“That’s what I told him, but I said I’d ask. It was either me or him, and I thought you might prefer to tell me,” she says slowly as if I’d like to reconsider my earlier answer.
“Still nothing going on,” I remind her.
“Okay. But they’re happy?”
“Yes. Very complimentary about dinner and the comfort of the cabin. We’re going skiing again today.”
Her expression fades. “There’s been a lot of snow overnight,” she cautions. “The past few days,” she adds on unnecessarily. I’ve seen the reports, everyone pleased we’ve got so much of the white stuff during such a busy time of year. “Stick to the groomed slopes. I’ve heard there are avalanche warnings in several places already, and heavy snow’s predicted over the next twenty-four hours.”
Anxiety creeps through my blood. “Thanks, Maria. I’ll make sure we’re safe.”
“Have a good day.”
“Bye.”
Outside her door, I lean my head back against the peeling wall and suck in lungfuls of air. The resort takes great care in keeping us safe. Many avalanche measures are impossible to see because they’re already hidden under the snow, built into the mountains. But we’ll stick to the forested areas, avoiding exposed slopes. Besides, the resort closes pistes they deem unsafe.
My thoughts turn to my parents and my sister as I collect the cabin’s freshly baked breakfast items from the kitchen. At this time of year, missing them is so much harder.
In the cabin, it’s quiet. I place the food on the counter and move to the bottom of the stairs, listening.
Nothing.
In my slippers, I creep up the stairs, heading for Brecken’s room. That guy is going to get one hell of a wake-up call. With my ear against the door, I think I can hear him breathing. Or maybe that’s just me, my nerves jangling as I second-guess my decision.
When I try the handle, the door glides open. The room is similar to the others: exposed wooden walls, a big bed with navy and gray bedding, a closet. It’s warm in here, tidy. The only mess is down to some papers haphazardly stacked on the top of the chest of drawers, his laptop and cable next to them. Closing the door behind me, I muster some courage and stealthily approach the bed.
Brecken sleeps soundly. A front sleeper, he has a pillow under his chest. Feelings of jealousy have me wanting to be that pillow, tucked up against his powerfully crafted, inked body, snuggled to within an inch of my life.
I kick off my slippers and strip off my clothes, everything but my underwear. My heart thunders in my chest so loudly that Brecken must hear it, because he stirs, sensing me before opening his eyes.
For several long seconds, I stand there, my chest rising and falling as Brecken watches me. And it occurs to me that maybe he doesn’t want me, just as I feared. Just as he confirmed last night when he saidtired or not, it wouldn’t have mattered.Yes, he wanted our kiss (probably) but that might be all he’s interested in, last night’s activities proof of that. And I haven’t had enough time to get to know Brecken as well as his friends. Maybe I can’t work past that colder, broodier side I first saw.
Just as I’m about to speak, to asksomething, he moves, lifting the corner of the duvet and inviting me into his bed. Rolling onto his back, I settle against him, the mattress dipping as I wrap myself around his warm, hard chest.
“Thank you, Brecken,” I say softly. There’s been no one to turn to about my struggles. No help received from anyone. I’m unsure whether it’s worse that my parents and sister aren’t here to help me through this, or whether it’s better that they never had to know how much it took from me.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, heavy arms threading around my hips and dragging me closer.
Normally, when I’m in bed with a guy, I know what’s going to happen. But with Brecken, I feel I need to ask, or at least check first. “I want to make you feel good,” I whisper. “I want to say thank you.”
Smoke swirls in his eyes, desire and caution intertwining.
“Can I? Please?”
“You beg so pretty,” he rumbles, a hand smoothing down my hair. “How can I deny you?” Not daring to believe my ears—that sounded like approval—he adds, “Go ahead.”
Not wasting a second, my lips chase kisses across his tattooed chest, working my way towards his nipple which I flick with my tongue. His chest expands, a deep, masculine groan sounding. The hands around my lower back tighten, kneading my waist before they skim lower over my tingly skin to rest on my ass.
“I must still be dreaming.”
Softly, I laugh, tonguing his neck, kissing his jaw, murmuring, “Don’t I feel real?”
Voice rough from sleep, he says, “You feel like my fantasy. A forbidden one.”
Ah. I’mforbidden.But why?
Putting those questions to one side, I trail soft lips to his mouth, barely brushing them against his. The first true press of our lips has me sucking in a ragged breath, opening my mouth for more of him. The second kiss is firmer but still soft, our lips molding together before we pull apart.