Coming in from the Cold (11 page)

“No trouble,” Willow whispered.

“So…I doubt we’re skiing again today,” Coach said. “Tell Dane I’m here, if he wants to talk.”

“I will.” She left him alone in the apartment and walked toward her own door. She stood there on her stoop for a moment, to give Dane privacy on his call. But there were no sounds coming from inside her kitchen. All she could hear was the excited caw of a hen who had just laid an egg. She pulled the kitchen door open, and saw Dane standing there by the table, the phone abandoned on its surface. He stared down at the wood grain, his eyes unfocused.

Willow tiptoed inside. His stillness was statue-like, his handsome face carved as if in concentration on something she could neither see nor hear. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to sense her. “Dane,” she whispered, stepping forward. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Did you lose him?”

For a moment she was unsure whether he even heard her. Then he put his long hands on the table and bent forward, hanging his head. “I lost him a long time ago,” he whispered hoarsely.

The pain in his voice gutted her. Willow put a hand on the back of his neck, her palm to his warm skin. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just so sorry.” She moved her hand to his back, rubbing it quickly—a chaste touch meant to shore him up. Whenever friends experienced grief, Willow always felt so helpless, and in spite of her terrifying complication with Dane, this moment was no different.

“He didn’t see forty,” Dane whispered. “Not even forty.”

Willow watched his expression, but he did not look up at her. He seemed trapped in his own grief, as if in shock. She was about to ask him if she should fetch Coach, when he turned his head. Dane’s eyes focused on hers. “What will I do without him?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, feeling her eyes mist. “I’m so sorry.” He looked
lost
. She reached for him with both hands.

Dane stood up and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her in tight, her chin tucked against his chest, her back held tightly by one big hand.

There was nothing she could say that would make it any better. She looped her hands behind his back and closed her eyes. She inhaled the scent of him—his wool sweater smelled like mountain air and wood smoke. His body was unbelievably sturdy.

But even the strong could ache.

Above her, Dane put his nose in her hair and breathed in. She hugged him a little tighter, and they stood there. The only sounds she could hear were their own breathing and the insistent call of a chickadee outside her window.

“Willow,” he said after awhile.

She pulled back and looked up into his face. “What?”

He was there with her in the room then—not somewhere far away, as he’d been before. His long lashes blinked, his expression serious. “Why are you good to me?”

The question startled her. “You mean…right now?”

He nodded.

“Because…because…” she swallowed.
Because that’s what people do
. “Because you’re sad,” she said instead.

Dane stared at her, as if considering her answer. She felt him begin to tremble, and it tore at her heart. She stepped close and squeezed him tightly again. He put his nose against her cheek.

“Dane,” she said, softly, “is there someone I can call for you?” He’d said he’d grown up somewhere nearby. There must be other family members who needed to be told. Or a friend who could comfort him.

He leaned back again, regarding her with those lake blue eyes. “Not a soul,” he said, his voice hoarse. Then he leaned forward and kissed her.

When his soft lips met her own, Willow went very still with surprise. He kissed her again, harder, this time. He tucked her hips against his own, and parted her lips with his tongue. She gasped against him, giving in to it. Desire flooded Willow as they kissed, sliding down her core, making rational thought difficult.

Her stomach fluttered. She shouldn’t let him kiss her—there were complications between them that he didn’t even know yet. It wasn’t fair. But even as she had these thoughts, his mouth grew rough and needy. One of his hands raked her hair; the other clamped her body tightly to his. He cupped her bottom, pulling her against the hard evidence of his need, straining behind his fly.

There were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea. But Willow’s body was ready to overrule them. Her nipples hardened against his chest. She felt his thumbs at her belly, his hands grasping the fabric of the skirt she’d worn to work.

And his mouth—his beautiful mouth—was already making love to hers. He was hungry for her in a way that proved she hadn’t been the only one thinking about their recent tryst.

“Willow,” he rasped. “I want you to take it all away for me. Like you did before.”

