Tommy was gone.
Imogen stood in the center of the empty cabin, a red and green flannel blanket wrapped around her like a protective talisman and tried not to sniffle. If she did, her head would implode.
She shuffled to the table for a glass of water. Her hand quivered with the effort of lifting it to her dry, parched lips. When was the last time she’d drunk so much whiskey? And why had she tried to impress a man destined to leave her?
She’d pushed too far. Let her libido take over like a wildfire devouring dry tinder. Teased him into kissing her. Oh God that kiss. It had been everything she’d wanted. More than she could ever have expected.
But she’d known the second he tore his mouth from hers that he regretted it. He’d looked like he was ready to brave an avalanche to escape. Sitting in his lap afterward had felt like a final embrace, but she’d leaned into it regardless of the heart wrenching knowledge that when she woke, she would be alone.
How terrible it was to be right.
She lay on the floor and stuck her head under the boughs of the small Christmas tree. It wasn’t as grand as the one back home in Capitol Hill, but the scent of slightly moldy evergreen and stale popcorn grounded her.
How had this happened? They’d fallen into a rapport, one that had felt good, natural. One she already missed. One she hadn’t been ready to give up on. Her lip trembled. Alone on Christmas. Was there anything more sad? There wasn’t even any stew left to cure the pain in her head.
The door shuddered open and she jolted upright, a few pine needles falling to the floor around her. Tommy stood in the doorway, half swallowed by the conductor’s coat and wearing her pink knit hat with embroidered flowers. “What are you doing on the floor?”
She scrambled to her feet. The relief that rolled through her was overshadowed by her stomach, which heaved at the quick movement. “I thought you left me.” She winced at her choice of words. “What I meant was, I thought you left for Seattle.”
“I was drinking my coffee.” He indicated the mug in his hand, which she hadn’t noticed.
“Right. How silly of me.”
Brow furrowing, he set the mug on the table and removed his coat. He brushed the snow from the shoulders and hung it on the peg by the door before meeting her gaze. “I gave you my word I’d stay.”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Well, I didn’t.” He studied her hair, which most likely resembled a heron’s nest after its eggs had hatched, before sliding his gaze down her torso. “Besides, it looks like another storm is heading this way. I need to replenish the firewood before—Genie, are you alright?”
Imogen followed his gaze to her legs which, she realized dimly, were shaking. She might have steeled her heart for his announcement, but she’d forgotten about her knees. In two strides, he was at her side, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back.
“You’re in no shape to be out of bed. Too much whiskey will do that to you.”
“I’m quite capable of—”
“None of that.” He nudged her toward the bed. “Lie down and I’ll take care of everything.”
She crawled onto the mattress, breathing heavily through her nose. “No food.”
“Peppermint tea, then.”
“If you insist…”
“I do.”
Resting a forearm over her eyes, she listened to the soft swishes of Tommy’s trousers as he moved about the cabin. When his movements occasionally stopped, she would peek out to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that Tommy was there with her.
The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge. “Here’s your tea. Let me help you up.”
A moment later, a pillow was stuffed behind her back and she was sipping the aromatic beverage. She let out a blissful sigh. Trust Tommy and his precise ways to make the perfect cup of peppermint tea.
“About last night…”
He trailed off, and she mentally prepared for the worst. Obviously, he was about to tell her all the ways she’d embarrassed herself. She would remain calm and collected—no, better yet, she would pretend the kiss had never happened! He would follow her lead and they could go on pretending to be just friends.
“I very much enjoyed kissing you.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Tommy in horror. What was the matter with her?
His lips twisted into a knowing smirk. “I know.” He extricated the mug from her grip and set it on the bedside table. Guiding her firmly but gently onto her back, he added, “I am an excellent kisser.”
Only Tommy could be so self-assured and still make her toes curl beneath the blankets.
“Almost as good as me,” she clarified.
He laughed, which, given the circumstances, could have been directed at her. She was rather pathetic at the moment. However, the possibility was quickly disabused by the intense focus he levied on her. It told her she’d pleased him, that her challenge was welcomed—and wouldn’t go unanswered.
“The kiss was so brief, how could we know for certain?”
“We could try again,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were offering him a new blend of tea.
“We could.” His smile was slow and wicked. “That and so much more. Genie, I know what my second wish is.”
Her breath stuttered. “Go on.”
“I want to touch you. Pleasure you until you can’t breathe. Feel you come apart in my arms, over and over again, for as long as we’re in this cabin.”
Holy God, what a promise. She struggled to think. There was one more important question, she was sure of it. Something to do with the cabin. If only she could concentrate on something other than the state of her nipples, which had become hard points beneath her sleeping gown, or the juncture of her thighs, which throbbed with ravenous desire.
“When do we begin?”
A stark, almost feral gleam shone in his blue eyes. “As soon as you’re better.”
