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Jonah reaches back and pulls his T-shirt up over his head, revealing the web of muscle that fans his back, his broad, hard chest, and the ridges in his taut abs. He tosses the shirt haphazardly toward the corner, missing the hamper entirely. I know that before bed tonight, he’ll get out of bed to move it back. He’s a closeted neat freak. “You’re not alone. You’ve got Bandit and Zeke.”
I pause in my admiring gawk of his upper body to shoot him a look. Jonah has been single-handedly dealing with our livestock problem. I have yet to even venture to the pen, let alone bond with my childhood nemesis.
He pulls the tie on my robe and, with a casual flick of his wrist, throws both sides wide open. I feel his heated gaze drag over my naked flesh as if he were touching me with his fingertips. “There’s plenty to keep yourself busy with around here all day while I’m gone.”
“Like what?” I shiver from the cold against my bare skin, even while my body begins to fire with the promise of what’s coming.
He works our comforter out from beneath my body and back up, covering my lower half. “Oh, you know …” He slides over to press his body against mine, the feel of his hot skin against me pulling a soft moan from my lips. He’s wearing boxer briefs, a problem I hope to fix momentarily. “Make sure the house is clean and warm for me when I come
home …” He brushes his lips along my jawline. “Wash and fold my laundry …” His lips find my neck. “Cook me dinner …”
I school my expression—Jonah knows the mere suggestion of catering to him like a 1950s housewife will get a reaction from me—and respond with, “Maybe I’ll order those tables. You know, the ones I showed you yesterday?”
“Nope. Don’t remember,” he murmurs, but the flash of recognition on his face before his head dips down and his mouth closes over a peaked nipple says otherwise.
I inhale sharply, his teasing tongue sparking heat between my legs. “From that store in Seattle. The live-edge ones that cost a grand each, and you said a person would have to be a moron or certifiable to consider paying that much for a hunk of wood?” I smile as I quote him, weaving my fingers through his ash-blond hair as he shifts his attention to my other breast. Even from this angle, I can see the grimace he’s trying to hide as I push his buttons. “I maxed my card out with that couch, so should I use your Mastercard or your Visa? Which one has more room—ah!”
I squeal with laughter as Jonah moves fast, maneuvering his big body to fit between my thighs.
“It’s a fucking piece of wood that someone slapped lacquer on and screwed four legs to.” He props himself up on his elbows, his brawny arms framing my face. “I’ll make you one for free.”
I have no idea if he could or not, but seeing Jonah riled up is too much fun. “But we get a shipping discount if we order both end tables and the coffee table together. I think it was two hundred to ship all three? Of course, I’d choose express, so it’ll be more.”
“Don’t you dare, Calla. Those are a huge rip-off,” he warns, his eyes flashing with grim amusement as he peers down at me.
Part of me wants to stretch the verbal foreplay a little longer. There’s nothing but his cotton boxer briefs separating us, and I can feel how much he wants me pressed against the apex of my thighs. Also, these kinds of games always lead to fervent sex, which is exactly what I’m in the mood for.
My hips shift of their own volition, enticing him to make the next move.
With a knowing smirk, he obliges, shoving his underwear down with one hand and entering me without preamble, his lips crashing into mine.
I cry out with abandon into the cold, dark night, again and again, my jagged nails dragging across his back with each powerful thrust, my fists tightening through his hair, my legs curling around his hips.
Taking full advantage of the fact that there’s no one to hear us for miles.
Chapter Thirteen
The snow machine’s engine churns loud and ragged as I race along the driveway toward the plane, holding out hope that it doesn’t die on the way, and that Jonah spots me coming before he takes off.
When the door pops open and Jonah hops out, I sigh with relief.
I come to a stop on the edge of the strip and wait for him to reach me, his strides long and purposeful, his brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
I cut my engine. “You didn’t say goodbye.” He was gone before I stirred this morning, leaving nothing but the smell of brewed coffee in his wake and the faint memory of a kiss against my temple.
“Yeah, I did. You were half-asleep.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
He reaches out with both hands to tug the sides of my winter hat down over my ears. The temperature is above average by a few degrees for this time of year, according to the local radio station, but there’s still a wintry chill in the air. “I found your itinerary form. It’s filled out and sitting on the desk.”
“Great. Thank you.” Agnes said to make sure Jonah never leaves without completing an itinerary. It has his destination and his flight plan. It’s the only way I know where to direct help, should he not arrive. “What time will you be home?”
“Around five. It’s far, and it took me a while to get that stupid thing goin’ before I could clear the snow.” He juts a chin toward the tractor, the cherry-red plow attached to the front wearing several dents. Another engine in need of a mechanic. “I’ll call you on the satphone when I get to Unalakleet.”
“Right when you get there?” I give him a threatening stare. Agnes warned me that one of Jonah’s few faults around piloting is his inability to promptly and reliably check in. It’s an odd and uncharacteristic difficulty for a guy like him, who prides himself on his communication skills.