The psychologist inside her put in an appearance then. With a deep breath, she put both her hands on his face, but pulled her body back. Her voice was soft though her words were very clear. “Oh, honey,” she said, and his eyes fell closed, as if the endearment was too much for him. “That doesn’t really work.”

His eyes snapped open again. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

“Shhh…” she smoothed her thumbs across his cheekbones.

He stepped closer to her. “I need you anyway.”

The request was so raw, so honest that it squeezed her heart. She kissed him then, her mouth giving in to his need. His tongue responded with the urgency of someone lost, his mouth hot with desperation.

Whether or not it was a bad idea, Willow’s body continued to oblige. Each brush of his roaming hands—against her breasts, her hips, cupping her bottom—charged her like a spark.

Dane released her, grabbing his own fly and ripping it open, shoving down his pants. His cock stood at attention, thick and veined, and pointing at her. Willow’s breath caught at the sight, she felt herself flush. Dane leaned against her table as she grasped his shaft. With one glance up into his cool eyes, she lowered her mouth to his tip, kissing him gently on the knob. Then she began to lick him, and he groaned as she held him firmly in her hand.

She opened her mouth and slid him inside. Above her Dane braced himself against the table with a sigh. She felt one of his big hands slide over her hair. Willow took her time with him, her tongue stroking the length of him. Then she did her best to take as much of him in as she could.

Even so, Dane slipped a hand under her chin and gave a gentle tug. She stood up, startled, facing him. Dane pulled her in, his forehead against hers, their noses touching. “I need to see your face,” he said.

Willow felt herself shiver at his words. That was her weakness, wasn’t it? The handsome man said he needed her, and she came running. It never ended well, because it was always a lie.

Dane tugged on her skirt, a look of smoldering intensity in his eye.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, only held his gaze. Then, deciding, she reached around to the back and unzipped the skirt herself, which fell to the floor. He put his hands on her hips, scraping her tights down her thighs. Then Dane slipped one arm under her butt and lifted her up, turning around to deposit her on the high kitchen table. With one good yank, he pulled her tights off and dropped them, leaving her naked from the waist down.

She held his gaze as he spread her knees. Willow put her hands on his shoulders, then wrapped her legs behind him. He held her bottom, balancing her on the edge of the table.

She couldn’t look away.

Dane’s eyes were still locked on hers as his thumb began to stroke her. Her eyes flickered as she felt herself flood with wetness. But his groan brought her back into the moment.

And then Willow found she could not break their gaze as his cool eyes bored into hers. She felt him breech her opening. And then it was her turn to groan as he worked into her completely. Their foreheads together, they rested there a moment, joined and silent. Willow held her breath.

Dane began to kiss her as he moved. “What is it about you?” he whispered. Then he covered her mouth with his. His thrusts grew more insistent, the pace fast and needy.

In spite of everything, Willow felt at peace, surrendering to his need. With his blue eyes on hers, it didn’t matter that his grief was only beginning or that her pregnancy terrified her. Because sometimes, a moment of grace meant everything. The friction of his powerful body against hers began to break apart her thoughts, which became as wispy and dreamlike as wood smoke in the winter air.

“Oh, what you do to me,” he panted. The sound of his arousal sunk right into her, bringing a moan from her chest into his ear. The edges of her vision began to darken, and when she felt his first shudder, she was right there waiting, squeezing his hips between her knees. His name escaped from her lips as climax overtook them both.

He cried out loud as he thrust one more time, and the sound of it nearly broke her heart. Her body squeezed his, as if to wring his pain away.

Breathing heavily, they clung together, unmoving. For several minutes it was peaceful. His fingers skimmed her back with an absent touch. Willow smoothed down his hair, gently massaging his neck. “You’re going to be okay,” she said eventually. She slid her chin off his shoulder and kissed him. “You’re going to be fine.”

He pulled back suddenly, staring, his face creased with pain. For a moment she thought he might cry. But then he shook his head fiercely. “I…I’m not, Willow,” he said.

When he backed away from her, Willow lost her balance on the edge of the table, sliding quickly to the floor. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

But by then, he was yanking up his pants. “This can’t happen anymore.” He zipped himself together. “This has to end.”

