Under the Northern Lights(56)
Michael stiffened beneath me, and he dropped his head back with a groan. While I gently stroked him, he whimpered my name. His eyes were conflicted when I shifted to look at him. Passion and pain were playing across his features. “We should . . . stop,” he panted. His fingers squeezed my breast as he said it, though, and I squeezed him in return.
“I don’t want to,” I said, breathless; then I lowered my mouth to his. Our kiss was frantic, passionate, crazed. His hand worked across my breast while I worked mine over him. I wanted out of this tub. I wanted to lie down and feel every single inch of him. “I want you . . .”
My words made Michael groan. His hand in my hair pulled me tight. “I want you too,” he whispered. His words ignited me, and I removed my hand from him so I could get out of this damn tub. His next words froze me in place. “We can’t, though.”
Pulling back, I stared at him. He swallowed and pulled both of his hands away from my body. “I’m sorry . . . we just can’t. You know why.”
Like I was stuck in tar, all I could do was stare at him. He was the one who’d amplified this, and now he was pulling back? Now that I was on the edge of not caring about anything—consequences be damned—now he was bringing us back to reality? I supposed one of us had to.
“Yeah,” I murmured. Setting my hands on the sides of the tub, I carefully removed myself from the water. I couldn’t help but look at him as I got out. He was magnificent, rock hard, pulsing with need . . . for me . . . but still . . . he was right. We had to use our heads here because our hearts would surely lead us in the wrong direction.
Quickly averting my eyes, I walked over to my stuff so I could change into dry clothes. I heard Michael sigh, then heard the water sloshing as he got out. I couldn’t look at him again as I dried myself off on one of his towels. I could hear him changing, heard him putting on his boots, but I kept my eyes averted. “I’ll go wait outside so you can . . . change,” he finally murmured.
My body was still flaring with desire, so I had to imagine his was too. I didn’t want him to go outside. I wanted him to grab me, toss me down on his bed, and take me. But he wouldn’t, and I had to accept that. “Thank you,” I whispered, still not looking at him.
His boots clomped over to the door, and I heard the wood creak open. Michael sighed again, then told me, “I’m so sorry, Mallory,” before heading into the darkness.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and silence blanketed me. “I’m sorry too,” I whispered to the empty room. I never should have opened my heart to him, never should have agreed to limited intimacies that would both test and strain us. I should have kept my distance from him. But I hadn’t, and it was too late to go back now. Because I was fairly certain I was falling in love with him.
Chapter Twenty
As time surged inexorably forward, I began to notice something that made my soul feel heavy with trepidation. Every time I went to the river to fill the five-gallon buckets, there was more water showing and less ice. It was getting warmer; spring was on the way. Spring—and separation.
Just a few short months ago, I’d been heartbroken over how far away spring had seemed. I’d been hurt, stranded, and forced to live with a stranger. I’d been scared for my life and missing my family. But now . . . now, I was kind of at peace here, and Michael was the reason for that.
He’d taken me in, taken care of me, made me feel safe and secure. And loved. We never spoke about our feelings, but every time we kissed, every time we locked eyes, every time we pulled back when things became too heated, we were silently screaming our affection for each other. It was torture, but as much as it hurt, I wasn’t ready for it to end.
I felt gloomy and despondent as I trudged back to the cabin with my two buckets of water. Setting them down, I checked that the latch on the door was still securely locked before I unhooked it and stepped inside; I didn’t want to run into any more unexpected visitors. After depositing the water in the corner, I decided to follow the trapline and go find Michael; I suddenly felt the need to be with him as much as possible.
The trail was easy to find. It hadn’t snowed in a while, and Michael’s daily path to work was stomped flat. The mounds of snow around the line were smaller than before; the warmer days were quickly melting them into sodden, soggy heaps. I could even hear water droplets falling from the branches of the tall trees surrounding me, could see the myriad holes in the snow where melted flakes had struck like wet meteorites. Everywhere I turned, I saw signs of winter’s demise. It further dampened my mood.
As I trudged along the trail, I came across something that stopped me in my tracks. There was a paw print in the snow just to my right. By its direction, the creature it belonged to was crossing the trail, heading back toward the cabin, and it was huge—grizzly bear huge. Were they already emerging from hibernation? I thought we’d have more time before we had to worry about them again. I felt over my shoulder for my rifle, but it wasn’t there. I’d set it down in the cabin when I’d dropped off the water. I’d been so focused on getting to Michael that I’d forgotten to pick it back up. That was a huge mistake, one that could cost me my life out here. Going back to get my gun was just as risky as going forward to find Michael—riskier, actually, since that was the direction the bear had headed. I’d just have to continue forward and hope that the bear hadn’t circled back to this location.