ANOTHER NIGHT HAD PASSED with Brooke, and Marc was barely hanging on—to his rapidly slipping control, his valiant intentions and his conflicting emotions. All were conspiring against him, and like a man sinking with no life preserver in sight, he was struggling to keep a firm grip on reality—which meant no future with Brooke, no matter how much he was beginning to wish otherwise.
He had to keep that fact in mind, along with maintaining a clear division between fantasy and reality, despite how difficult she was making it for him. Physically, separating himself from her was easy, since they weren’t going to make love in the traditional sense. Emotionally, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to isolate himself from her, not when everything about her was indelibly etched in his mind. Especially the way she’d looked at him in the shower last night when he’d stopped her from taking her caresses one step further. Too many expectations had shone in her eyes, coupled with a longing that exceeded the hot, wild fling they’d agreed to.
The anxiety he’d experienced in that moment had shaken him to the core, because he’d had the overwhelming urge to just let go and give Brooke everything she wanted, everything she demanded. But the fear of ultimately hurting her later, of not being able to give her everything she deserved, of breaking promises he had no right making, kept him from letting her lavish that particular intimacy on him. He’d felt vulnerable enough without surrendering to her silent supplication to accede to her.
“Your turn, Jamison,” Brooke said.
Squinting at the cards fanned in his right hand, he tried to concentrate on the game of Rummy they’d been playing for the past hour. He was losing, which wasn’t a huge surprise—he’d lost every game they’d played so far with the deck of cards she’d discovered in one of the kitchen drawers, from poker, to crazy eights, to twenty-one, and now this.
And still, the rest of the afternoon and evening stretched ahead of them.
They’d slept in late that morning, almost to noon, and after waking up and verifying that the storm hadn’t passed through yet, Brooke had coaxed him back beneath the warmth of the covers so she could snuggle with him a little longer. Their cuddling had been very relaxing and satisfying, and surprisingly, had remained platonic. The contentment and rightness of waking up with Brooke was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and something he knew better than to get attached to.
They’d talked about inconsequential things while they lay entwined, sharing favorite movies, foods, activities, likes and dislikes, and they discovered they had a lot more in common than either of them realized. While idly skimming his hand down her side, he’d found a ticklish area right at the curve of her buttocks that sent her into a fit of gasps and giggles when he added a tantalizing pressure to that direct spot. Finding that sensitive region had been purely an accident, but one he couldn’t resist exploring further, making her writhe and squirm until she breathlessly pleaded for him to stop the torment.
He did, only to have her grab a pillow when he wasn’t looking and pummel him over the head. With a low growl he’d tackled her to the sleeping bag, seen the mischievous glint in her eyes, and seconds later found himself embroiled in a pillow fight. They’d rolled around naked, the moment playful and teasing and filled with raucous laughter and shrieks of indignation—until he’d rolled to his back to escape her and she’d leapt on top of him, straddling his hips to hold him down.
All teasing and fun ceased, and the pillow she’d raised to gain retribution fell to her side. The mischief in her expression faded, replaced with a soft, sensual look he was coming to know too well, and a wanting that stirred his soul. Slowly, she’d splayed a hand on his chest and dragged her palm down his belly toward her spread thighs, until her fingers met the moist heat and silken skin trapping him, teasing him, tempting him. All she had to do was lean forward, slide lower, and she’d impale him right at the heart of where he wanted to be. The urge to touch her, fill her, was so strong his blood had roared in his ears.
What is your favorite sexual position?
I like being on top.
He didn’t like it. Not at all. He’d felt vulnerable under her spell, her feminine power stripping away the tenacious hold he had on his control until the only thought filling his head was being deep, deep inside her and forgetting everything else…like that he was all wrong for her.
She’d bit her bottom lip and glanced toward the couch for some unexplainable reason, as if debating what to do and how to handle their current predicament.
His stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly, obnoxiously, declaring that he’d missed breakfast and it was past time to eat. Much to his relief and disappointment, she’d relented to his belly’s hungry demand and moved off him, though there was a look in her eyes that proclaimed she’d only given him a brief reprieve.
