I should be exhausted. All the packing, driving, excitement. The cold and the snow. The unexpected cabin guests. I should be ready to sleep and rest my brain so that I can be fresh and ready for the comet tomorrow. Comet-palooza!
Instead, I’m in this big, comfy bed all alone, and all my brain can do is throw images of Jack at me. Jack holding me in the snow. Him kissing me, tangling his hands in my hair. Jack here in this bed, on top of me, pinning me down. Driving into me hard.
Ugh. I can get myself off to this almost stranger in the house, or I can get up and read by the light of the fire; try to take my mind off my lustful thoughts and back on more important things. Mainly: sleep and the comet.
Flashlight, slippers, paperback, I tiptoe out to the main room. It still smells faintly of cookies, mixed with the woody scents of the cabin and the fire. There’s something twinkly in the garland on the windows, reflecting the firelight. It feels a little magical, makes me smile. I love science, but a girl has to crave a little bit of magic in her life, even if it sounds childish.
Rounding the sofa, I jump back, and squeal, dropping my book to slap a hand over my mouth. “You fucking scared me,” I whisper angrily at Jack, who is sitting on the floor in front of the sofa staring at the fire. He’s put a sofa cushion on the floor to sit on.
When he looks up at me, it isn’t with annoyance at my complaint, but rather with amusement. There’s a twinkle in his eye that’s more than just the reflection of the fire. My body heats with the idea that he knows what I was thinking; what I’m currently thinking, and I’m grateful that he can’t see my cheeks reddening.
Without a word, he picks up my paperback and hands it to me. “Werewolf romance? I didn’t know a scientist like you would read something like that.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just curiosity. All the same, I take offense.
“I am more than my work. More than the science that I love. I’m allowed to enjoy fantastical beings, magic, and romance.” The last word dies on my tongue. I wish I could take it back. He just nods, in that cowboy way, only missing a Stetson hat on his head. I notice he isn’t wearing his tight jeans, but rather—gulp—gray sweatpants. Every woman’s romance book hero has gray sweatpants. I doubt he knows that, but all the same it feels like a peculiar torture just for me.
“Can’t sleep?”
“No. You?” The words squeak out as he’s interrupted my mini-daydream of sliding those tented sweats off his rock-hard body. Clearing my throat, I make my move and sit at the edge of the sofa and curl my legs up under me. Close enough to whisper-talk, far enough away to not touch. Not to feel his warmth.
When he doesn’t say anything, I open my book to my dog-eared page and start to read the same paragraph over and over. This is one of my favorite authors, but my brain can’t read beyond the wolf scenting his fated mate.
Jack starts talking quietly, and relief fills me. I close my book on my lap and listen, loving the way his deep, gravelly voice permeates the air. “Being here with the boys dredges up a lot of memories. Of their mom. Of love and being happy. And while it’s highly inconvenient to be stuck here in the snow, I’m grateful to be here with you.”
I take it back. I am not filled with relief. I am filled with white-hot desire for this man.
Chapter 9
Jack
Ilied. I said I was thinking about the boys’ mom; I wasn’t. She and I made our ghostly peace earlier this evening. I know I have her blessing; I feel it in my gut.
Dr. Holly was who I was thinking about. Her sprawled out in front of the fire. With the light dancing off her naked curves, a vision of everything I want. Need. The taste of her on my lips—a new drug that I now crave.
And just like magic, my thoughts seem to have summoned her. Good thing my hand wasn’t down my pants. Extra good thing they’re baggy so she can’t see how hard I am just thinking about her.
I know without a doubt that the right thing to do at this moment is to get up and walk back to the bunk bed beside my boys. Sleep off this punch-drunk fantasy that will never happen. Only, a niggling part of my brain asks why? Why won’t it happen? Why can’t we try? If she hates me by the end, she never has to see me again. Just like this damned Kringle Comet, she’ll pass on by, leaving just a memory of her.
Before I can entertain the question of: what if it turns into something more? Dr. Holly has plunked herself down next to me. Really close—touching me.
Her whispered breath tickles my neck and ear as she says, “I know this is really forward of me, and I completely understand if you’re put off by this. And if so, I promise to be a good girl for the rest of the time I am up on this mountain. But would you consider kissing me again? It’s just—I can’t get the thought of you out of my head. And I think maybe if we kiss a little more, it will work itself out. Ya know?”
I promise to be a good girl. Those words ring like a gong—from my brain straight to my dick. I want nothing more than for her to be my good girl.
It takes a few seconds, once my ears start working again, to understand her request. I know for a damned fact that a little more kissing is not going to work itself out of my system. There’s no getting her out of my system. It takes every ounce of strength not to smash my mouth to hers and bowl her over, crushing her with my weight here on the floor before she can reconsider.
When the only sound in the entire world is the log crackling in the fire, she licks those plump lips of hers, and I just about die with desire. Another beat as I strain my ears to make sure the boys are asleep. But that beat is enough that she bites her bottom lip.
That’s when I lose control.
I thumb her lip, releasing it from the bite, and say with all the whispered authority I can muster, “I’m the only one who gets to bite that lip. It’s mine now.” And with that declaration, I cup her jaw with my hand and kiss her luscious lips. She opens to me,letting my tongue claim her mouth, claim her for myself. Her moan sends electricity straight to my already straining cock.
I need her closer to me. Hands on her waist—god, she feels so soft and perfect in my hands—I pull her into my lap. Her weight is perfect. She spreads her thighs, one on either side of me, and presses her sweet center against my cock. I can feel her heat, her wetness through her thin pajama bottoms. “That’s it, my good girl, take what you need.”
Those words unleash a franticness in her as she pulls away from me and removes her t-shirt, letting her gorgeous breasts bounce right in front of my face, making me salivate in anticipation of suckling them.
I run my callused hands over her body. Back, stomach, breasts. Oh, her breasts are magnificent. Who cares about a comet in the sky when there are these orbs to delight in? Lose myself in?
Taking one heavy breast in my hand, I bring it to my mouth, her perfect hard nipple begging me. Dr. Holly lets out a breathy gasp and grinds harder against me. She’s close; I can tell by her movements. I match her rhythm, giving her everything she demands. She groans again, and I release her tit. “Shhh, you've got to be quiet for me. Can you do that?” She nods, whimpering slightly, still rocking against me. “I know you can. You’re such a good girl for me.” I take her other breast in my mouth, one finger resting on her mouth.