“Dane, it was you who…”

He grabbed his jacket off the floor. “This is toxic.
I’m
toxic.”

At once she was angry and embarrassed. “Who would
say
that?” She heard the anguish in her own voice as she scooped up her skirt, holding it in front of her nakedness.

“I guess I would.” He turned abruptly for the door.

Willow watched him go, stunned by the sudden departure. There was no apology. He didn’t even say goodbye.

Her door slammed behind him.

She still stood there, frozen, as she heard the engine in his Jeep roar to life, and then the sound of his tires kicking up gravel as he sped down her driveway.

When it sunk in that he was really gone, Willow gathered up her clothes and marched to the back of the house. With shaking hands, she plugged the old claw-foot tub and began to run a bath for herself. She stepped inside well before the water level was high enough. But he’d left her feeling dirty, and she could not wait to bathe.

She breathed in the steamy air and tried not to cry. Good grief. She ought to have known better. What did she really expect from someone grieving? No—not even grieving. He was still in shock. Here she had made the same mistake she always made—giving her heart to someone who wasn’t capable of loving her.

Again, you idiot! When will you learn?

Willow tipped her head back against the edge of the tub and let the tears come. Maybe he’d even done her a favor. She knew now not to expect anything from him. It would be simpler to tell him she was pregnant after that forceful reminder of just how little he cared.

It was with great reluctance that Dane steered his Jeep up Willow’s driveway a few days later. He winced to see her truck parked in the garage.

He and Coach were headed to Boston Logan again. And now that Finn was gone, there was no need to stop at the nursing home. He had tried to come up with an itinerary that did not involve picking Coach up here. But since Dane’s equipment wouldn’t fit into the sedan—and he really didn’t feel like giving Coach a lot of explanation—he would just try to get his coach into the car without delay.

Dane got out of the Jeep and hustled toward Coach’s door. “Hey, Coach,” he said, opening the door and stepping into the living room.

“Hey, kid,” Coach called, wheeling a duffel out of the little bedroom. “How are you feeling today?”

Because of Finn’s death, Coach had suggested skipping the Italian race entirely. But then Dane would lose out on the World Cup points, which he did not want to do. And anyway, where was the sense in hanging around his seedy room in Hamilton, thinking dark thoughts?

When in doubt, fly down a mountain.

“I’m good. Let’s go win some points.”

Coach looked at his watch. “Excellent. We’ll even have time to grab some dinner at the airport.” Dane could feel him trying not to be relieved that they’d arrive together in Italy on time.

Dane picked up Coach’s duffel and carried it outside. A flick of his eyes toward Willow’s house detected movement inside.
Please
s
tay in there,
he thought.
For both our sakes
. Dane could not be in the same room with that girl. Never again. He didn’t know what it was about her, but whatever it was, she messed with his head. She made him want things—and do things—that were off limits.

No matter what, he could not let that happen again.

“Hey, Coach?” he asked, slamming the tailgate. “After we come back from this race, I think we can pull out of here. We’ll find some hovel in the Alps and give our jet lag a break for the rest of the European tour.” The next six weeks were chock-full of contests on the continent.

Coach looked at him sideways. “I wasn’t going to rush you. I thought after you buried your brother we could talk about it.”

Dane nodded. “But I’m not doing a funeral.”

“No? I can put on a suit.”

“We don’t have family,” Dane said. “There’s really no point.”

He watched Coach wrestle with the idea of making a suggestion or letting it go. “Dane,” he began.

C’mon, Coach, couldn’t you let it go?

“You might regret not saying goodbye.”

Dane shook his head. “I said goodbye a long time ago.”

Coach worked his jaw. “All right. Give me five minutes? I’ve got to hit the head. Then we’ll go.” He walked away.

Christ.

Dane decided to wait in the Jeep.

* * *

Willow hadn’t panicked when the green Jeep climbed her driveway. But it quickly became apparent that Coach and Dane were going on a trip. The back of the Jeep was full of ski bags and luggage. Willow did the math. With the next dozen races in Europe (thank-you, Google), who knew when he would be back?