Marc grunted to himself. She had no clue how close she’d been to his complete capitulation.
She peeked at him from above her cards, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Does that grunt mean you’re holding a lousy hand?”
“Like that should surprise you,” he muttered. Picking a card from the stack, he discarded the five of hearts, then winced when he realized he’d just given away the card he needed to complete a run.
Without hesitation, she retrieved his card and tucked it into her hand, then tossed out one she didn’t need and he couldn’t use. “You know, you’re not providing much in the way of friendly competition.” And she seemed delighted that she had him completely distracted, the little minx.
Other than that one incident earlier, they hadn’t touched or kissed or indulged in any more fantasies. After eating a combination lunch and dinner of ravioli, they’d each taken a shower, alone this time. While she’d been in the bathroom, he’d checked in with Marlene and made a call to the ranger station for a weather update. He’d confirmed that the storm would be gone by late that night, and was told they’d send someone out in the morning to pick them up when the roads were clear.
They had all evening and night, and so far, not one sexual advance. Although she’d been on her best behavior since that pillow fight, he didn’t trust her demure act and was prepared for a surprise attack…along with a bold attempt to maintain control of whatever erotic scheme she conjured up.
“I hate to do this to you again,” she said, spreading her hand out on the coffee table with a triumphant grin. “Rummy.”
Rolling his eyes, he tossed his cards onto the pile. “I give up. My pride can’t take any more abuse.”
Laughing throatily, she crawled around the coffee table toward him. “Aww, poor baby,” she crooned. “Maybe I can help soothe that male pride of yours.”
He eyed her gradual approach, unable to miss the wicked, purposeful gleam lighting her blue eyes, or the anticipation curling deep in his belly. “What, you’re gonna let me win the next hand?”
She lifted a blond brow. “Giving you the win wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?” Settling onto her knees in front of where he sat on the middle of the couch, she held his gaze. “No games this time, Marc. We only have this last night left together, and I want to make the most of it.”
Suddenly, so did he. As selfish as it was, he wanted what he could take from her, one last time. “Come up here on the couch,” he said huskily, wanting her at eye level and within touching distance.
She shook her head and pulled off her thermal top. Her breasts were already swollen, her nipples tight. “I’m fine where I am, thank you,” she countered politely, keeping things her way and not allowing him any advantages. “Take your shirt off for me.”
Dragging the hem up and over his head, he tossed the thermal aside, baring his chest. He watched her stand and shed her bottoms and panties, then kneel again, grasping the waistband of his long underwear. “Now let’s get rid of these.”
He lifted his hips as she tugged and removed the last barrier of clothing. Pressing her hands to his knees, she widened his legs and moved in between that cove, and leaned more fully into him, so his thighs bracketed the sides of her ribs and her breasts rubbed against his taut belly. She reached up, curled a hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth down to her parted, waiting lips and kissed him, slow and deep, and decadently sensual. She initiated an unrushed, seductive journey of lips and tongue, as if they had the rest of their lives together, rather than just this last night.
The thought made him desperate to touch her, to memorize the feel of her, the sweet, giving taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin—for all those long, lonely nights ahead. He trailed his hands over her shoulders and along her smooth, silky back, pulling her closer still, but not near enough, not deep enough, not intimate enough. His sex pulsated between them, burning with the need to be a part of Brooke in ways that he knew were impossible—for so many reasons.
Her lips left his, trailing kisses along his jaw, the stubble long since softening to a two-day beard, then she nuzzled his neck and inhaled deeply of his scent. Her hands charted a path down his chest, and her mouth followed leisurely behind. Fingers grazed his nipples seconds before she tasted him with a wet lap of her tongue. He groaned and closed his eyes as she teased him with her lips, tantalized him with her teeth, then continued on her descent, tormenting him with the erotic feel of his erection sliding between the warmth of her breasts as she lavished attention on his belly, his navel, and the point where hip met thigh.
