Ariel looked once more around the small bedroom. With bare walls and utilitarian furnishings—a double-sized bed that took up most of the room and one nightstand—it was a stark change from her lovely room at the Hickory Creek Inn. But it was enough, because it was a step closer to achieving her goal.
All she had to do was survive this.
She realized one of the reasons for this was to show how far she was willing to go to get this done. She’d never lived this far out from a town, in fact, out from a big city, in her life, so thinking about things like groceries for meals—“Use whatever you want in the kitchen, but you’re on your own for cooking”—and having to drive a few miles just for toothpaste if you ran out was new to her.
But so was the quiet. Because it was very, very quiet out here.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to that quiet. Crazily, she thought she could almost feel herself slowing down, not relaxing—how was she supposed to relax with Chance in the next room?—but…easing up a little. A release of pressure she hadn’t even been aware of carrying.
Of course, the minute she walked out of this room and saw him again, that whole new kind of pressure would start building again.
When he’d first mentioned this part of the process, she’d barely paused at the idea, because the reasoning made sense. But he’d been a stranger then. And now? He’d kissed her—no, they’d kissed, because she’d been a more-than-willing participant—twice. And it had awakened parts of her she thought she would never hear from again.
She turned to look at Tri, who was on the bed. He was watching her alertly, ears forward, clearly intrigued by this new action.
“You’re mine to take care of now, my boy. We just need to find a routine that suits us both. And we—”
She stopped suddenly at the sound of running water.
Water heater’s not very big. No twenty-minute showers. I take mine at night, so it’s all yours in the morning.
She would not think about him in there, water sluicing over his tough, fit, powerful body. His naked body.
No, she would not think about that. He was just being…thoughtful. As he generally was. Or maybe this was just his routine. Maybe after a day dealing with dogs and ranch work, he usually needed the shower before going to bed.
To bed. In the not much bigger room just down the very short hallway. Just a few feet away. And thinking about that was even worse than thinking about him in the shower.
Desperate for distraction, she decided to go to the kitchen and put away the leftover two slices of the pizza they’d picked up after today’s excursion into town. Downtown Last Stand, where she’d found the rampant Christmas music and cheer less annoying than she would have thought possible. Tri had done perfectly, save for a slightly snarling encounter in the park with a shaggy little brown dog, that Chance said he wasn’t worried about because the other dog was notoriously cantankerous and did that to every other dog and a few people as well.
“Like owner, like dog?” she had asked when the woman who had frowned at them all pulled her cranky dog on up Oak Avenue toward Main.
“Pretty much,” Chance had said, stifling a smile until the woman was well away.
Ariel had praised Tri for his forbearance. The dog wagged his tail.
“Helps that he knows he could bite him in half if he wanted to,” Chance said.
“You’d think the other dog would know that, too.”
“He does. That’s why he’s so in your face.”
She remembered thinking then that that was an interesting bit of observation and understanding.
She put the leftovers—a slice each for breakfast, Chance had said, watching her as if he expected her to protest at the idea; “If I leave you one,” she’d said right back at him—into the fridge, then spent a few minutes hand feeding Tri a couple of treats Chance had told her had been donated by the pet bakery in town, Good Boy! He took them almost delicately from her, with a care she was certain many of the enemy would find hard to believe.
She heard the shower stop. For an instant she stopped breathing. What if he, living alone, was used to heading back to his room, or worse, wandering the house undressed? What if he forgot she was here, and strolled out of the bathroom naked?
What if he remembered you were here and strolled out naked?
She whirled, turning her back to the hallway as the ridiculousness of the thought made her cheeks heat. This was happening far too often around this man. She needed to think of him as the means to an end, the end being Tri. Tri, who had followed her out here as if it were his job. Which Chance had told her it would be, in the dog’s mind.
What do you know about Mals?
What I heard from Dean. And a lot of research before I got here.
Then you should know they aren’t simple house pets. They need a job. And if you don’t give them something to do, regularly, they will find something. And chances are you won’t like whatever it is.
