twenty-one
THE WATCHER
It wasthree in the morning, and he’d woken up after only two hours.
He wouldn’t sleep again until she was in his sight. He knew that. The fear that she was unprotected in the blizzard-like conditions was debilitating.
He’d spent a few hours dreaming about all the things he had planned to do to her the moment she agreed to be his.
What bit of skin would his fingers or lips touch first? He’d pictured tracing his fingertips across her full lips and down her neck to follow the line of her collarbone.
Whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. What he wanted her to do to him.
He would tell her that he lived for her pleasure.
Through a camera, he’d seen her face in the throes of passion. He knew exactly what she’d look like when he played with her body. Picturing her bright, whiskey eyes wide, looking up at him, her body quivering as he laved and then sucked anipple into his mouth had him grinding his hips into the rough canvas of his cot.
She had the best nipples. Her areolas were a stunning deep brown and the size of a fifty-euro cent.
In his dream, her nipples would make a decadent popping noise as he lifted his head and allowed them to pull free of his mouth.
He was sweaty and panting as he woke from the erotic dream. Groaning into his blanket, he realized he wasn’t too old to make a mess in his boxers.
He cleaned himself up and now stood at the lone window watching swirls of snow batter the landscape.
She was out there. Alone.
“You’ll never be alone again, baby.”
twenty-two
DAGR
Dagr couldn’t rememberwhen he’d enjoyed a dinner more. Instead of a perfectly cooked steak or fish filet with veg and potato sides, he slurped down a scorching portion of some bland, protein-packed watery soup and savored it.
Dessert had been his treat, having shared half of a blueberry protein bar with the woman sitting across the fire from him.
His dinner date was currently grinning around her puffed cheeks as she blew up her “princess” pillow. Done with the resuscitation, she pressed the rubber plunger back in its cradle and triumphantly held a standard-sized pillow up for his inspection.
“See? It even has a soft outside for ultimate comfort,” she said while running her fingers over the pillow’s textured material.
Bébhinn O’Faolain intrigued him. She was the whole package—intelligent, funny, adventurous, and though he would prefer not to admit the last, he would. She was stunning.
Not in the way some women were beautiful with perfectly-applied makeup, salon hairstyles, and tailored clothes. Bébhinn was an all-natural beauty. She radiated health and passion. The absolute best thing was that they were complete strangers, and he felt more comfortable around her than anyone except for his father.
“I appreciate the earlier offer of sharing that blowup toy, but I’ve done the calculations, and they show that even with your small head, once you add my big head, we definitely won’t fit.”
“We’ll fit,” she assured. “With my body wrapped around this side of the fire, and your body wrapped around the other, I’ll put the pillow lengthwise between our heads. We each get an end.”
He paused for a moment, realizing he hadn’t considered that layout. “Perhaps. To be decided.”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and she gave him a considering look. “You didn’t think I meant to sleep next to you, did you? Surely, Mr. Griffiths, we haven’t known each other long enough for the big spoon/little spoon step in our relationship.”
He felt the pale skin across his cheeks and ears heat even knowing she was only teasing him. Clearing his throat, he busied himself with putting enough wood on the fire to last a few hours before answering. “Very funny. Although this,” he waved a hand between them, “could go down as one of my longest relationships. Sooo,” he grinned, “you know.” He shrugged, taking great pleasure when he saw her cheeks pinken this time.
“You must be a great attorney. You’re brilliant at turning conversations around to suit you.” She lifted her eyebrows in mock censure.
“Speaking of, thanks to your brother’s interrogation, you know something about my life, but I don’t know anything about you. What do you do in Dublin?”Please say you’re a very young-looking divorcée.
