The Driven Snowe (3 page)

He moved toward her face, and she closed her eyes.

His mouth pushed on hers gently, a dry handshake of a kiss.

Save me from men who think they know better than I do,
she thought with aggravation.
Has all this been for nothing?

With a slow movement, his tongue flicked across her lips, then retreated. She could feel the movement
of his mouth like a slow dance against her own. It was different than the rushed assault of a kiss he'd given her when he was trying to prove his point. This one was a pure, slow seduction of the senses. The sigh she gave now was anything but disappointment.

He still wasn't really touching her. He was just teasing her, with these breathed kisses, his tongue every now and then tracing her lips and retreating, caressing her tongue and then disappearing. She felt restless, and her own mouth began to move. Hesitantly, she moved her tongue forward until it touched his.

He growled with approval.

She moved her hands up to this chest. It felt rock hard beneath the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. She ran her nails down it, and the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, fingers clenching her hips.

She felt her heart racing, and she was having trouble breathing. Every nerve ending seemed to pulse to the pounding beat of her heart. She felt an intense throb in the pit of her stomach and between her legs.

With a low moan, she barely realized she was moving until she pressed closer to him, winding her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair. It felt cool, silky beneath her fingertips. She tugged his face closer, darting her tongue against his, following his lead, copying his actions as best she could.

They were sitting side by side on the couch, an awkward, high-school necking angle. They weren't close enough. She could feel the tension building in her, thought she might explode with the new emotions that were tearing through her like a freight train. She tore her mouth away, breathing in gulping gasps. “Oh, Josh. Please…” She felt like she'd taken some drug that
heightened all of her senses. Her bra, which was ordinarily just an annoying garment worn out of habit, now rubbed against her oversensitized breasts. They felt heavy and almost ached. Between her legs was a strange ache as well—a slightly different ache. She trembled with energy she didn't know how to release.

“It's only kissing, Angela,” he murmured, the rumble of his voice against her only intensifying the pleasure.

“Josh,”
she whispered on a startled moan. He was kissing her throat with a suction that stung with slight pain, multiplying all the rest of what she was feeling. It was sensory overload. She closed her eyes, unable to handle more input, and drowned in the pure sensation of his touch.

She let herself be lowered to a reclining position on the couch. He now propped himself over her with one arm, and she felt the length of his body pressed against her side. She tried to push up against him, but he gently resisted, instead moving to the hollow of her neck and nibbling gently, moving out to stroke with his tongue. She felt a shudder roll through her body, like a power surge. She whispered his name under her breath like a chanted prayer.

He moved to one sensitive breast, and she quickly started to slide her dress up.

“Now, now,” he said, and she opened her eyes to see him laughing down at her, not with amusement but with delight. “Just kissing, remember?”

She was dying with need. The man was insane, some sort of sadist. With surprising strength, she pushed him away. “I remember.”

She yanked the whole thing over her head. Lying
there in just a bra and panties, she shot him an innocent look.

“We'll just be kissing,” she reiterated.

She could feel his eyes caress her body. He hesitated for only a moment before lowering back down to her. She could feel the damp tip of his tongue through the silky material, and her body rocked against him. Her back arched, and he took more of her into his mouth. Her hands moved awkwardly to her back, undoing the clasp to her bra.

“Angela,” he breathed. “We shouldn't…”

She ripped the garment out of her way. “I can take it,” she rasped, “honest. I know I can.”

He stopped, and his eyes gleamed. “Well, if you're so sure of it.” He reached for the edge of his own shirt, pulling off the denim shirt with ease.

For a second, she ignored the jolting pulses of desire ringing through her body, and just thought:
My God.
She traced her fingers over the chiseled muscles of his arms, and felt the satin over corded steel of his chest. Slowly, she leaned up and traced the hollow at the base of his neck with her tongue, then moved to feel the texture of him beneath her lips. She edged across his chest, feeling the slight tickle of hair grow thicker as she moved down toward his waist. He took a hurried breath as she got to his pants. She smiled, noting the bulge there. Impishly, amazed at herself, she leaned down and traced it with her mouth, just like she'd once read in a book.

Something happened, as if she'd thrown a switch. He groaned, tugging her up to his mouth. He pushed her deeper into the cushions, and she reveled in it. The feel of his bare chest against hers seemed to intensify the feeling of his lips and tongue meshing with hers. He
wasn't so careful this time, and she could feel his weight unintentionally shifting over her legs.

