Chapter 7
Tommy was gone.
Imogen stood in the center of the empty cabin, a red and green flannel blanket wrapped around her like a protective talisman and tried not to sniffle. If she did, her head would implode.
She shuffled to the table for a glass of water. Her hand quivered with the effort of lifting it to her dry, parched lips. When was the last time she’d drunk so much whiskey? And why had she tried to impress a man destined to leave her?
She’d pushed too far. Let her libido take over like a wildfire devouring dry tinder. Teased him into kissing her. Oh God that kiss. It had been everything she’d wanted. More than she could ever have expected.
But she’d known the second he tore his mouth from hers that he regretted it.
He’d looked like he was ready to brave an avalanche to escape.
Sitting in his lap afterward had felt like a final embrace, but she’d leaned into it regardless of the heart wrenching knowledge that when she woke, she would be alone.
How terrible it was to be right.
She lay on the floor and stuck her head under the boughs of the small Christmas tree. It wasn’t as grand as the one back home in Capitol Hill, but the scent of slightly moldy evergreen and stale popcorn grounded her.
How had this happened? They’d fallen into a rapport, one that had felt good, natural. One she already missed. One she hadn’t been ready to give up on. Her lip trembled. Alone on Christmas. Was there anything more sad? There wasn’t even any stew left to cure the pain in her head.
The door shuddered open and she jolted upright, a few pine needles falling to the floor around her. Tommy stood in the doorway, half swallowed by the conductor’s coat and wearing her pink knit hat with embroidered flowers. “What are you doing on the floor?”
She scrambled to her feet. The relief that rolled through her was overshadowed by her stomach, which heaved at the quick movement. “I thought you left me.” She winced at her choice of words. “What I meant was, I thought you left for Seattle.”
“I was drinking my coffee.” He indicated the mug in his hand, which she hadn’t noticed.
“Right. How silly of me.”
Brow furrowing, he set the mug on the table and removed his coat. He brushed the snow from the shoulders and hung it on the peg by the door before meeting her gaze. “I gave you my word I’d stay.”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Well, I didn’t.
” He studied her hair, which most likely resembled a heron’s nest after its eggs had hatched, before sliding his gaze down her torso.
“Besides, it looks like another storm is heading this way. I need to replenish the firewood before—Genie, are you alright?”
Imogen followed his gaze to her legs which, she realized dimly, were shaking. She might have steeled her heart for his announcement, but she’d forgotten about her knees. In two strides, he was at her side, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back.
“You’re in no shape to be out of bed. Too much whiskey will do that to you.”
“I’m quite capable of—”
“None of that.” He nudged her toward the bed. “Lie down and I’ll take care of everything.”
She crawled onto the mattress, breathing heavily through her nose. “No food.”
“Peppermint tea, then.”
“If you insist…”
“I do.”
Resting a forearm over her eyes, she listened to the soft swishes of Tommy’s trousers as he moved about the cabin. When his movements occasionally stopped, she would peek out to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that Tommy was there with her.
The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge. “Here’s your tea. Let me help you up.”
A moment later, a pillow was stuffed behind her back and she was sipping the aromatic beverage. She let out a blissful sigh. Trust Tommy and his precise ways to make the perfect cup of peppermint tea.
“About last night…”
He trailed off, and she mentally prepared for the worst. Obviously, he was about to tell her all the ways she’d embarrassed herself.
She would remain calm and collected—no, better yet, she would pretend the kiss had never happened!
He would follow her lead and they could go on pretending to be just friends.
“I very much enjoyed kissing you.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Tommy in horror. What was the matter with her?
His lips twisted into a knowing smirk. “I know.” He extricated the mug from her grip and set it on the bedside table. Guiding her firmly but gently onto her back, he added, “I am an excellent kisser.”
Only Tommy could be so self-assured and still make her toes curl beneath the blankets.
“Almost as good as me,” she clarified.
He laughed, which, given the circumstances, could have been directed at her. She was rather pathetic at the moment. However, the possibility was quickly disabused by the intense focus he levied on her. It told her she’d pleased him, that her challenge was welcomed—and wouldn’t go unanswered.