She shoved herself to her elbows. “I’m better now.”
His laugh was low and husky. “No, Genie love, you’re not. Sleep first, and dream of the many, many things we’ll try.” He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “And when you wake, I’m going to take care of you. In every way you need.”
* * *
When Imogen roused some time later, it was to a medley of mouthwatering aromas. She arched her arms over her head in a languid, restorative stretch and sniffed greedily at the air. Her headache, thankfully, was gone, though her body still hummed with lingering agitation. She had every intention of pursuing Tommy’s promise to satiate the relentless ardor demanding her attention, but first things first.
“Something smells wonderful.”
“Of course it does,” Tommy said from his seat before the hearth. “I am a wonderful cook.”
“Another reason I adore your mother.” She pulled on a thick robe and walked to his side. Gawking at the number of pots simmering on embers, she asked, “Gracious, how long was I asleep?”
“Long enough for me to prepare a few presents.”
“A few?”
“I have to make up for lost time.” He tilted his head and gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Merry Christmas, Genie love.”
“Merry Christmas.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Though I feel a bit guilty. I haven’t prepared a present for you.”
He rose to his feet and drew her into his embrace. “You’re the only present I need.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
“I’m serious. I never expected to spend another Christmas with you.”
“Especially a carnal Christmas.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she buried her face in his chest. Laughter rumbled beneath her cheek, and then he eased her back.
“Let’s start with your other presents first, shall we?”
“Right. Food.”
He used a wooden spoon to point to various pots. “We’ll start you on this bone broth. If your stomach handles it, we’ll try one of these pan biscuits with an egg on top. Or…perhaps you’d prefer this barley and carrot soup? I could also make flapjacks—”
“You’re the absolute sweetest,” she interrupted.
“I assure you it’s purely out of self-interest. I am not immune to the whiskey from last night, either.”
She patted his forearm. “Whatever you say. Now feed me.”
“Once you’re dressed properly.”
“A nightgown and dressing robe is perfectly acceptable attire to drink bone broth!”
A mischievous gleam appeared in his eye. “Not for this meal, it isn’t. Come with me.”
Without waiting for her reply, he lifted two buckets of water she hadn’t noticed warming on the hearth and disappeared behind her staging screen in the corner of the cabin. She followed, shaking her head at his vagueness. Then she rounded the screen and gasped.
While she slept, Tommy had staged a scene straight out of her dreams. The oval, wooden tub with copper handles had been moved from its cramped position against the wall and was now the focal point of the nook. A flat slab of wood was laid across both rims, the perfect place to rest a mug or a book. Beside the tub, he’d positioned a short box. Atop it lay her bar of vanilla and cinnamon soap, comb, and the book she’d begun reading the night before.
Her heart thudded in time to the rhythmic cascade of water filling the half-full tub. She wasn’t prepared for the way the simple act made Tommy’s forearms flex, nor the way the fabric of his shirt stretched over his back. Time slowed, and her pulse thrummed wildly. She watched dumbly as he set the buckets down, lit a half dozen tapered candles, and then methodically set about sprinkling dried sprigs of lavender and buds of chamomile taken from her stash of tea into the steamy bath water.
She’d always wondered what it felt like to be in danger of swooning.
“There we are.” Tommy rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “Get in while the water’s hot.”
She didn’t think, only acted. Holding Tommy’s gaze, she tugged the robe open and let it fall to the floor in a heap. When her fingers began to undo the nightgown buttons at her throat, Tommy inhaled sharply. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them, but he didn’t move. His heated attention emboldened her, made her want to expand the boundaries of her existence. She was no stranger to nudity, her own or others’. As an artist, she had posed before a crowd and delighted in the knowledge that her body was art.
But now, with Tommy, it would not be about art. It would be about lust, desire, need. Baring her body to him was akin to baring her soul. In all her life, she had never been more eager. She grasped two fistfuls of flannel and drew the gown over her head. Summoning her courage, she lifted her chin to see Tommy’s reaction.
He stared at her like a starving man before a feast. His nostrils flared as his gaze touched her collarbones, her breasts, her belly. He paused at the juncture of her thighs, and his cock strained against the front of his trousers.
“You’re so lovely. So beautiful. So perfect.”
The hoarse rasp in his voice sent a shiver straight to her throbbing core. To be desired thusly was a new sensation, one to be savored and dissected at a later time. For now, she simply wanted to act.
She took two steps toward the tub and lifted a hand. Tommy was at her side in an instant, and she shivered anew at his eagerness. He cupped her hand and guided her into the bath. She sank into the warm, healing water with a sigh of contentment. It wasn’t as large as the tub back home, but she didn’t care that her knees rose above the surface. Tommy had prepared it for her; it was perfect.
