All I Want For Christmas Is You (9 page)

“Yeah. Natalie’s being funny. She didn’t even ask where we’d be.”

He twisted off the cap, turning it over in his fingers before taking a long pull. “You know she called me, right?”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s conspiring to get us together,” he said quietly.

“I fail to see how an eight-year-old can do that.”

He shrugged. “I won’t go so far as to say she’s got a direct line to God, but I’ll definitely give her some credit in this whole scheme. I mean we wouldn’t be snowed in if she hadn’t called me.” He glanced over at her. The firelight danced over her skin, teasing him with orange and red and glowing shadows and light. “She’s a pretty perceptive little bugger.”

“You know she hasn’t said a word about why we were here without you.” She twisted the cap off her own beer, nestling the bottle between her bent knees. “And I wasn’t ready to explain.”

“What did you tell her when you left?” Because he needed to know.

“That you had to work.” She lifted her gaze to his. “A convenient lie.”

It was Patrick’s turn to look away. To avoid the hurt that rose sudden and sharp inside him.

“She figured it out anyway,” he said when he could speak.

“Yeah. She did.”

They sat in silence, the fire crackling and snapping in front of them. She shifted after a bit until their shoulders were touching. Until her thighs pressed against his.

He didn’t move. Didn’t take advantage of her closeness.

He just savored it. Savored the fact that she was there. That she’d moved closer.

That she hadn’t run away.

He’d expected her to.

“I remember the day you told me you were pregnant with her.” His voice was hushed, now. Calm.

“I thought you’d leave. Any other guy would have.” She looked into her beer, rubbing her thumb over the condensation. “Not my proudest moment.”

“It was a pretty rough day for a month-old relationship, I’ll give you that.”

She glanced at him, the fire reflecting in her eyes. “Why are you so damn patient? And calm. I’ve never seen you not calm.”

He took a long pull off his beer. “You didn’t see me the day you left.”

Quiet words. Filled with hurt and pain and grief.

“I spent two days at the bottom of a bottle.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

He raised his beer in mock salute. “I save getting plastered for special occasions.” She snorted quietly. He looked over at her once again.

“When I came home after that last tour, I couldn’t wait to see you. I was so goddamned happy to be alive.” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the label. “Part of me, though, whispered that you wouldn’t stay if you knew about my accident. I was ashamed of that voice, those whispers. They weren’t me. They lied.” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t shut them down, though, until I recognized what they were.”

* * *

She closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. Turning them over, inspecting them. Weighing them against the truth of her life for the last few months. “I couldn’t—I can’t—believe that I won’t always feel this way.” An admission laced with guilt. With fear.

He shifted then, resting his hand on the back of the sofa where they leaned against it on the floor in front of the fireplace. He brushed her hair gently away from her neck. “You can get better. This stuff—it’s just post deployment stuff. You went through an incredibly dangerous experience. This—what you went through, what I went through—it took me a while to learn that it’s a completely normal reaction to a completely abnormal situation.”

“What if it’s not?” Fear, dark and powerful, laced those words. “What if it doesn’t get better? What if talking to Doc and taking meds and getting sleep—what if nothing helps?”

“What if it does?” He leaned closer then, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see how hard this was for you,” he whispered.

She couldn’t speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding violently in her chest. The voice in her head told her he wouldn’t—he couldn’t still love her after this. But it was wrong. He was there, standing strong and steady with her, just like he always was. She just had to trust. To ignore the whispers that told her she was a broken, useless thing. That he would be better off without her.

After a moment she set her beer on the edge of the hearth. Pale golden light danced in the glass.

And then she moved. Urged his knees down and slid into his lap until she straddled him.

He froze. Unwilling to move or unable, she wasn’t sure.

He set his beer down and lowered his hands to the floor. Just near her hips.

And waited.

For an explanation. For answers. For any sign that she heard what he said and believed he’d meant every word.

Neither of them were perfect. Neither of them was without sin in the decay of their relationship.

* * *

Sitting there, the woman he loved straddling his hips, her hair surrounding her face in a chestnut halo, he waited. It was the longest wait of his life but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t risk screwing up and shattering the tentative bridge spanning the distance between them.

Until she was ready.

And prayed that she would make the leap.

S
he slid her hands over his shoulders. The flannel was soft beneath her touch, the man under her palms solid and rock steady.

She ran her hands down his chest. Felt the strength and the stillness.

The anticipation.

It was a delicious thing, touching him again.

A feeling that brought things to life inside her, that terrified her.

She was afraid. Afraid of the feelings she couldn’t control. Afraid that if she opened the box, she’d never get it closed again.

Afraid that if she let him in and showed him all the broken things that were left of her life from before the war, he would walk away. That he’d finally leave her alone.

To face the world without him.

She leaned closer. Inhaled the warm, spicy scent of his skin. Smelled the fire and the heat as she pressed her lips to the edge of his mouth. Flicked her tongue out to press against the seam of his lips. Felt the shudder run through him as she explored.

Knew that he wouldn’t move until she was ready.

Each touch of her lips to his skin ignited a fire in her. Flicked the latch off the box and weakened her hold on the darkness inside her. It was a gamble, a risk.

She could do this. She could give in to the need, to the desire without completely losing control over everything she’d struggled to keep locked away.

A rasp of teeth against his earlobe. His hands gripped her thighs then, kneading gently. A gentle movement beneath her in the ever so slight rocking of his hips.

She wanted this. Wanted him.

Her fingers danced down his chest, flicking the buttons open on that flannel shirt. The turtleneck came untucked easily.

“I love your chest.” A throaty whisper, her voice thick. She leaned down, pressing her lips to the soft hair on his stomach. He was still but the quiver beneath her lips gave away the tension he struggled to control.

