Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
ENZO
I can’t think of a better way to start the day than this.
Kissing my way down Winter’s body, her skin satin-soft beneath my lips.
Breathing in the faint scent of citrus and flowers and something else indescribable that’s uniquely her.
Cataloging each tiny freckle and committing it to memory.
Waking her gradually, first feathering kisses along her jaw, the slender column of her neck, and the delicate lines of her collarbones.
Once she’s fully awake, I move lower, plumping her breasts in my hands as I use my tongue to suckle and flick at her nipples, drawing them into rosy peaks.
She arches back, pressing her breast into my mouth, and her fingers clutch at my hair. Chest rising and falling faster as her breath quickens, Winter lets out a little moan.
Her eyes are half-lidded as she gazes at me, not from sleep, but a mounting desire.
Continuing my exploration, I brush kisses across her stomach before gently pressing my lips to the three entwined hearts on her hip—the tattoo she got when she was eighteen in honor of her parents.
Then I move lower still, past her adorable belly button with the small constellation of three freckles beside it.
I dip my head to the apex of her thighs, lapping at her growing dampness through the thin layer of fabric covering it.
But it’s not enough, so I peel her black panties off and toss them aside. Now that she’s fully exposed, I take a moment to take in everything Winter willingly offers me—flushed pink and slick with excitement, her little bud swollen and waiting for attention, her thighs quivering in anticipation.
“Enzo—” It’s a breathy moan that cuts off as I close my lips around her sensitive nub.
Using my hands to spread her legs wider, I lap and stroke and tease until Winter’s hips are jerking and she’s making these sexy sounds that drive me absolutely crazy.
I plunge one finger into her warm and welcoming heat, pumping in and out slowly, and she moans, “Enzo, oh…”
Then a second joins the first, sinking in deep. Moisture slicks my fingers as I move faster, and her inner walls flutter around them.
She’s getting close. Her expression is pure pleasure—eyes closed, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed—as she gives herself over to the moment.
Clamping my lips around her swollen bud, I suck hard until she lets out a guttural cry of ecstasy.
Her inner muscles convulse around my fingers as another rush of dampness coats them.
Winter moans, “Enzo, oh, Enzo, oh…”
It’s the best feeling in the world—feeling her come apart around me, clutching at me, hearing the sexy sounds she’s making, seeing her intense pleasure on full display.
And I did this. I can give her this gift every day.
Although, it’s not just a gift for her. The caveman in me wants to beat my chest with pride. I want to claim her as mine and make bringing pleasure to Winter my life’s purpose.
Shit. I’ve turned into a real romantic. And I’m damn happy about it.
Who’s not happy? Another part of me that’s hard and aching, the pressure close to bursting.
But I’m not going to rush her. I want to take this time to watch Winter as she comes back down to Earth after her first—and definitely not last—trip into space.
It seems Winter has another idea, because she pulls away and stretches across the bed to reach into the nightstand drawer. She unwraps the condom and quickly sheathes me; her touch nearly enough to push me over the edge.
Then she looks at me, her features still soft and relaxed from her release, and says with a little smile, “That was incredible, Enzo. But I think you’ve waited long enough.”
“There’s no rush,” I reply, though another part of me would vehemently disagree.
“No…” Winter’s gaze heats. “But I’m ready to feel you inside me.”
Before I say another word, she gets on her hands and knees in front of me.
While I’m busy trying not to swallow my tongue at the sight of her delectable ass, she looks over her shoulder and adds, “I like it this way because you can go even deeper.”
Oh.
Damn.
The same thought keeps repeating as I move inside of her, sinking deep, finally bottoming out with each thrust.
How did I get so lucky?
I grab her hips and drive into her, feeling her inner muscles trembling and squeezing, and she groans, “You feel so good. I love feeling you so deep inside me.”
And after Winter finishes again, I finally explode into a supernova of ecstasy, pulsing and throbbing, a white wall of pleasure nearly blinding me. Electricity sizzles through my body. It feels so perfect being joined with her; I don’t ever want to contemplate separating.