Tommy disappeared from view, only to return a moment later carrying a plate and a mug. He set the plate, holding a flaky pan biscuit, on the wooden board before her, and pressed the mug into her hand. “Drink.”
She sipped, not surprised in the least to find a delicious, nurturing broth. Similarly, each morsel of the buttery biscuit—such a deceptively simple treat—quelled the rumbling in her hollow belly. After the last bite, Tommy removed the dishes and slab of wood. She leaned her head back against the tub and closed her eyes. The heat enveloped her body, rejuvenating both her body and mind. The scent of lavender and chamomile tickled her nostrils and banished the final vestiges of her headache.
At last, she opened her eyes to find Tommy watching her. “How is it?” he asked softly.
“Everything is wonderful.” She bit her lip, then admitted, “Much better than spending Christmas by myself.”
She probably would have spent the holiday alternating between crying and gnawing a raw carrot. But this—being treated as if she were something precious—was indescribable.
Tommy’s expression softened. “Told you I’d take care of you.”
“You did.” She raised her brows. “In any way I needed, wasn’t that right?”
In answer, he pulled a stool behind the tub and sat, his knees straddling either side. She peered down at her body, fully visible beneath the still water, and swallowed hard.
“Sit up a bit,” he said softly. She slid upward, her shoulders and upper chest rising above the bathwater. Before she could ask him what he intended, he traced the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck with the pad of one finger. “Lovely.”
Both hands rose to knead the taut muscles in her neck and shoulders, and she closed her eyes to savor every moment. Each stroke, each press, was an invitation to surrender, to let her worries fade, if only for a little while. She gave herself over to his touch, content to exist in a dream world where only she and Tommy mattered.
“How’s this?” His breath tickled her ear.
“Heavenly.”
One palm slid over her shoulder and stroked a path across her collarbone. She bit her lip to keep from moaning aloud. He did it again, his fingertips dipping below the surface of the water to stroke between her breasts. Need unfurled in her low belly.
“Tell me what else needs my touch.”
A thousand thoughts tumbled over one another. This had not been covered in the pamphlets on reproduction Aunt Judith gave her when she became engaged. But this was Tommy. She was safe with him. Safe to express herself, safe to explore the ardor consuming them. Wherever he wanted to lead her, she would follow.
Bracing her hands on the lip of the tub, she levered herself up until her breasts, heavy with desire, crested the surface of the fragrant water. Her dusky nipples, already peaked with need, tightened further at the brush of cool air.
“Ah, I see.” His hands slid across her slick skin and she gasped as his warm palms cupped her breasts. When he spoke, his voice was thick. "How perfectly you fill my hands. Is that what you needed?" His thumbs grazed her nipples and she twitched at the potent delight. “Or perhaps this?”
"Yes,” she gasped, water sloshing as her legs moved restlessly beneath the surface.
He rewarded her by rolling her turgid nipples between her thumb and forefinger. He massaged her, raising her to the height of pleasure, while he pressed wet kisses along her neck. Dragging his lips to her ear, he growled, “Does your pussy ache?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
“Touch it.”
She obeyed without question, her fingers sliding beneath the water to the curls at the juncture of her thighs.
“Does it arouse you to know I'm watching?” She nodded, mesmerized by the low hum of his voice. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are, Genie love. So flushed and eager. My cock has never been so hard. And it's all because of you.” He tweaked her nipples, harder, and a strangled gasp escaped her. “Pleasure yourself while I worship these perfect breasts. Show me how to please you next time.”
She eagerly spread her legs and slid two fingers across her clitoris the way she liked. At the same time, Tommy sucked her neck. She shuddered and moaned. It was almost too much to bear—a scoundrel worshiping her breasts, whispering such wicked things in her ear, and her own fingers bringing her to fulfillment. Her nerves tightened, expanded.
“I adore your breasts so much. I want to thrust my cock between them, fuck them while you watch—”
She cried out, shuddering as a long, deep climax rocked her limbs. She didn't wait, but surged to her knees in the tub, water splashing over the rim. Her abrupt movement dislodged Tommy's grip, and she turned to face him. His face was taut with barely leashed control, and his entire body shook. She lowered her eyes deliberately to where his cock thrust against his trousers.
“Take it out.”
He was on his feet, his shirt and trousers undone and discarded before she could tell him to take it slow so she could savor it. But then his thick cock was before her eyes in all its glory, and words failed her. Tommy pumped its length with a firm grip and a bead of moisture rose to the tip.
"You're unbelievably gorgeous," he grunted. "Surging out of the water like a goddamned mermaid. I can barely stand it."
No one had ever made her feel so worthy. She wanted to tell him what it meant to her, but she didn't know if it would be too much. If it would scare him off. She would give him physical pleasure instead. Anything he wanted.
"Come here."
