heaving as he stepped out of his jeans and boxer briefs, the cold air cooling some of her ardor. She pulled her shirt over her head with just enough time to welcome him back between her spread knees.
But rather than taking her fast and hard as she expected, he nuzzled her neck, laying gentle kisses just above her shoulder as his fingers pinched the bra clasp open. He drew the straps down her arms, dropping the plain, blue garment to the floor. Her head rolled back, giving him more access, and slowly, he trailed his lips down her collarbone and between her breasts. When his mouth found her nipple, he licked at it leisurely, eliciting a purr of satisfaction from her.
She didn’t know how long they remained wrapped in each other like that; it could have been hours, or only seconds. She fell into a trance of softness and pleasure where time didn’t exist, didn’t matter. Where she didn’t care.
When he finally slid between her thighs, it was slow, agonizing, and she stretched to accommodate him, humming with pleasure. He kissed her, then, slowly, savoring her and allowing her to do the same. Slowly he moved like the lapping of low tide on quiet shores. She demanded more, fingernails digging, mouth working faster. The flesh of her backside rubbed against the smoothed wood of the table, and though they started frustratingly slow, Alec brought their lovemaking to a crescendo.
****
Evie nestled closer to him, her head on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, her finger tangling with his chest hair as she tried to figure out how she had jumped into bed with this man as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Upon serious reflection—okay, maybe not serious, but reflection nonetheless—she had been making some questionable decisions as of late. Before the accident, never in a million years would she have participated in any of the activities she had in the last month. She wondered if she needed to be concerned about her complete lack of caution. Perhaps her traumatic brain injury had resulted in some sort of bruising to the part controlling impulses. Or maybe she had a tumor.
Yes. A tumor. That was probably it. This whole thing was probably just a side effect of a tumor, as well. She had watched enough m
edical soap operas since being confined to the house to know exactly how these things worked.
Logically, however, she knew that they probably would have found some signs of a tumor during all of her head scans and blood work over the last year.
“What are you thinking?”
His voice rumbled through his flesh and bone, echoing in her ear. She shifted, nestled in closer.
“Just wondering if this is all the by-product of a brain tumor.”
“It’s not.”
She shifted, propping her chin on her hand to look up into his eyes. “How do you know?”
“For starters, I’ve seen your medical records. And it’s highly unlikely we would both have identical brain tumors causing identical hallucinations.”
“And how do I know you aren’t a hallucination?” She quirked an eyebrow.
There was a long pause. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled. “Trusting a tumor.”
Only her stomach answered back.
“Hungry?” he asked with amusement.
She blushed, and bit down on her lower lip as she shifted her gaze away from his. “Maybe.”
He extracted himself out from underneath her, rolling away and standing in one move. Rays of sunlight ran along his naked form, a play of light and shadows, as he strode to long table at the other end of the room. A blush warmed her cheeks as she took him in. Every thick muscle and broad bone. Every towering inch.
She shifted uncomfortably, pushing herself up until she sat with her back pressed against the headboard. She pulled the blankets with her, ensuring her extra plumpness and scars were covered, rearranging them under her arms and over her legs, suddenly self-conscious of her softness. She swallowed. Surely he was used to perfect bikini bodies, and here she was pale and untoned, her skin splotchy and uneven, and the slight roundness of her belly, the jiggle in her thighs.
She drew her knees up to her chest and lowered her gaze to the blankets, her eyebrows drawing together. He caught her off guard, dipping down to kiss her on the lips before placing an apple in the hand that wasn’t clutching cloth to bosom. He stood back up as she blinked in surprise and picked his clothes up off the floor. Stepping into his jeans first, he left them slung low and unbuttoned on his hips as he pulled on his shirt.
“I’ll be back.”
****
When Alec returned, it was with a fish the size of Evie’s torso in one hand and a basket of grubby looking vegetables in the other. Evie didn’t move from where she was sprawled across the bed, her head leaning over the foot so everything was upside down. Just like her life. The basket thumped down on the table, the fish next.
Evie wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that unsanitary?”
He ignored her question and rummaged through the pack he’d brought with him, producing a small blade which was unceremoniously stabbed into the gullet of the fish. “You dressed.”
Evie made a face as he removed fish guts onto the table and flipped around onto her belly, spots momentarily prickling at the backs of her eyes as the blood rushed out of her head. “What, did you expect? Me to wait here for you, ready and naked?”
He didn’t look up, but she caught the smile playing along the corners of his mouth. “The thought did cross my mind.”
She rolled her eyes. “Even if I had been, you would have ruined it with your fish fingers.”
His gaze snapped up. “You don’t like fish?”
“Oh, no, I love fish. I just don’t want to see the poor thing get murdered right before my eyes, and then gutted on the table upon which I assume I will be eating it.”
“It was already dead when I got here.”
“I’m glad to see we are arguing the semantics.”
“Anytime, love.”
