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"Of course. I'd find those little bags filled with cereal around finals. You always ate the marshmallows first."
"They're the best part."
They finished eating in satisfying silence. When she was done, he carefully rewrapped the bar and stuck it back in the drawer. A tiny smear of melted chocolate stuck to her lip. Dylan leaned over and kissed her, swiping the last of the sweetness on his tongue. She felt so soft and warm and willing in his arms, as if she'd always belonged there. He pulled away with regret. "Now we're ready." He ignored her groan, walked to the closet, and began pulling out items. "I promise it will be worth it."
She grumbled under her breath, but he caught her half smile.
He threw a few items onto the bed and donned a pair of snow pants and a thermal shirt. "Make sure you put on the socks to keep your feet warm. Be right back."
Feeling like a kid on Christmas, he went downstairs to the basement and took the tunnel to the mechanics room. He spent a few minutes turning on the switches and setting things up. After carefully checking all circuits, he headed back to the main house and his bedroom.
She was dressed and ready to go. Those violet eyes brimmed with curiosity, but she crossed her arms in front of the overly large jacket. "I feel like a stuffed sausage. Have I told you I'm not crazy about surprises or impulsive decisions?"
"Another item that should be in the box. You need a man to challenge you. Push boundaries. Urge you to try new things."
"I don't think I like skating," she grumbled.
Damn, she looked cute. His clothes swallowed her up, but she'd be warm and dry, which was the goal. "You will. Let's go."
She clomped behind him in too-heavy boots, and he led her downstairs, through the darkened hallways in the secret tunnel, his gloved hand firmly enclosing hers. "Dude, if I didn't trust you this whole thing would reek of a B horror movie set."
"Nothing to worry about. I already ripped your clothes off and ravished you."
"Oh yeah, cool."
The door opened. Massive machinery hummed and buzzed, but Dylan didn't pause. Finally, they stepped outside onto a large open terrace that was barely lit.
The whip of the wind scratched like icy fingernails against his cheeks. They ducked their heads and he increased the pace. "Just a little more."
"It's cold! There must be a foot already out here and it's still not stopping. Dylan, maybe we could dump this plan and drink some hot cocoa without our clothes again because this is a bit-- Oh my God."
She stopped short. He took in the scene before him with full satisfaction. Yes. This was the reason he'd bought the park. This was what he needed to show her.
The bare trees lined the view of the hills and set off the large circular skating rink as if cradled between mother nature's hands. Endless white lights twinkled in a vision of blinding light, twisted in the branches. A large Christmas tree gaily decorated stood in the center, a miniature version of Rockefeller Center. Christmas carols streamed from the speakers. Soft, pure white blanketed every spare inch of ground, and crusted ice threw out a thousand rays of light, like a diamond showing off in all its glory. An elaborate roof covered the main rink and gates around it, protecting the precious ice from any type of weather conditions and allowing patrons to use it during inclement weather. Sure, it cost a bundle, but Dylan believed it was worth it. He saved so much on maintenance by not needing twenty-four-hour crews keeping the rink cleaned during storms or regular snowfall.
She squeezed his fingers and her voice came out in a husky whisper. "I feel like I'm in Frozen."
"Hmm. Not that you watch children's movies."
"It also won an Academy Award. Now be quiet or I'll punish you by singing Let It Go."
"Let's not be hasty." He smiled. "This is why I bought Rinker's Park. When you visit, you believe in something bigger, something beautiful. Don't we all need that?"
When she turned to look at him, a shift occurred. He held his breath, recognizing the crumbling of a barrier between them; recognizing the naked emotion in her eyes as confirmation. Dylan leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her trembling lips. Then smiled.
"Let's skate."
They needed to hike through mounds of snow to get to the gallery where he housed the skates and equipment. She fell a few times, muttering under her breath about his crazy-ass ideas, and hung on to his hand as he dragged her through thigh-high powder. Dylan quickly fitted them with skates and led her onto the rink.
He tamped down the laughter for the first twenty minutes. Besides grabbing on to the rail and refusing to let go until she was ready, Riley frowned, muttered, and looked generally pissed off at his ability to skate perfect figure eights, backward and forward, while a few tentative tries landed her on that gorgeous backside.
Dylan enjoyed the transformation, though, when her usual stubbornness drove her forward into the middle of the ice in a sink-or-swim approach. Like most things the woman did in her life, she took the gamble.
And she swam.
He glided by her, grabbed her hand, and they hit stride. Watching fat chunks of snow surround them and ice sparkling added to the dreamy atmosphere. Dylan sunk into the moment, not needing conversation, just the presence of the woman he'd fallen in love with in an evening.