Maybe we need a Paralympics for amputee dogs.
He’d given her a startled look then. But at that moment they’d encountered a knot of people on the street who had wanted to know if it was all right to pet Tri, and all their focus had turned to that. Which thankfully, had gone well, although the dog had been tense throughout, he’d never made an aggressive move.
She heard the bathroom door open. Caught herself holding her breath as she stared at the photograph on the wall. She’d noticed it before but hadn’t gone over for a closer look, because even from across the room she could see that it was a man in camouflage with a dog, and she had enough of those images in her head. But as she heard steps approaching, she focused on it out of near desperation.
It was Chance. There was no mistaking him, even without the touch of gray at his temples. He was crouched next to a sitting dog who was clearly the same breed as Tri but had a darker head and shoulders. Man and dog were nose to nose, Chance’s hands were on the sides of the dog’s head, and he was smiling widely. The dog’s mouth was lolling open as if he were smiling back. The pink tip of the dog’s tongue was curled upward slightly, as if he was about to or just had licked Chance’s face. There was so much love in that photograph, the duo were so clearly, utterly bonded, that her throat tightened and her vision blurred a little. And she had to turn away, no matter what was coming up behind her.
As it turned out, he was in sweatpants and a T-shirt. But the shirt was snug, and clung to damp skin, emphasizing the angle from broad shoulders to trim waist. And suddenly this small house seemed even smaller, as if the size of it were pushing them together.
“You smell good,” she said, rather inanely. “But then you always do.” Well, that hadn’t been much of a recovery.
He lifted a brow at her. “Half the time I smell like dog fur or horse manure.”
“I love the first, and don’t mind the second at all. Not nearly as much as I imagined I might, anyway.”
“Careful,” he said, and his voice took on that slightly rough tone that always made a slight shiver ripple through her, “you’re starting to sound as if you like it here.”
“I do,” she admitted, before she realized that neither of them had been specific about exactly where “here” was. Last Stand? Or here, in this small, cozy place, with him?
When she realized both were true, the real scope of the change that had overcome her since she’d arrived here finally registered. All the clutter and bustle of her day-to-day life back home seemed to have fallen away. All the lingering pain had receded into an ever-present but bearable ache.
She’d been telling herself it was because she was focused on Tri, but she knew it was more than that. This place, this man, had worked some kind of magic on her. And in this moment, nothing else mattered except what she was feeling. And not feeling; that ripping agony that had made her certain she would never heal, never feel whole again.
For a moment she saw exactly what she was feeling mirrored in those gray-blue eyes. Saw the need, the wanting. Heard it in his quickened breathing. Saw it again in the way his lips parted, as if he were going to speak. No words came, but she didn’t need them because she saw his expression change, sensed his body tense, knew somehow he was going to step back.
It was the regret that did it. She could see it in his face. He was going to back away, but he didn’t want to. And she didn’t want to let him.
“Don’t,” she whispered. He instantly held up his hands, started to take that step back. She reached out and grabbed his forearms, more aware than ever of the taut muscle beneath her touch. “I meant don’t go. And don’t stop.”
“Ariel,” he began, his tone a warning now.
She held on. “I haven’t felt this way in so long. I didn’t think I could, anymore.”
“Don’t start this,” he said, his voice rougher than ever.
“Are you saying you don’t want this? What…happens between us?”
He let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “I think it’s pretty obvious I do.”
She knew what he meant; she’d have to be blind not to see the jut of his arousal beneath the sweats. “Then why are you stopping?”
“Because you don’t want this. Not really.”
“So you read human minds as well as dog minds?”
“Ariel, you don’t know—”
“What I know is that a part of me I thought dead forever is suddenly awake. This is the first time I’ve felt anything since…”
She didn’t want to bring Dean into this, not here and now, between them. But one look at Chance’s face told her he was already here. And his next words proved it. “Since Dean? Don’t you see that’s why this is wrong? You’re his wife, and—”
“His widow. But don’t you see? That’s part of it, that you…understand. That I still love him. That I always will.”