He stepped forward. On her knees, his cock bobbed somewhere between her breasts and her mouth. So close to her mouth. She felt an urge to kiss it. She knew some men liked such a thing. There was artwork depicting such scenes between men and women, or even between men. It had shocked and aroused her, but above all, it made her curious. She leaned forward before he could guess what she was doing and pressed her lips to the tip of his cock.
"Genie love." His voice was strangled. "You don't have to do that."
"You said you would give me anything I wanted," she pouted. "And I want to try."
His fist moved to the base of his cock. "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."
Her eyes widened when his cock slipped between her lips and filled her mouth. He tasted salty, earthy, and she knew she’d never get enough. She sucked in her cheeks and lifted her tongue, exploring his width.
He threw his head back and groaned. "That's so good. So fucking good."
She preened and doubled her efforts. It was awkward at first, but the messier she was, the more excited Tommy grew. She tossed aside her inhibitions and concentrated on using every part of her mouth on every part of his cock.
"Your breasts," he panted. "I want to fuck them."
She licked his cock one more time, then pulled backward. “Show me what to do.”
A moment later, her breasts, dripping with soapy suds, were pressed tightly around his cock. Tommy slowly rocked his hips, moving faster as they found their rhythm. Imogen alternated between watching the head of his cock surge toward her chin and staring up at Tommy with equal fascination. His muscles bunched and rippled with each movement, his face tightening with pleasure. He was magnificent.
“I’m going to finish.” He jerked his cock free and fisted it in a swift flurry of strokes. He gave a throaty groan, and Imogen watched open-mouthed as white ropes of his seed hit the bathwater.
“That was…absolutely extraordinary,” she breathed.
He cupped her cheek with his free hand, his gaze fierce. “You were extraordinary, Genie love. If you only knew how much I—” He broke off with a slight shake of his head.
Spellbound, she asked, “How much you what?”
But he only rearranged his features into a leer. “How much I want to do it again.”
She blinked and let out a weak laugh. “Then I should probably eat another biscuit.”
“That’s my girl.” He winked and took a step backward. “Wait there.”
“But I’ll get lonely,” she protested.
“Only until I grab the towel.”
“Ah. Wouldn’t want to get the floor wet.”
“You know me so well.” He lifted the towel from its nearby wall hook and circled near.
Imogen rose to her feet and held out her hand, only to have Tommy brush it aside. He patted her dry himself and then swept her into his arms. She gasped as their skin collided, and marveled at the fresh rush of desire that swept through her body. He set her down on the edge of the bed and gestured for her to get in.
“What about my nightgown?”
“No need. I’ll keep you warm.” Before she could grasp his intent, he fetched the copy of Sherlock Holmes and climbed under the covers. “Are you coming?”
She crawled up the bed, noting—and reveling in—Tommy’s intent and frank admiration. He’d done so much for her, made her so happy. If only she had more time to prepare something as well. As she settled against the headboard and arranged the blankets around her, she spotted a bit of cloth sticking out from the edge of her pillow. She did have something she could give him.
“Do you remember the time my father forbade me from going to the art festival?”
“He never understood how important it was to you.”
“But you understood.” She lifted the scrap of worn linen. “You gave me your best handkerchief to wipe my tears.”
He rubbed the linen between two fingers, and a curious expression crossed his face. “You kept it all these years?”
“Despite everything that happened between us, it has always brought me comfort. It reminds me—for good or for bad—that someone, somewhere, will appreciate me for who I am.”
“Then why give it to me?”
“Because now I know our falling out was hard for you, too.” She indicated the corner of the handkerchief where there were two intertwining sets of initials, one in faded blue thread and the other in a newer, more vibrant red. “I don’t know what will happen to us when we leave this cabin, but I hope that you can look at our initials together and know how important you are to me.”
“Thank you, I—I—” He coughed and rubbed a hand over his chin. “That’s very thoughtful.”
“And just so you know,” she added, “I don’t normally sleep with it under my pillow.”
His lips turned up on one side. “No?”
“I had to hide it in one of the few places that escapes your incessant cleaning.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Whatever you say, Genie love. Now, come here.”
He lifted an arm in invitation, and she eagerly pressed into his side. The warmth of his skin seeped into hers and she cuddled closer, daring to lay her cheek in the crook of his neck. He began to read aloud, his resonant baritone and the soft rustle of turning pages as soothing as a hot cup of chocolate.
The afternoon crept on, yet neither moved except to occasionally add wood to the fire or adjust their position. As Imogen lay in Tommy’s arms, his fingers idly stroking the hair at her brow, she pondered the serenity in her heart.
She had arrived to a stark, cold cabin and done her best to make it a refuge. Yet something had always been missing. Now, she knew what it was. She tilted her face and watched the firelight play across Tommy’s strong jaw, highlighting his thick, auburn eyelashes and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.
And fell for him all over again.