She looked up at him. Loved the sight of him watching her, his eyes heavy lidded and dark. His breath came in short huffs.

Heat flooded her. She loved the idea that he was watching her. That she could use her lips and her tongue and her fingers to tease him, to touch him.

To tell him with her body what she could not speak.

She couldn’t explain why she’d left. She couldn’t explain to him the lack in her or find the words to describe it. Losing her best friend shouldn’t have destroyed her like this. She should have been stronger, should have fought harder to keep the depression from consuming everything. Going to war should not have utterly dismantled everything she’d thought she was.

But it had. And her denial, her stubborn denial had compounded everything.

She stroked her thumb over the soft hair just above the waistband of his pants. He licked his bottom lip, his body tense.

“Sam.” A plea. A prayer. Maybe both.

She nipped him there, just above his jeans. Scraped her teeth over his skin and felt his stomach jump beneath her lips. Felt the answering heat deep in her own belly.

She’d missed this. Missed touching him. Missed feeling him beneath her. Missed the pleasure of sliding her body against his.

Missed
feeling
.

She opened the button on his jeans, her eyes locked on his. Slowly, so slowly opened the zipper.

His lips parted. Anticipation. Arousal. Maybe both.

She narrowed her eyes at the slow smile that spread across his mouth. “What are you thinking?” She pressed her lips to his belly.

His lips quivered. “It’s been a long time since you inspected my bits and pieces.”

She swallowed hard and pushed his pants open. The tip of his erection rested against his groin. Teasing her.

It had been so long since she’d done this with him. Since she’d taken him in her mouth and tasted him.

Brought them both so much pleasure with something so simple.

She urged his pants down. He lifted his hips, and she slid them down farther, exposing the thick length of him. She hesitated, curious now that he’d brought it up.

“Here,” he said. He slid her finger over the soft skin at the bottom of his sac near a rough, ragged scar.

“I wouldn’t have found that,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Now you know.”

There was more there. Unsaid things that could wait.

Because he was right in front of her. And she wanted to lose herself in the sensation of touching him. Of feeling his body tense when she used her mouth on him.

She watched him carefully. Lowered her lips to press a soft kiss on the tip of him where he was moist and smooth. Savored the warm smell that was uniquely and completely his.

She took him in her mouth. Sucked on him gently. Heard his shuddering sigh of relief or pleasure or both.

She cradled him where he was soft as she swirled her tongue over his length. Felt his gasp when she dragged her teeth gently over his tip before kissing him gently there once more.

He reached for her then. He urged her up until she was in his lap once more, his mouth feasting on hers. There was no restraint in his kiss now. No patience.

Only hunger. Raw and powerful and filled with needful things.

“Why am I always naked and you always have clothes on?” His words were a murmur against her mouth a moment before he feasted on her again. One hand gripped her hip as he rocked against her. Sparks simmering in her belly exploded in full-blown, wild pleasure.

Tighter. Higher. Harder. Until she thought she would snap from the pressure. “Patrick, please.”

He stilled then. Cupped her cheeks and sipped at her lips. Bringing them both back from the edge of mindlessness.

Her body protested at the edge of the cliff, needing, craving the release he’d brought her so close to.

She arched against him. “Please.” Her words were almost a sob. “I need you,” she whispered.

***

He took his time stripping her naked. One piece of clothing at a time, inch by inch.

Felt her shiver beneath his touch as he traced the pad of his index finger over the smooth skin of her belly.

Her skin glowed in the firelight. The flames and the heat licked at her even as he used his tongue to follow his fingers. Her body was tense, her muscles tight with a lithe tension. He slipped his palms over her ribs, urging her arms up, over her head. She parted her thighs, urging him home as he leaned over her. He nuzzled her nose before lifting his hips away from the contact they both craved.

She scowled at him. “You know, for a man who hasn’t been with a woman in a long, long time, you’ve got remarkable staying power.” She arched beneath him, a beautiful, fire-licked goddess.

He smiled, trailing his fingers down the underside of her arms. Tracing the edge of her breasts. Her nipples puckered beneath his touch.

He ignored her taunt. “You’re so beautiful, Samantha.” He’d waited for this. Hoped for it. Hoped that it would be the miracle they needed to put their relationship back together again. This alone time, this precious moment when it could be just him and just her. The storm outside was far away.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I may stop speaking to you if you don’t get your damn pants completely off and…”

He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her words with a kiss meant to drive them both closer to the edge. “I want to go slow. I want to remember every detail.”

“Can we do the remember-every-detail thing in a few minutes?”

He splayed his palm over her belly when she moved to sit up. He shook his head. “My turn,” he whispered before placing a kiss at the soft center of her belly.

She bowed her back off the blanket with a quiet gasp.

It was good, so damned good to see her like this.

The fact that he’d almost lost her made it all the more sweet.

He nuzzled her belly for a moment, then traced his fingers beneath the edge of her panties.

She made a sexy sound deep in her throat.

She wasn’t used to lying back. She was not a submissive, passive lover. She took as much as she received. He knew that, and he damn sure was going to enjoy this for as long as it lasted. Tonight, though, was for her. For them.

He slipped her panties over her hips, exposing her to the heat of the fire. She was beautiful and swollen and glistening wet.

He wanted to feast on her. To use his mouth on her and tease her in all the ways he’d learned she liked.

He could suckle her where she was swollen. He could stroke her gently and feel her arch beneath his touch. He wanted to do everything and nothing all at once. He was content for a moment just to see her spread out before him, evidence of her pleasure glistening on her thighs.

He slipped the pad of his thumb along the seam of her body. A caress that was barely there. Her heat radiated against his skin. His thumb came away slick and warm.