But eventually, reluctantly, I pull away from her and dispose of the condom before gathering Winter into my arms. I drape her across my chest, tucking her head under my chin, and press soft kisses to the top of her head.
She sighs, her breath feathering across my skin. Her tone languid and sated, she says, “I want to stay here forever.”
Oh.
My heart flips over.
I know she’s only talking about right now; laying in bed with me.
But.
I like the idea of her staying forever.
Would Christmas be too soon to propose?
I could say the thought stems from the ad on my computer—a photo of a man down on one knee, a ring box held outstretched to the attractive woman in front of him, a picturesque vista of mountains and lakes and acres of trees beyond. The advertisement is for some sort of proposal package offered at a luxury resort near Killington.
But while the Christmas part is new, the idea of proposing has been around longer.
When did I start thinking about spending my life with Winter?
I’m not sure I can pinpoint the exact moment. It’s been more like a wave sweeping over me; a gradual certainty that becomes stronger each day.
Was it when we first made love? When she agreed to move in? Or was it earlier than that? Did my heart know she was mine from our very first night she stayed with me?
While the ad may be coincidental, the thought isn’t. Not since I held Winter in my arms a few hours ago and heard her voice the word I’ve been spinning around in my head for weeks.
Forever.
Which is why I actually click on the ad instead of ignoring it. Instead of focusing on purchase orders, which is the reason I’m at the store and not still home with Winter, I start browsing through photos of happy couples in various stages of pre-marital bliss.
I could take Winter to Killington. Get the deluxe package with the private dinner prepared by a Michelin-starred chef, the suite with a hot tub overlooking the mountains, champagne and strawberries, and even an optional heart made of rose petals arranged on the bed.
Or I could do something here. Propose in the town Winter loves so much. Set up something at home; maybe ask Knox to help me build a gazebo in the woods. I could look through some of her books to get ideas—from my understanding, there’s an engagement in almost all of them—and have the perfect proposal at home.
Not yet, though. Not when Winter is still recovering from everything that happened with Thomas. Physically, she’s fine, but she still has nightmares and flashbacks that the counselor is helping her cope with. On top of adjusting to life without the threat of Thomas hanging over her and working to get her business back off the ground again, I think she needs some time before I throw a huge, potentially life-changing question at her.
Christmas, though… That’s two and a half months away. Hopefully, enough time to plan something special and be sure Winter’s ready.
I guess it gives me time to be sure, too. In theory, I could change my mind. But I seriously doubt it. Not when I feel this way about her.
Except.
Shit.
I haven’t actually told Winter I love her yet. I do—I’ve known it for a while now—but for some stupid reason it never feels like the right moment to tell her. It’ll be right there, on the tip of my tongue, and then something will happen and I think, next time, I’ll tell her. Next time, it’ll be perfect.
Maybe it’s a long-dormant sentimentality awakened, but when I bare my heart to Winter and hand it over to her, I want the moment to be perfect.
Still. I need to tell her. I want to tell her.
I could do it tonight. Will is coming in this afternoon, so I can go shopping for flowers and make reservations at the Laughing Goat to sit at the chef’s table. Since I went to high school with the owner, I’m sure he’ll fit us in. Then we can come home and sit by the fireplace—the weather is cool enough now—and sip wine and make love and then I’ll let Winter know the truth of how I feel about her.
When my phone buzzes, I’m certain it’s Winter, and I smile as I reach across my desk for it. I’ll ask her if she wants to go out tonight and if she’ll wear one of those sexy dresses I spotted in the closet.
As I flip over the phone, I’m already imagining us in the car on the way home from the restaurant; my hand on her bare leg, inching up to the junction of her thighs…
Then I read the message, and everything stops.
I have your girlfriend. If you call the police you won’t see her alive again.
My chest is encased in ice. My heart freezes.
You have an hour to get here. Come alone.
What?
For a second, nothing computes.
Winter’s at her house. She’s packing up some more of her things to bring over to my place.
No. Our place.
She wanted to get some of her old photos and the signed baseballs that belonged to her dad. I put up another shelf—this time in the living room—so Winter would have more room to display the things that mean most to her.