The endearment, so casually tossed out, slapped her like a bucket of cold water. Her expression stiffened and she immediately tried to soften it, but her heart was already beating at twice the speed and it threatened to jump up into her throat. Only one other person had called her that. She swallowed and stood, rubbing her palms against the thighs of her pants before awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest. She moved to the opposite side of the table.
He drew the knife through the fish along the spine and ribs, and though she protested before, she couldn’t keep her eyes off it. Perhaps as a way to from staring at him.
“You must bring all the girls here.” She tried to joke, to offset the pet name he had given her, how uncomfortable she suddenly felt. But she was sure her tone was a note off, her face a little too strained to be convincing. “Cook for them. Feed them wine.”
“If you’re asking if there’s alcohol, the answer is yes.” He nodded at a handful of small casks in a corner but kept his attention on the fish as he removed the first tender strip of flesh. “But it’ll be whisky, not wine.” He flipped the fish over, and gently slid the blade through scales. “And you’re the first.”
Evie shifted from one foot to the other and then groaned. “Why did you have to go and make it awkward?” she demanded.
“Was I the one who made it awkward?” He flipped the fillet skin-side-down onto the table next to the other half and then wiped his hands on a rag.
“Yes!” She threw up her hands. “I’ve only known you”—she frowned as she tried to work out how long he had known him—“for like ten minutes and you’re already acting like… like…”
“Like we’re involved?”
“Yes!”
“Well, aren’t we?”
She made a face and shook her head minutely back and forth. “No!” Part of her was just deeply annoyed that he was so nonchalant about the whole conversation. “I didn’t just jump into bed with you for the hell of it,” he said evenly.
He moved around the cooking space efficiently and she wasn’t really tracking what he was doing. Only that it was distracting from the fight she was trying to pick with him. The fight she so desperately needed.
“We’re in this for the long haul, Evelyn.”
“And I don’t get a say in it? Maybe I just jumped into bed with you for the hell of it!”
“Then I suppose that’s something we will have to work on.”
“I slept with Iain! Like, not even”—how long had she been in this stupid little cottage?—“a week ago.” She clenched and unclenched her fists, moving her weight from one leg to the other, ignoring the muscle twinges.
“All right.”
“All right?” she yelled. “All right!” Her voice rose an octave. Why wasn’t he at least a little upset with her? She felt like she was on a violently rocking boat, ready to be thrown into a furiously churning ocean, and he was so calm.
“Look, Evelyn, I’m not entirely sure why you are trying to talk me out of you, but it’s not going to work.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
She knew it sounded stupid the minute she uttered it, but when he laughed, actually laughed, she stormed straight out of the cottage. The wooden door stuttered against the jamb as she slammed it shut.
Twilight fell over the forest and the shadowed trees swayed in the gentle breeze, their branches creaking and leaves fluttering. She took a deep breath, marveling at how it just smelled so clean, like the untouched reaches of the Cairngorms. Free of pollution, of people. Thinking of Scotland always calmed her; it was the most magical place she had ever been; it spoke to her soul in a way no other place had. It was old and wild and full of an energy she couldn’t explain. This place reminded her of that.
And as if her surroundings meant to remind her, something whizzed past her ear, a high-pitched, tinkling hum. She stepped back, searching the darkness for a glimpse, but she only caught a faint glimmer as something flitted into the leaves above, leaving a blue-green trail in its wake. A firefly, she decided. Perhaps a little larger than any she had seen before, but what else made sense? She turned her face toward the sky and caught sight of more stars than she had ever seen in her life. It was s
tunning, and not something she thought that even light pollution could cover up. This was…
She wasn’t in Kansas, anymore. Literally.
“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”
She didn’t turn, but instead let Alec’s warm voice wrap around her. “Quite.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
She suspected he wanted to touch her. The need vibrated off him, but he kept his hands to himself. But did she really need the space he was giving her? Did she want it? This was all too confusing.
Evie turned to him. “Sorry for getting a little crazy.”
“It’s all right. I can back off.”
“No, I…I like you. I’m just…”
“Scared.”
“However did you know?” She grinned.
“I may have felt the same way once or twice in my life.”
“Pfft, I doubt it.” She changed the subject quickly, feeling she needed to say more. “And I’m sorry for having sex with Iain.”
“Are you?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Kinda?” After their encounter the other night, maybe she should be more sure of herself.
“Well, you don’t need to apologize to me for that. It’s none of my business.”
She resisted the urge to scratch her head. “Huh? Isn’t that like Guy One-oh-one?”
He chuckled. “You don’t see me apologizing for the other women I’ve slept with, do you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“None of my business.”
She frowned. “But aren’t you worried you’re just another notch in the bedpost?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know I’m not.” Before she could groan her frustration, he asked “Hungry?”
“Kind of. But I’m a little worried about getting food poisoning and dying.”
“Are you calling me a bad cook?”
“I’m saying that you got salmonella all over that table.”
He leaned in close, conspiratorially. “What if I were to tell you that in this place, salmonella doesn’t exist?”
Evie looked up at him through narrowed eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows comically.