“The kiss was so brief, how could we know for certain?”
“We could try again,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were offering him a new blend of tea.
“We could.” His smile was slow and wicked. “That and so much more. Genie, I know what my second wish is.”
Her breath stuttered. “Go on.”
“I want to touch you. Pleasure you until you can’t breathe. Feel you come apart in my arms, over and over again, for as long as we’re in this cabin.”
Holy God, what a promise. She struggled to think.
There was one more important question, she was sure of it.
Something to do with the cabin. If only she could concentrate on something other than the state of her nipples, which had become hard points beneath her sleeping gown, or the juncture of her thighs, which throbbed with ravenous desire.
“When do we begin?”
A stark, almost feral gleam shone in his blue eyes. “As soon as you’re better.”
She shoved herself to her elbows. “I’m better now.”
His laugh was low and husky. “No, Genie love, you’re not. Sleep first, and dream of the many, many things we’ll try.” He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “And when you wake, I’m going to take care of you. In every way you need.”
When Imogen roused some time later, it was to a medley of mouthwatering aromas.
She arched her arms over her head in a languid, restorative stretch and sniffed greedily at the air.
Her headache, thankfully, was gone, though her body still hummed with lingering agitation.
She had every intention of pursuing Tommy’s promise to satiate the relentless ardor demanding her attention, but first things first.
“Something smells wonderful.”
“Of course it does,” Tommy said from his seat before the hearth. “I am a wonderful cook.”
“Another reason I adore your mother.” She pulled on a thick robe and walked to his side. Gawking at the number of pots simmering on embers, she asked, “Gracious, how long was I asleep?”
“Long enough for me to prepare a few presents.”
“A few?”
“I have to make up for lost time.” He tilted his head and gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Merry Christmas, Genie love.”
“Merry Christmas.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Though I feel a bit guilty. I haven’t prepared a present for you.”
He rose to his feet and drew her into his embrace. “You’re the only present I need.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
“I’m serious. I never expected to spend another Christmas with you.”
“Especially a carnal Christmas.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she buried her face in his chest. Laughter rumbled beneath her cheek, and then he eased her back.
“Let’s start with your other presents first, shall we?”
“Right. Food.”
He used a wooden spoon to point to various pots. “We’ll start you on this bone broth. If your stomach handles it, we’ll try one of these pan biscuits with an egg on top. Or…perhaps you’d prefer this barley and carrot soup? I could also make flapjacks—”
“You’re the absolute sweetest,” she interrupted.
“I assure you it’s purely out of self-interest. I am not immune to the whiskey from last night, either.”
She patted his forearm. “Whatever you say. Now feed me.”
“Once you’re dressed properly.”
“A nightgown and dressing robe is perfectly acceptable attire to drink bone broth!”
A mischievous gleam appeared in his eye. “Not for this meal, it isn’t. Come with me.”
Without waiting for her reply, he lifted two buckets of water she hadn’t noticed warming on the hearth and disappeared behind her staging screen in the corner of the cabin. She followed, shaking her head at his vagueness. Then she rounded the screen and gasped.
While she slept, Tommy had staged a scene straight out of her dreams. The oval, wooden tub with copper handles had been moved from its cramped position against the wall and was now the focal point of the nook.
A flat slab of wood was laid across both rims, the perfect place to rest a mug or a book.
Beside the tub, he’d positioned a short box.
Atop it lay her bar of vanilla and cinnamon soap, comb, and the book she’d begun reading the night before.
Her heart thudded in time to the rhythmic cascade of water filling the half-full tub.
She wasn’t prepared for the way the simple act made Tommy’s forearms flex, nor the way the fabric of his shirt stretched over his back.
Time slowed, and her pulse thrummed wildly.
She watched dumbly as he set the buckets down, lit a half dozen tapered candles, and then methodically set about sprinkling dried sprigs of lavender and buds of chamomile taken from her stash of tea into the steamy bath water.
She’d always wondered what it felt like to be in danger of swooning.
“There we are.” Tommy rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “Get in while the water’s hot.”