Under the Northern Lights(46)

When we got back to the cabin, I was thrilled to see it and sad. Scary as it was, our adventure had brought us closer together. I didn’t want that part of it to be over with. I didn’t want to distance myself from Michael. I wanted to draw him closer, hold him tighter, cherish every last moment we had together . . . then convince him to leave here with me. He was just too wonderful to be alone for the rest of his life.

Michael sighed as he took off his hat. “I’ll make something to eat. Are you hungry?”

I was everything. Hungry, tired, thirsty, happy, sad, confused, conflicted. “Yeah . . . I’ll go get some water.” Michael opened his mouth like he was going to object, insist he would do all the chores today or something, but I interrupted him before he could. “It’s fine—I need to use the bathroom anyway.”

Grabbing an empty five-gallon bucket, I trudged off before he could stop me, but I felt disappointed and disheartened. As great as it was, that kiss shouldn’t have happened, because now I wanted something I couldn’t have, and it sucked. It sucked hard.

There was smoke releasing from the small chimney when I got back from my errand. The lazy curl drifting into the hazy-gray sky promised warmth, a treat that sounded heavenly. Clutching the handle tight, I opened the cabin door and hustled through. I was breathing heavier when I sloshed the bucket into its place in the corner.

Michael looked concerned as he rushed to my side. “That could have waited until you had something to eat.”

“It’s fine,” I told him. “I needed air anyway.”

I hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but I did. Michael’s eyes filled with guilt, and his gaze drifted to the ground. “Because of me. Because I . . . because we kissed again? I’m sorry,” he said, returning his eyes to mine.

Removing my hat, I walked over to my bed and set it down. “I know you are, Michael, but that doesn’t . . .” I turned to face him. “Being sorry doesn’t stop how we feel about each other. I know you think your heart is missing, or . . . it’s somewhere else, but from where I’m standing, it’s not as far gone as you think.” Walking over to him, I searched his face. “You said so yourself . . . you like me. You feel something for me. You want me. So your past aside, what’s going on with us?”

Michael bit his lip, discomfort clear on his face. He nodded over his shoulder to the food steaming on the table. “Breakfast is ready—we should eat.”

The smell of pancakes was making my mouth water, but a meal wasn’t what I wanted right now. “Don’t change the subject, Michael. Answer my question.”

The look on his face grew frustrated. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t want anything to happen between us. I just want to be friends. But then, when I’m around you, when you’re close to me . . . you’re so . . . the way you smell, the way you talk, the way you move . . . I can’t help wanting you . . . even though I know it’s wrong.”

He was breathing heavier as he stared at me, and my body practically purred in response. “Why is it wrong? Your wife wouldn’t want this life for you. She wouldn’t want you to hole up in this . . . prison that you’ve created for yourself, distant from everyone and everything. She would want you to live.”

His lip trembled as he held my gaze. “How do you know what she would want?” he asked, heat in his voice.

“Because I know what I would want,” I answered. “And I would want you to live. You’re too incredible for anything else.”

The fire in his eyes died as his gaze drifted to the ground. “You barely know me, Mallory. How can you say I’m incredible? I could be the worst person in the world for all you know.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered that,” I told him with a smirk. “Remember when I ransacked your house? I was worried you were a serial killer in hiding.” A small smile curved his lips, and some of the tension in the room drained. Shaking my head, I stepped closer to him. “Give me the chance to get to know you. Stop closing yourself off and pushing me away.”

His eyes scanned how closely we were standing, but he didn’t retreat. “Why? What’s the point? You’re leaving. All of this . . . is temporary . . . so why let it happen?” His voice lowered into a sultry tone that sent goose bumps racing along my arms.

“I know I’m leaving,” I said, stepping in to his body, closing the space between us. Looking up at his face, I murmured, “I know this is short term . . . but my feelings aren’t. And I can’t keep ignoring how it feels to kiss you, to hold you . . . to be near you. I don’t want to.”

I pressed my body against his, and I felt him shudder as he closed his eyes. “So we what? Satisfy ourselves now so we can be miserable later?” When he opened his eyes, there were both sadness and intrigue in the pale depths.

“Weren’t you already miserable?” I asked. “I’m offering you . . . I’m offering us . . . a reprieve from that misery. A temporary shelter to keep us warm from the cold, even if it’s just for a little while.”

He stared at me for so long I was positive he was brainstorming ways to tell me no, that what I was asking was beyond his capabilities. And honestly, it felt a little outside of my own capabilities. I just wanted to pursue this enough that I was willing to close my eyes to the runaway train screaming toward us.