Under the Northern Lights(65)

His breath was fast in my ear as he nibbled on my lobe; then his mouth started traveling down my neck toward my chest. I didn’t want to appear too eager, but I desperately wanted him to kiss me there, kiss me everywhere. When his tongue swirled around my nipple, I began to think that maybe I had died in that crash. Maybe this was heaven.

He sucked my breast into his mouth, and a long groan left me. Arching my back, I clutched at his hair, never wanting him to leave. But he did. Panting, he looked up at me with heated eyes that were screaming at me that he wanted more. Yes, don’t stop. “I think . . . I think I could love you.”

Pain pierced my heart. “I think I already do,” I whispered.

Michael’s eyes turned glossy in the flickering candlelight. He swallowed hard, then returned his lips to mine. I kissed him with abandon, pouring all of my emotions—pain and joy—into it. Michael kissed me back just as passionately. We were finally on the same page . . . being torn up by pain while simultaneously falling in love.

After a long moment, I pulled back from Michael to look him over. He was glorious, his body lean and trim from daily hard work, his mind sharp and focused, and his heart . . . his beautiful, broken, fluttering heart slowly on the mend. Because of me, because of us. If I left him, how long would it take his soul to shut down again? How long until the light faded from his eyes? How long before he crumbled? But staying here . . . how could I sacrifice my family for love? How could I live out the rest of my life being cut off from the world? Even if it was with the man of my dreams, I didn’t think I could do it. But, God, Michael . . . how can I leave you when you were made for me?

Feeling lost, I cupped his cheek, then let my fingers trail down his chest to his pants. As I slowly began unbuttoning them, Michael’s hand came down to stop me. “Mallory, I don’t think . . .”

“I want to be close to you in every way,” I said, tears in my eyes. “I don’t want to leave here and regret not sharing this moment with you. Especially since it . . . might be all we ever have. Please, Michael, don’t push me away. Not tonight. It’s our last . . .”

Emotion closed my throat, making speech impossible. Michael brought his lips to mine, attacking me with renewed vigor. His fingers left my hands and sought my pants, unbuttoning them. A few tears escaped me when I realized he wasn’t going to push me away. He was going to let me in . . . finally. It broke my heart that this was all we’d ever have . . . but still, I was going to take this moment and cherish it forever.

Once we were both bare, Michael pressed his naked body against mine, and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pulling him in tight, where he belonged. He sighed in contentment, then leaned over to lower his lips to mine. As we shared soft kisses in the flickering candlelight, my fingers traced every line of his body, and his caressed every curve on mine. He was so strong, so virile, so . . . perfect. It wasn’t long before I was aching with need for him. It brought me so much joy and relief to know he wanted me, too, and this time, he wasn’t hiding from me, wasn’t telling me no for my own benefit. We were going to cross this painful bridge together and figure out how to survive it later.

When I couldn’t stand being separated from him a second longer, I urged him on top of me. Our mouths never leaving each other’s, he pressed himself against me. I lifted my hips to meet him, silently telling him that I wanted this—wanted us. He pressed inside me, and I gasped. Oh . . . God.

Michael’s head fell to the crook of my neck. “Mallory . . . ,” he murmured, kissing the skin below my ear. “You mean . . . so much to me.” I wanted to respond to him, but he rocked his hips against me, moving deeper, and I couldn’t speak.

Euphoria flared throughout my body as we began to move together. Every movement was pain and bliss, regret and relief. What would we be after this? What would we be once I was gone? God, could I even leave him now? As our bodies rocked together, heightening the feelings between us, I wasn’t sure. Michael’s breath in my ear intensified as his slow and steady pace quickened.

“Oh God, Mallory . . . I need you so much . . . I wish you could stay.”

I could feel the buildup approaching, stealing my reason, my sanity. “I need you too . . . I wish I could . . . I don’t . . . want to lose you . . . but . . .”

The crest hit me, and I cried out as the bliss exploded throughout my body in radiating waves. Michael cried out a second later, and we held each other tight as the sensation amplified, then dwindled.

Michael slowed his pace, then stopped and remained still. Lying on top of me, his head close to my ear, he murmured, “I was wrong before . . . I do love you. And I’m going to miss you so damn much.”





Chapter Twenty-Three

As I was packing my meager belongings the next morning, images of making love to Michael floated through my mind on an endless loop. We’d done it. We’d crossed that last intimate line . . . and now I was leaving.

I couldn’t help but watch my rugged mountain man as I stuffed my bag. He’d allowed all his walls to come down last night, told me he loved me and how much he was going to miss me. I’d never felt anything quite so painful as hearing those words. They’d etched themselves across my heart, forever leaving a scar, and I felt no joy over the fact that I was on my way home. I was going home and leaving home, all at the same time.

Michael was sitting on my hard bed, watching me as I subtly watched him. There was conflict in his pale eyes, heartache on his sleeve. If he could have postponed this another day, another month, another year, I was sure he would have. I could postpone it if I called home, assured them I was alive and well, and then flew back to the cabin with Michael. I’d been gone so long, though . . . and I truly did miss my family, missed my dogs. I wanted to see everyone, hug them, take comfort in their presence after a long, hard winter. And honestly, postponing this a couple of weeks, a couple of months . . . it wouldn’t change how hard leaving Michael was going to be. It might even make it harder to let him go. But I had to let him go . . . I couldn’t live like he did. Not forever.