Then she surrounded the hard length of him in both hands, and knowing what she meant to do, he tangled fistfuls of her soft hair in his fingers and gently held her intentions at bay. His heart raced, and he battled with the urgent, excruciating need ripping through him.
She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with desire, her expression as vulnerable as he felt. “Tonight, don’t tell me no,” she whispered, a desperate quality infusing her voice. “I want to share this with you, please.”
He knew what she wanted, his complete and total surrender, and there was no denying her, or himself, this intimate pleasure. This time, when she lowered her head, parted her lips over the tip of him, he didn’t stop her, resigned to giving her this final fantasy and letting her have her way with him.
He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, but was unprepared for the wild, primitive onslaught of need that gripped him when the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him. He sucked in a sharp, swift breath as fiery hunger ripped through his body. He shuddered as she stroked him rhythmically, the silky textures of her lips and tongue heightening the incredible sensations. And because there was nothing else he could do, he tightened his fingers around the silky strands of her hair and rode with the exquisite pleasure, until it became too much to bear and his release beckoned.
He swore, and pulled her away before he climaxed, feeling the loss as acutely as the frantic beating of his heart. Breathing hard, he flung his head against the back of the couch and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain a semblance of control.
He heard a crinkling sound, felt Brooke’s fingers brushing over his fierce erection, then something tight sheathing him. Frowning, he glanced down to find her rolling a condom over his straining shaft.
He choked on hoarse, disbelieving laughter. “Where in the hell did that come from?”
A sultry smile curved her lips as she finished her seductive task. “I had it tucked between the cushions. I found one in the bathroom last night and I was saving it for the perfect moment.”
The moment was perfect, too perfect, rich with possibilities, and swirling with the dangerous prospect of going all the way with Brooke, of consummating emotions he’d spent the past two days avoiding and denying.
She crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. Her slick wetness grazed him, and he grasped her hips before she could take him inside her.
He gritted his teeth against the instinctual urge to drive within her in mindless abandon. “God, Brooke, are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Really sure?” He had to know, because once they made love, there would be no retracting the intimate act…and no experiencing it again.
Like the condom, this was a one-shot deal, reserved for this time in the cabin only.
Framing his face between her palms, she gazed into his eyes, searching so deep he could swear she could see straight to his soul. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole entire life.”
Neither had he. But that changed nothing. “No regrets tomorrow?”
She shook her head, graceful and beautiful and certain. “Never.”
“No promises?” He forced the words out around the painful vise tightening his chest.
Her fingers slipped into his hair, curved around the nape of his neck, and she smiled. “Just the promise of pleasure.”
The last rule got stuck in his throat, and he felt as though he’d ripped out a piece of his heart when the words finally emerged. “No commitments?” He had to make sure she understood and agreed.
She didn’t answer, and instead kissed him, contradicting his final stipulation with so much passion and emotion he was helpless to resist her, despite what her eloquent silence had stated.
She wanted what he couldn’t give.
“Make love to me, Marc,” she breathed against his lips, and reached down to surround him with hungry hands, guiding him toward the heart of her. “I need you.”
The honest statement tore at his resolve, shattered his restraint. There was no denying this woman, or the powerful longing she evoked. He was too far gone, beyond reasoning. He was hers for the taking, a willing partner in this primitive desire to mate and be one.
With a shivery little sigh, she sank down on him, flowing over him like honeyed heat. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust upward, burying himself to the hilt in her sleek warmth. Too many heartbeats to count passed as they absorbed the feel of one another. Then they gradually began the sinuous movements and gliding rhythm of two lovers completely in sync.
With the intensity of the emotions swirling between them, he expected wild and rushed. She gave him slow and tantalizing, drawing out this one and only joining for as long as possible, taking as well as giving. Threading her fingers through his hair, she tugged his head back, leaned into him, and brushed her nipple across his lips. He took her into his mouth, suckling her breast, nipping gently, lapping indulgently, greedily feasting on the sweet taste of her.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. His hands grew restless, and he filled his palms with her soft, supple flesh, caressing her spine, across her buttocks, along her gently rocking hips. He skimmed his fingers down the length of her sleek thighs, then back up again, grazing his thumbs where their bodies joined, pleasuring her with an illicit, knowing touch.