She spread her legs, angling away from his body, drawing him on top of her. He did not seem to notice, only pursued her mouth more diligently, stopping to dip low and take one breast between his lips. She cried out as he moved his weight between her legs. He was still trying not to crush her. Having him press against her sensitive ache was just what she needed, she realized, and her hips bucked upward, feeling the bulge in his pants pushing against her, desiring entrance.

He was breathing like a long-distance runner. “You're no virgin,” he said, his eyes wide with disbelief, as he allowed himself one long push against the apex of her thighs.

“I don't feel like a virgin,” she admitted, wrapping her legs around his waist and reveling in his low moan. She reached up and dug her fingers into his muscular shoulders, bringing him down against her, loving his weight and his strength and the feel of him crushing her into the couch. “Make love to me, Josh.”

She was ready. She was sure she wanted this. She was
going
to do this, now, with this man.

She waited.

“No.”
He untangled her limbs from his, then retreated to the far end of the couch. “Dammit, Angela. You don't know what you're getting into, and I do. Don't you want your first time to be with someone who means something to you?”

She didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him. Need lanced through her like a bolt of electricity. “
You
mean something to me,” she breathed. “What other man would have treated a stranger this…this wonderfully?”
She stood up, gathering what was left of her courage. She reached for the thin straps of her silk panties. “Josh,
I trust you.
Please.”

With that, she inched the panties to the ground, stepped forward, and waited.

He stared, like a starving man suddenly placed in the main dining room at the Four Seasons—a combination of naked, almost primal hunger and stunned disbelief. He looked up into her eyes.

“I trust you,” she repeated, and closed her eyes.

His touch wasn't the fierce taking she was expecting. Instead, she heard him stand up, felt his arms embrace her and then gently cradle her against him. She could feel the heavy beating of his heart against her ear as he stroked her hair, and despite the clawing need she felt, her heart suddenly ached for an entirely different reason.

“Your first time is not going to be on my couch,” he said in a rough drawl.

She barely registered him gathering her up, naked against his bare chest, as he carried her down the hall. Didn't notice the neat masculinity of his bedroom as he pulled back the covers and placed her reverently on the cool sheets, as easily as if she weighed nothing. She watched as he undid his pants, pulling them down with his boxers in one fluid motion. His erection emerged, huge with need.

She was taken aback. She hadn't seen one of these things in real life. For pity's sake, she'd rarely seen pictures of one. It was…well,
odd.
She stared at it.

He half chuckled on a deep exhalation, taking a step forward. “Change your mind?”

She shook her head, then reached out with curious
fingers, only to stop abruptly. She glanced up at him. “Can I…”

He closed his eyes, as if begging for strength. “Gently, now. You've got me more worked up than I ever would have believed.”

Her fingertips reached out, cautiously, and skimmed over the surface of his penis. He groaned, and she pulled her hand away as if he were an open flame.

“No, go ahead, honey,” he said, but his eyes didn't open. “You won't hurt me. You might kill me, but you won't hurt me.”

She bit her lip, feeling the aching intensify as she traced him. It was amazingly soft…amazingly hard. The skin was like heated velvet. Her fingers circled him for a moment, fascinated. He let out a low, rippling growl. She took him into her hand with a slightly firmer grip.

He rocked toward her, then exhaled slowly. He moved her hand away with a light touch. “Okay, now that's enough. You'll have to explore later.” He stretched out on the bed next to her, and her heart rate tripled. She could feel the heated tip of him brush against her thigh, and moaned, her body moving forward to meet him. She felt the tight ache of her body melt in a rush of wetness.

He kissed her deeply, so deeply that she was surprised when his fingers reached the curls between her legs. She took in a startled breath when his fingers brushed against her, tenderly pressing into her.

“Josh,” she murmured, pushing harder against his palm. She could still feel the rodlike hardness of his body, now between her thighs, as his fingers moved slowly, deeper into her. It hurt, but his movements were slow, flicking against her, lovingly stroking her,
gradually widening her. She felt the wetness again, and closed her eyes as the pressure built.

“Josh.”
She was all but sobbing now, dying for release.

“Shh,” he said, licking at her breasts and inching her temperature up yet another notch. “I want to, too, but I don't want to rush. I might hurt you.”

“Hurry. Please hurry!” She moved against him rhythmically, feeling an increasing tension surge through her.

He groaned against her, and she felt a drop of wetness against her thigh. He moved away, and she heard the ripping of foil. “I hope you're ready. I don't think either of us can wait anymore,” he said on a vehement whisper.

She felt his weight on top of her again and almost wept with gratitude. She felt him brush against her, his hardness tracing her entrance the way his tongue had traced her lips. She started to move, but he stilled her.