Winter’s still packing. She’s fine. It’s the middle of the day. Thomas is in jail. This is just some kind of sick joke.
I check the number the text came from, but it’s not one I recognize, just a random one with the 802 area code.
It has to be a joke.
Just as I’m about to call Winter—it’s a joke, it has to be a joke—another message comes in.
But it’s not a message. It’s a photo. Of Winter.
Fuck.
It’s my Winter, tied to a chair. Her eyes are open, red-rimmed and wide and terrified. There’s a bruise rising on her cheek and a trickle of blood running down from it. There are smudges of dirt on her pants, and one knee of her jeans is torn and stained red.
Rage ignites, melting the ice.
Someone took Winter.
I’m going to kill them.
As I’m staring at the photo, a location pin appears. It’s west of Greensboro, about forty minutes away.
Another text follows.
Don’t take too long. Or you won’t like what happens. I promise.
I want to scream at the phone. Call the number and rage at whoever is behind this. Threaten death if they don’t let Winter go.
But instead, I force myself to do the smart thing.
I’m on my way.
Then I dive for the weapons case under the desk, grab a Ka-Bar and Sig, and sprint for the door.
Fury and fear are hitting me in alternating waves. My thoughts are on a frenzied repeat.
Someone has Winter. Someone is hurting her. I need to get to her. Now .
I’m halfway to my car when a burst of rationality pulls me to a stop.
If this were an op, I’d never go into it alone.
Shit. Even though my instincts are shouting at me to go, to drive as fast as possible to Winter’s location and take down this piece of shit one-handedly, the trained operator in me knows it's a very bad idea.
There’s no way of knowing the situation I’m going into. Is it just one person or several? What weapons are involved? Are there incendiary devices? Traps? How badly will Winter be hurt when I get there? She didn’t appear to be badly injured in the photo, but forty minutes from now…
Fuck.
I need a team. And in an unexpected stroke of good fortune, in Bliss, I found one.
As I start jogging toward my car again, I open my contacts and hit Alec’s name.
Before he can get out a greeting, I grit out, “Someone took Winter. I don’t know who. She’s near Greensboro. I have to get there in an hour. No police or they’ll kill her.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then he replies calmly, “Okay. I’ll meet you at the gas station just north of Morrisville. Knox lives on the way, so I’ll call him. He can drive while I do some recon online. Where was she last?”
Flinging myself in the car, I yank the door shut behind me as I answer, “At her house. Packing things to—” My voice catches. Shit. Forcing the emotion down, I continue, “She has cameras there. At the front and back doors.”
“I’ll check them. Do you have her current location?”
“Yes.” As I forward him the pin, I add, “I need Ronan. And Gage. If Winter’s hurt…”
What I can’t bring myself to say is if Winter is badly injured by the time I get there, my basic first aid skills might not be enough. But Ronan was his team’s medic, and has a much better chance of keeping Winter stable while we get her to the nearest hospital.
And with Gage piloting one of his drones, he can gain intel without us having to expose ourselves. If we can scout the location before entering, it will give us a much better chance of taking down the tango—or tangos—successfully.
Shit.
There can’t be a chance. This rescue needs to be an absolute certainty.
“Gage isn’t too far from the pin,” Alec replies. “He can meet us south of Greensboro with plenty of time to spare. And Ronan…” He pauses. “He’ll make sure he gets there in time.”
I’ve never felt this shaken before. This afraid. My heart is sledgehammering, each beat a loud echo in my head.
But I don’t have room for fear. I don’t have time.
So I take a deep breath. And another. I force down the choking fear. Take the white-hot rage and channel it into fierce determination.
I will not fail Winter. Not now. Not ever.
As I peel out of the driveway, tires screeching, I tell Alec, “Leaving the store now. Should be at the gas station in ten.”
In the background, I can hear footsteps moving quickly. Something clunks. A door shuts. “Got it. I’m on the way.” His tone lowers, shifting from brisk to reassuring. “We’ll get her back, Enzo. I promise.”
Shit.
We have to.
I have to.
I can’t lose her.