Chapter 6 #2
He leaned back against the foot of the bed and cracked open the book.
He devoured the first short story, relieved to focus on something other than Imogen.
The whiskey, far finer than his usual fare, worked its slow magic.
The oaky sweetness was undercut by a subtle bitterness, an intriguing interplay that mimicked his inner thoughts.
He glanced up and was arrested by the sight of Imogen reading her book.
She wasn’t a noisy reader—which he detested more than warmed milk—but she was performative.
Her lips moved in a wordless dance, as if she conversed with the characters themselves.
Her wide, alert eyes flew across the page, and her expressive eyebrows told a story of their own.
He raised his mug and was surprised to find it empty.
He wasn’t usually a heavy drinker, but it seemed the best way to survive the temptation before him.
He poured himself another, but when he moved to set the bottle down, Imogen held out her mug with an expectant smile. It still held at least a finger-full.
“You don’t have to keep up with me.”
“Pour.”
Shrugging, he gave her a small splash. She glared at him until he added a second splash, then a third.
They resumed reading. Tommy eased onto his back, his head propped against two pillows, the book resting on his chest. Normally, there was no finer way to pass an evening than with a crackling fire, a warm buzz in his head, and a good book.
But as his gaze returned to Imogen, who now lay with her limbs propped up by various pillows, he knew what had been missing.
A woman who smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.
The pins holding her hair were gone, and the silken, blonde waves were draped over a green pillowcase. What he would give to lie beneath a canopy of that hair, a safe place to whisper all the words trapped inside him. An intense longing tightened his chest.
It was heaven.
It was hell.
Imogen sighed and lowered her book. “I have a confession.”
Tommy swallowed over the lump in his throat. “What’s that?”
“As much as I wanted you to leave, I’m glad you’re here.” Two bright spots highlighted her cheeks. “Nights are the loneliest.”
“I hate hearing you’ve been lonely.”
“Part of me has been lonely ever since I was eighteen. Ever since…you know.”
His stomach clenched at the mention of that night outside his shabby apartment.
It was two years after Imogen was sent to boarding school, and at least a year since his family left the Radford’s employ.
The sight of the gorgeous woman she’d become took his breath away, and he’d listened in a daze as she listed all the reasons they could finally be together.
But he was so angry back then, entirely convinced the world was against him.
The thought of dragging Imogen down with him had been inconceivable.
He’d turned cruel and sent her away in tears.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Genie. I wish I had done it all differently.”
“I know.” One corner of her mouth lifted, and she laid a hand on his ankle. “And I forgive you. I really do.”
Imogen’s forgiveness was a gentle rain that brought life to the parched recesses of his heart. Unable to speak, he laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed.
“It’s hard to believe it took five years to find you again,” she added after a moment.
He shifted in his seat. “As long as we’re confessing…”
“Wait.” She gulped down her remaining whiskey and held out her mug for more. He obliged in silence, though he was far less generous this time. Her eyes had already taken on a glassy sheen. “Now, I’m ready.”
“It only took a few hours for me to regret what I’d done. It took almost two years for me to go looking for you.”
“What? But we never…”
“I saw you on the university campus. You were surrounded by classmates, and you looked so damned happy.”
“I wasn’t.”
He shrugged. “I watched you for a while, and as much as I wanted to speak to you, I knew I’d made the right choice. You were succeeding in ways I never would. You had friends. There was even a man hovering over you. So, I walked away.”
She jolted upright, her whiskey sloshing over one side of her mug. “Was he medium height with brown hair?”
“I don’t quite recall. What stood out to me was his enormous gold fob watch.”
She groaned. “If you hadn’t fled, you might have saved me from the man who would eventually jilt me in front of half of Seattle.”
“Perhaps I should have,” he replied. “I would have savored stuffing his timepiece down his throat.”
“I hated that watch. He loved it more than me.” She scooted closer to tap her mug to his. “Want to know the worst part?”
“What?”
“He kissed like a toad.”
“Genie, I do not want to hear about you kissing him.”
“Maybe all men kiss like toads,” she mused, a slight slur to her words.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. She’d never been properly kissed?
“Do you kiss like a toad?”
His poor mug was in danger of being crushed between his hands, so he set it carefully aside. “Genie, that’s enough…”
“Think you could do better?”
“I know I could.” He cracked an eye open. “But we’ve had a lot to drink—oomph.”
He caught Imogen against his chest. She encircled his neck with her arms, leaned back, and gifted him a smile so adorably eager that his toes curled.
His hands slid down to her slender waist, at last discernible through the layers of heavy clothing.
She was so warm, so pliant, and a hiss of wanting escaped his lips.
“Genie,” he said in a strangled voice. “We’re friends, remember?”
“Friends kiss.”
“They most certainly do not.”
“Fine. We’re not friends.”
“Hmm, I see.” He shifted her fully onto his lap, his arms closing around her so naturally it was if they’d done it a hundred times before. “And that means I can kiss you?”
“Exactly. A loophole.”
“I’m starting to think you’re the scoundrel.”
“Perhaps so. And perhaps…” She leaned forward to nip lightly at the end of his nose. “You like it.”
To hell with it. She wanted it. He wanted it. One kiss and her curiosity would be sated. One kiss and he’d be able to get her out of his mind.
There was no gentle preamble. Their lips met in a kiss of unbridled longing, of hunger that had smoldered beneath the surface for too long.
He stroked her tongue with his, sucked on her lower lip.
Her fingers wound through his hair and pulled him closer.
She gave a throaty moan, and his cock hardened beneath her hips.
His hands were moving, caressing her sides, her back, pulling her as close as possible.
She was everything he’d never stopped needing.
Everything he could never live without. He wanted to show her how good a kiss could be, how the right man could make her sing with pleasure. How they were meant to be together—
He ripped his lips from hers. Inhaled ragged breaths of air and stared down at her with alarm. At what point had she gained the upper hand? How had she pulled such need from him? Need he hadn’t even been aware existed until that moment?
And why did it feel…right?
Imogen touched her swollen lips with a shaking hand. “You’re no toad.”
“Told you,” he said gruffly. “Now lay your head on my shoulder.”
She shifted in his lap to do as told, her plump bottom sliding over his rigid cock.
He gritted his teeth against the heady pleasure and tightened both arms around her.
At last, she was still. He dipped his nose to nestle in her hair, and her intoxicating scent calmed his stampeding heart.
They sat in silence, lulled by the soft crackle of firewood.
Imogen’s breathing turned heavy and rhythmic.
Ever so slowly, Tommy raised a finger and stroked her silken cheek.
The simple touch, forbidden from him all those years ago, was both soothing and disquieting.
He would never be the man she needed. The man she deserved.
But there was one thing he could give her now, in this cabin, in this wintry dreamworld deep within the Cascade Mountains. Something he would never regret.
All-consuming pleasure.
What if, for a little while, they indulged themselves and explored the intense desire between them?
Found a little happiness together? Imogen murmured in her sleep and burrowed closer, as if she’d heard his thoughts.
He rested his head against hers and allowed himself the joy of looking forward to tomorrow.