Taming His Montana Heart(57)

“I’ve always loved this time of the year.” She spoke from the heart. “I’m not sure it’s my favorite season. Each has its own appeal.”

When he nodded, she surmised he agreed. Being at Lake Serene brought her close to nature and as a consequence to herself. Much of what people did here revolved around the weather. Winter had a smell all its own, a quiet that was missing from the other seasons. Knowing a wolf or wolves shared this incredible setting made her even more appreciative of where she earned her living. She’d come a long way from believing she wouldn’t connect with Lake Serene.

“I don’t have a favorite season.” He wrapped his free arm around her and brought her within an inch of him. “Each one is a gift.”

“Gift?” She couldn’t get out another word.

His mouth was close and he’d gone out of focus. “So are you. I had no idea I’d feel this way about a woman. I’m not sure how to handle it.”

Fighting the nagging fear that it might all fall apart, she drew free. She didn’t wait for his reaction, didn’t give him a chance to ask what she was doing. Instead, bold and needy, she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted herself onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his. She touched life and warmth, anticipation.

His hands settled over her sides, holding her to him. She spread the fingers of her hand over the back of his head to hold him in place. Dizzy now, she kept her lips on his and breathed in his scent, his essence.

His life.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

Maybe he said more. She wasn’t sure because her entire being was changing, everything narrowing down until only what was happening to her registered. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t touching every part of her, she felt him from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. His larger body blanketed hers like warm mist, a silent, all-pervasive presence she longed to cling to forever.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect. Even as their embrace became more intimate, she acknowledged what she hadn’t told him plus what she didn’t know about him but that had to come later.

“Keeping my hands off you has been so hard,” he said as he ran his fingers under her sweater and over her bare sides. “Kissing wasn’t enough. I wanted more.”

“So did I.” She flattened her hands against the back of his neck. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what you wanted. Sometimes I sensed that you weren’t satisfied with what was happening between us but I’d tell myself I was projecting my—desires onto you. Needing you to feel the same things I was.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, she wondered if she’d exposed too much. Maybe once the heat coursing through her no longer dominated, she’d be able to better explain. Now, only one thing was important, pressing her breasts and belly against him while silently begging him to kiss her again.

He did. They did. The contact full of heat and energy and suspense and a great unknown. She buried herself in it all.

He drew his hands out from under her sweater and cupped her jaw. Her head was already tipped up, but he increased the angle and parted his mouth. Moaning, she followed suit. Her lips were getting bruised but it was all right, part of the journey.

When he finally broke off the kiss, she increased her hold on his neck. He brushed the tip of her nose and then her eyelids with a fingertip. She wanted hot and hard, yet this gentleness was wonderful. It reminded her that she was a woman. She would give him soft femininity, yield to his desires.

Make his needs hers.

They took turns exploring the depth and direction of this thing called a kiss. No matter whether she was nibbling on his lip, licking the corner of his mouth, or brushing her lips over his chin, it all felt right. He closed his teeth around her lower lip and gently drew it toward him, causing her to think of herself as his possession, his lover.

His hands kept finding new places to touch as did hers. She tried to settle her fingers on one part of him so she could commit it to memory but was soon on the move again. She unbuttoned his shirt and stroked the hairs on his chest. He guided her sweater up so it was under her arms, slid his fingertips over the ladder of her ribs, found room for his fingers between her waist and snow pants and settled a thumb against her navel.

She was coming unglued, unhinged, lost within herself. Barely able to breathe. Not trusting her legs to support her.

“I can’t…” She swayed and dug her nails into his elbows for support. “Do it like this anymore.”

“What do you want?”

“Upstairs.”

“Good.” The word was a hiss, a breath sound coming from deep within an aroused man’s throat.

Stairs were designed for people with their wits about them, not someone half drunk with the need for intimacy, but somehow, with him providing support, she managed the complicated climb. He didn’t bring his weapon with him. The stove’s heat had spread throughout the space, either that or being with him was all the warmth she needed.

“This used to be the attic,” he said. “Nate remodeled it into a loft. That’s what I’d do if I had a cabin.”

He took her hand and led her to the window. There were hardly any clouds and the moon was nearly full. As a result, their view of snowy trees, iced-over lake, and distant lights from the resort was magical. She could even make out Mount Lynx’s imposing silhouette.