“So this is…what?”
“All I know is you make me feel things I didn’t think I could anymore. I’m not asking for forever, Chance. I know that’s not in the cards.” He’d made that clear enough. I’m not…a loving kind of guy. No, he understood what this was, and wasn’t. He didn’t need what she couldn’t give. He’d been honest from the get, even before this had sparked to life between them. And it wasn’t like she was looking for forever, either. The opposite in fact.
Sex isn’t a betrayal, it’s just a physical act. Scratching an itch. It’s falling in love that would be the betrayal.
The words from that long-ago meeting shot through her mind again, and for the first time she truly understood the meaning and the truth of them. This wasn’t love, this was just an unexpected itch.
“So this is just sex, and just for now?” he asked bluntly. “And you’re all right with that?”
“It’s all I have to give,” she said quietly. “Are you all right with that?”
“I guess I’ll have to be,” he growled out. “Because woman, you are driving me crazy.”
And only when he kissed her again now did she realize just how much he’d been holding back. His mouth on hers was no longer tentative, no longer patient. It was fierce, demanding, enflaming. And catch fire she did; she was kissing him back the same way so fast it made her a little light-headed. Or maybe it was just him. She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know anything except the exhilarating feeling of being alive, truly alive again.
When his hand slid down to her breast, she was arching into the caress before she even realized what she was doing. She was pressed so close to him now she could feel his erection prodding at her. And she was stunned at how much she wanted to feel that ready male flesh sliding into her.
“Ariel—”
“Yes. The answer is still yes.”
“My room’s pretty plain,” he said, as if warning her.
“Any Christmas baubles?”
“Not a one.”
“Sold.”
She was nearly dizzy with wanting and wasn’t sure if he’d swept her up into his strong arms as a romantic gesture, or because she’d gotten wobbly. She didn’t really care.
“You need to eat more,” he muttered.
She nearly laughed. What woman didn’t want to hear that?
His room was plain. Tidy. Functional. But the bed he set her down beside was a nice size, and right now that was all she cared about. Well, that and getting his clothes off.
A little to her surprise he let her do just that, pulling the shirt over his head. She paused for a moment, running her fingertips over the puckered scar on his left side, between his ribs and hip bone. “Is that the ‘mostly’?” she asked, remembering what he’d said about that rescue action where the enemy had “missed, mostly.”
“Yeah.”
She bent and pressed her lips to the scar, loving the way it made him suck in a rapid, audible breath.
Things happened fast then. Clothes hit the floor, and she barely had time to appreciate the solid, strong beauty of him before he’d taken them both down to the bed. She couldn’t touch enough, stroke enough, and then she could barely breathe as he did just that, touched, stroked…and tasted. The feel of his mouth on her breasts, his tongue flicking her nipples sent fire pouring through her to someplace low and deep that ached with its emptiness. And in that moment it didn’t matter what this was, or more importantly what it wasn’t. The only thing that mattered was this man, and how he made her feel alive.
He reached out to the small nightstand and pulled a condom out of the drawer. “Cody, months ago,” he said with a grimace. “As a joke, ragging on me.”
When she realized he meant it to say he hadn’t planned this, it warmed her heart almost as much as her body.
The first probing touch of his fierce, silk-over-iron erection told her just how alive she was; he slid easily into slick, ready flesh. She gasped at the lovely stretching sensation and shuddered when he was fully inside her and the emptiness vanished. She heard him swear, a single oath, low and harsh and heartfelt. Then he began to move, as if unable to hold back any longer.
And as if they’d both been too hungry for too long, the peak hit them both in a matter of moments. Her body clenched violently, and he went rigid. She cried out from the fierceness of it, and he echoed it, their names blending in the same instant.
Shuddering, he collapsed on top of her. And she cradled him, feeling whole again for the first time. And she knew deep down that no matter what happened from here, she could never, ever regret this.