"My dad wanted a boy," she said.
Dylan didn't answer. A gut instinct told him to be quiet, because something bigger was happening underneath the surface and he didn't want to jinx it. After a moment, Riley continued.
"When I was born, he was disappointed. Of course, I didn't realize this until much later, after the tragedy. Sure, I knew he treated me with a distance, and seemed uninterested in anything purely female. But I had my mom, so that was okay. Dad's world revolved around my brother. He was three years younger. His name was Rick."
Dylan swallowed. He noted the terms she used, and knew the story was a rough one. But he kept skating, because he knew if he paused or said a word, she'd stop talking.
"I couldn't be too jealous because I adored him, too. Dad was always pushing him, in sports, grades, social status. Had dreams of Rick doing something really successful, and always talked about him being the head of some super conglomerate or running his own company. Rick would roll his eyes and crack jokes--he had this great sense of humor that just made everyone love him. He made things easy for me. Mom rarely gave me crap, happy that I was happy, and Dad concentrated all his efforts on making sure Rick would excel at everything he did."
Over the sound system, "Jingle Bells" turned to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." They did a few more laps and she was able to continue.
"Rick and my mother were killed in an auto accident. June 11, 1998. I was sixteen. He was thirteen. Guy fell asleep at the wheel and hit them head-on. No one survived.
"After that, it all changed. Dad walked around like a ghost. So did I. I felt so guilty. I was obsessed with my social status at school, crushing on this guy in my biology class, and hoping he'd ask me out. I felt so stupid, worried about ridiculous things when my brother had been working so hard to give Dad what he wanted. Excellence. Success."
She lapsed into silence. "What did you do?" Dylan asked.
"I changed. I had to. I stopped worrying about friends and boys, and studied all the time. I decided to give Dad what we were all missing, and try to honor Rick's memory. In a way, it wasn't even hard. I learned to focus. I think I had the skills needed all the time, but I'd never been pushed before. I began enjoying the control and discipline it took to reach goals and depend on yourself. Much easier than maneuvering through social conventions, relationships, and teenage angst. Suddenly, my life was . . . cleaner."
Dylan fought the need to take her in his arms and comfort her. All his questions about her drive and talent were answered. Of course she'd take her brother's place. Of course sh
e'd dedicate her life to making her father proud. It was probably always within her, but never had the opportunity to flourish with her brother being in the spotlight. His heart hurt for the family they were, the girl she'd once been, and the sacrifices she made. But he sensed she'd locked up this story for a long time, and it had festered, like an abscess. In order for her wound to heal, it needed to be lanced. Shared. Purged.
"Did your dad notice?"
A tiny sigh escaped her. "No. But I don't blame him. I know he loves me. I know he's proud of me and what I've accomplished with Chic Publishing. He framed the cover of Fortune magazine and hung it in the living room. But Rick and Mom left a hole that couldn't be filled, no matter how good I was. And maybe that's okay. Maybe that's the way it should be."
He stopped. Tipped her chin up. Tenderness coursed through his body, his heart, his soul. She blinked furiously, her face a picture of confusion and sadness and longing. "I bet your mom and brother look over you every day, so damn proud of who you've become. Others would have sunk and given up. Whined and bitched and given excuses. You're a hell of a woman, Riley Fox. A hell of a daughter. And a hell of a sister."
She nodded. Accepting his comfort. Listening to the words and taking them deep to find a place where they could fit. He broke then, needing to touch her, protect her, make her happy.
The kiss was pure giving and comfort, but she turned it fast, grabbing on to him as if needing more. Dylan groaned and held her tight, his tongue plunging into her mouth and savoring her taste. The spark caught and exploded. He pushed her against the railing, ripping at the bulky clothes loaded with zippers and buttons, desperate to hit skin and give her the connection they both needed. She whimpered, and he swallowed it whole, managing to get the jacket open, sweater hiked up, and his fingers down her pants.
Holy crap, she was dripping wet and hot as his fingers hooked under the panties and sunk deep into her pussy. She bit down hard on his lower lip, but he didn't break contact, moving his fingers and dragging them across her clit, pushing her higher even as she bucked and bit and moaned underneath him.
"Give it to me, Riley. Now. Give it all to me," he demanded, twisting his fingers and slamming deep against her G-spot. And then she was coming, flooding his hand, while his mouth crushed her screams, never releasing the pressure they both craved. He kept his fingers inside her for a while, kissing away the one tear skidding down her cheek, murmuring inane nonsense in her ear while she settled. He kissed her, held her, and she relaxed completely in his arms.