“Slowly,” he cautioned, and the feel of his stomach against hers, his hips against her inner thighs, was enough to hold her for a second. “Slowly, then it won't hurt so much.”

She could feel the slow movement of him inside her, filling her by inches, retreating, stroking the now insanely sensitive flesh between her thighs. Pain blurred with intense, consuming passion.

“Josh,” she whispered, in harsh, panting gasps.

“Angela.”
With a smooth, gradual motion, he filled her, pushing in until he was buried as far as he could go.

She felt him brush against her clitoris, and she shuddered. She felt…filled was the obvious word, but at the
same time it was woefully inadequate to describe what she was feeling. She felt like her body was on fire…like it was brimming to the point of exploding. She was breathing in quick inhalations. Her body started to move of its own accord, moving sinuously against him, feeling the stroke of his erection as if it were a lever that activated waves of pleasure across her whole body.

She was moving faster, mindlessly, and she felt him pushing harder against her. With each joining, she felt closer to him…felt the repeated brush of him as a new shock of sensation ripped through her. She was hurtling toward something. She didn't know
what
she was experiencing, but at this point, it was so overwhelming that she didn't care. She couldn't process. She could only hang on for the ride.

Suddenly, a sensual wave hard as a punch flooded through her body. She felt the muscles between her legs clench as she wrapped around him, trying to draw him even deeper into her.
“Josh!”
she screamed, clawing at his back, flooded by the pleasure of it.

He drove into her, and the wave redoubled, shaking her to the core.
“Angela,”
he responded, then drove into her again, sending echoing pulses with each pounding movement against her body.

She felt like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Her body was one quivering nerve. He collapsed on top of her, and she cradled him, stroking his back, comforting him even as she felt overwhelmed with…awe. There wasn't any other word for it.

After a few moments, he leaned up heavily on one elbow. “Angela?” His voice was tentative, and he moved a wayward lock of hair away from her sweat-soaked forehead. “Are you all right?”

All right? She wasn't sure. No, all right was too tepid a phrase for what she was feeling at that moment.

“I'm…” She paused. Then she brought her arms up around his neck again, pulling him down to her. She pressed her lips against his, trying to say with the most tender kiss possible what she didn't have words for.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Now I won't have to die a virgin.

J
OSH SNUGGLED
deeper into the blankets. Every breath he took was scented with her…a mix of some floral fragrance and baby powder.
Eau de Girl,
he thought with a smile.

She'd been incredible last night. He hadn't had a bout of pleasure that powerful in he couldn't
remember
how long. He clutched her a little tighter, marveling at her pliancy, the softness of her body…

Wait a second.

He did more than clutch. He
squeezed,
hard. Then he sat bolt upright, and turned on the light. After a second's blindness, he looked down to see he'd been holding two pillows in a comfortable embrace.

“What the…?”

Here he was, fantasizing, while the woman he was dreaming about wasn't even there in his bed!

Shaking his head and chuckling at himself, he got up, intent on looking for her and bringing her back to bed. No way was he letting her go that easy. He didn't bother with any clothes. He didn't have any close neighbors to peer into his large floor-to-ceiling windows, so it was
a common enough practice for him. Besides, he was too intent on finding Angela to waste time on modesty. He wondered if she had put on one of his shirts to go around his house, or if she'd been brave enough to walk au naturel as well. Just the thought started to make him hard.

He was definitely awake now.

He wandered over to his bathroom, but the door was open and the light was out. Maybe she was fixing him breakfast, he thought, making his way down the hall and past the living room to the kitchen. No, the kitchen light was out, too.

He frowned. He doubted she went outside…it was March, and from what he could see, it was a cold and gloomy day. Why leave a perfectly warm bed to go out naked in…

He walked into the living room, looking intently, and his thoughts immediately derailed.

Her clothes were gone.

So was the small purse with her car keys.

He went to the front door, throwing it open. Adam was there, a box full of doughnuts in one hand, the other hand obviously poised to knock.

“Well, good morning, stud,” Adam said, laughing. “Thought I'd bring you and your, er, guest some breakfast.”

Josh ignored him, walking past him far enough to glance out in the driveway.

Her car was gone.

“Dammit!” He stalked back into his house. Adam followed him in. Josh went directly to his bedroom, where he pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Still cursing under his breath, he then went to the kitchen,
where Adam had already settled himself comfortably at the glass-topped kitchen table. “You have lousy timing,” he said to his friend, reaching for the doughnut box.

“I know. I should be sorry,” Adam said, grabbing a glazed doughnut. “But after last night's mysterious adventure that interrupted
my
romantic interlude, I figured, what the hell. I warned you. After the buildup you gave me last night, you're lucky I waited until nine. So, where is she?”