Her breathing deepened, and he looked up into her flushed face, met her drugged gaze, and knew he was lost.
Possibly forever.
Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, he increased the pressure to that pulse-point of hers, building the tension they’d kept harnessed for too long, until her ragged breathing indicated just how close she was to that sharp edge.
Taking hold of her hips, he surged powerfully, filling her completely, again and again, until his thrusts turned into an uncontrollable extension of his need for her.
Rapture finally swept her up in its wild, tempestuous current. He heard the excitement of it in the moan that escaped her throat, saw the thrill of it in her eyes before they rolled back in ecstasy, felt the elation of her abandon in the way her body arched toward his and her inner muscles clenched so exquisitely around him.
But it was his name on her lips as she reached that crest that unraveled his control, shattered his restraint, and made him shudder with the incredible force of his own release.
And this last time, he came with her, and held nothing back.
STANDING BY the cabin’s front window, Marc stared out at the blackness that had descended with the onslaught of midnight, no longer glimpsing the occasional glow of snowflakes drifting by the glass pane. The storm outside had finally passed through the Rocky Mountains. He wished the upheaval within him would abate just as completely.
Unfortunately, he suspected the memory of these past two days with Brooke would haunt him for the rest of his lonely, solitary life.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, unable to stop thinking of the woman he’d left sleeping on their bed in front of the dying fire, soft and warm and replete from their lovemaking. An occasional cold draft drifted his way from the covered hole in the window, but it wasn’t enough to numb him—his mind, his body, or the pain in his heart. It ached with wanting Brooke. Stung with the knowledge that the one woman he craved in ways even he didn’t understand could never, ever be his…not in that deep, intrinsic way that mattered most.
Unease tightened his belly. When had those emotional issues started to make a difference to him? And how in the hell had he allowed Brooke to breach barriers and convictions he’d erected after discovering he was a man who lacked the ability to commit? For the past eight years he’d effectively dodged romantic entanglements and intimate relationships, and poured most of his time and energy into building his business. No single woman had distracted him from his goals and personal creed to embrace bachelorhood. No one woman had tempted him to question his vow to live a solitary life.
Until Brooke. She inspired tenderness and affection. She roused passion and desires he never knew possible. She kindled a hunger that surpassed anything he’d ever imagined, or felt. She provoked needs that sex alone couldn’t quench. In just one wonderful weekend she’d dragged him deeper than he’d ever gone with any woman.
And he had no idea what he was going to do about her hold over him once they left this cabin.
“Marc?”
Brooke’s sleep-husky voice drifted from behind him, and he glanced her way. She’d propped herself up on her elbow, and her disheveled hair spilled over her bare, smooth shoulders. The blanket slipped low, revealing perfect breasts tipped with taut, rosy nipples. There wasn’t a hint of inhibition about her now, and he loved that about her, and that he was directly responsible for her sensual transformation.
Love. The word surged through him like a 220-volt shock, paralyzing him on many levels. Denials came swiftly, and he grasped each one, using them as a means to shore that unexpected flood of emotion.
It couldn’t happen.
She tipped her head, her brow creasing with concern. “Are you okay?”
No, he didn’t think he’d ever be the same again. “I’m fine.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard to clear it.
“Come back over here.” She patted the space beside her. “It’s getting cold and I miss you.”
His chest tightened. He was going to miss her, too. Forcing the thought from his mind, he moved across the room, irresistibly drawn to her.
“You put your thermals back on,” she complained with an adorable pout when he neared. “Take them off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shucked his underwear, and she lifted the blanket for him to slip inside next to her. She turned so he could spoon his body along the back of hers—wanting nothing from him but to simply be held.
And he did just that, all night long—it would be his last chance to do so.