Grabbing a glazed doughnut and biting off a mouthful viciously, Josh snapped on his coffee machine. With an easy motion, he pushed himself up to sit on the countertop next to it. “She left.”

“Details,” Adam prompted, sprawling back in the kitchen chair, a rakish grin on his face. “I want details.”

“I don't have any details,” Josh snarled. “I don't know when she left, myself.”

Adam sent him a look of impatience. “I meant about last night.”

“Suffice it to say that I broke my word to myself, and slept with her anyway.” Josh was silent, then took another bite of doughnut. “And now she's gone.”

Adam didn't razz him for a change. He just studied Josh. “She was really something, huh?”

Josh scowled at him, not trusting his friend's solemnity. He waited for the punch line. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I haven't seen that look on your face in…well, ever.”

“What look?”

Adam smirked. “It's sort of a cross between seeing a really beautiful naked woman and stubbing your toe.”

Reluctantly, Josh laughed. “Why did she leave is what I want to know.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, then put the pot back to brew the remainder. He took a fortifying swallow, almost burning his tongue. “Last night was incredible. Then next thing I know, she leaves without even a goodbye.”

“Did she write you a note or anything?” Adam asked. “Maybe she had to do something early this morning.”

Josh felt a burst of relief. Of course. She struck him as a morning person, anyway…she probably had something she had to do, first thing. He quickly went to his bedroom. He looked over the nightstands, at his dresser. Nothing there. Well, maybe she'd left it someplace else. He quickly went over to the living room. Maybe she hadn't wanted to wake him, and wrote it there.

No luck.

After searching practically his entire house, he went back to the kitchen. “No note, no phone number, no nothing,” he grumbled, running his hand distractedly through his hair and sitting down opposite Adam at the kitchen table. “What's up with
that?
”

“Did she leave a twenty next to the bed?”

Josh glared at him. “Pretty funny. Get out.”

“Whoa, easy. Relax,” Adam said, putting his hands up in defense. “I brought Krispy Kremes. Had to go two towns away to get the dumb things. That's got to be some kind of defense.”

“I don't want goddamn Krispy Kremes. I want Angela back here. Now.”

“Angela, huh?” Adam smiled, ignoring Josh's tirade. “So call her. Maybe she's listed.”

Josh took a deep, beleaguered breath. “I don't know her last name,” he said.

Adam laughed. “You don't know her last name?”

Josh glared at him. “Look, I'm not proud of this, okay? I wound up having sex with an incredible virgin, and now I have no way of seeing her again.”

“There's always a way,” Adam said, smiling but wisely refraining from taunting his friend further. In his current mood, it was clear that Josh didn't feel like joking around. “Let's think this through logically. How did this whole thing come up?”

Josh told his friend the entire story, from when he met Angela in the bar to just before the intimate details of what had happened last night. Not that he was ever a proponent of locker room talk—he figured as long as women knew you were good in bed, what was the point in bragging about it to men? But he wanted to guard his experience with Angela. It was too special to be discussed with even his closest friend. “She was just so determined,” he finally said. “She was going to have sex last night, with me. Period. She was a woman on a mission. It was fairly crazy…and, like I said, pretty amazing.”

Adam was frowning, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “So this girl knew you in high school, right?”

“Yeah,” Josh agreed, “but I don't remember any Angelas in high school. It's not like we were friends or anything.”

“Well, she's twenty-nine, and you're thirty-three,” Adam reasoned. “She wouldn't have been in your grade, anyway.”

“You're right,” Josh said, thinking about the math. “In fact, we only would have been in high school together for a year…I would've been a senior when she was a freshman.”

“Exactly. So find out who the freshmen were when you were a senior. Voilà.”

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?”

“What, do I have to do everything for you?” Adam chuckled. He got up and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard, pouring it full of coffee. “You've got a yearbook, don't you? Look through it. See who the Angelas are.” He sipped some, made a face, then rummaged for sugar and milk.

Josh felt embarrassed. “Why didn't I think of that myself?”

“Because you're in no condition to think right now. At least, not above the waist.” Adam shot him one of his trademark smirks. “So get your yearbook, and let me see who this mystery woman is. If she's as incredible as you say she is, maybe she's got a sister or two.”

“I don't have it,” Josh said, thinking about it. “It's at my parents' place, in San Diego.”

“So call them.”

“They're in Europe. Three-week vacation.”

“That won't do,” Adam said. “You wait three weeks to figure out who this woman is, and
I'll
kill you because I know you're going to be driving me up the wall. Where else, where else…” He thought for a minute, then snapped his fingers. “Try the library. It's closed today, but it'll be open first thing Monday.”

“That's brilliant.” Josh grinned at him. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“One question. What if Angela
doesn't
want you to contact her?” Adam asked. “Granted, your charm is legendary, but last I heard, women have gotten into the one-night stand scene, too.”

The question took Josh aback. “It's not like that,” he said decisively.

“How do you
know?
” Adam persisted.

“Because you know me. When I want something, I get it.” Josh smiled, already thinking about the scene ahead. “Believe me—this is not going to be a one-night stand.”

Adam looked at him, then clinked coffee mugs with him. “Happy hunting, buddy. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance.”

 

A
NGELA SAT IN A
semidarkened office, staring at the torturous device that was the mammogram machine. She'd already endured the gooey mess of the ultrasound. Then she'd been pressed like batter in a waffle iron—except this had been a freezing cold waffle iron, she thought, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. Now she was sitting in the thin flannel robe type thingy they'd provided her with, waiting for the radiologist to give her the news. She tried to breathe deeply, but found herself forgetting to inhale altogether, then breathing in quick, shallow, nervous gasps.

It's probably not cancer.

She tried telling herself, over and over. It wasn't quite working.

It probably would have been easier if she could have talked with somebody, let them know. She'd left several e-mails and a phone message for Bethany, her best friend in the world. She hadn't heard back yet. Knowing Bethany, she was on a shoot somewhere. Being a fashion photographer managed to indulge Bethany's love of travel, but made it next to impossible to ever get a hold of her in any sort of emergency situation.

Frankly, there wasn't anybody else Angela felt comfortable in telling. The girls at work—she shook her head just thinking of it. No, she couldn't tell them. What would she say?
Hi, I know we've had the occasional lunch and we've known each other for two years but I'm scared to death that I'm dying, would you listen to my worries and let me cry for a second?

Not likely. Her mother had raised her better than that.

Her mother.
She hadn't called her, either, Angela thought, shifting uncomfortably. Telling her would only make them both panic. Her grandmother had gone in for a mammogram six years ago. The doctors didn't understand how it could have gone to stage three so fast, was the comment Angela remembered hearing most often. They were still commenting on that when they buried her, not long after.

No way was she telling her mother. Not until she knew for sure.

A nurse came in, and Angela's heart jumped into her throat. “Yes?”

“Oh.” The woman seemed surprised. “Sorry. Didn't realize you were still in here. I'm sure the doctor will be back in a minute.” With that, she hastily left, shutting the door behind her.

Angela sunk disconsolately back in her chair. It was the waiting that was doing this to her. She'd been waiting since Friday to find out something definite.

Friday had started in a cold, antiseptic smelling room like this, too.

She remembered her ob-gyn appointment vividly, like one of those nightmares that haunt you the whole next day. She had been in a paper robe and no underwear,
lying back, trying to think of what she needed to buy at the supermarket instead of focusing on what was happening as the doctor performed the pelvic exam. After the initial unpleasantness, the doctor stood up. “You're doing self breast exams, right?”

Angela thought for a second. “Well, off and on.”

The doctor frowned. “You need to do them every month,” she said, moving up toward Angela's chest. “You know how, right?”

“I'm pretty sure I do.”

“Not good enough.” The doctor lifted the paper gown. “You need to…”

The doctor then proceeded to demonstrate on Angela's breast. Angela felt herself withdraw, back to her grocery list.
Red peppers, shallots, I think that there's salmon on sale…

“You need to work inward, gradually, in concentric circles.”

“Okay.”
Maybe I'll get some more rice, I think I'm low…

“And then you…” The doctor paused. Angela remembered that pause, remembered not paying attention to it. “Angela, how long has this lump been here?”

Some brown sugar for cookies…
“What?”

“I said, how long has this lump been here? This one, in your right breast.”

Angela felt her body go clammy and cold with shock. “I don't know,” she said distantly, as if it weren't really her voice saying it. “I honestly don't know.”

She had taken the rest of the day off, a rarity for her. The soonest mammogram she could get was Monday, first thing. She had taken the appointment. And then she had waited.

It had given her time to think.

I haven't been to Italy. Haven't been to Europe, period.
She flipped through the travel magazines she had strewn around her house. She had always meant to. She had been so busy working after she'd graduated, and then, when she'd finally snapped from all the pressure, she had moved from New York City back to the calm small-town atmosphere of Manzanita. She was just regrouping, she'd told herself. She'd get to all those adventures she'd been putting off. Now, she wasn't sure what she was going to hear on Monday. Didn't know how bad it was. How long did she have, really?