Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Colleen
The moment she turned a little porny inside was the moment she knew she was going to make a full recovery.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s all true.”
Moore’s brow wrinkled, dark eyes narrowing as he peered at her with an intensity she must be misreading. All the guy was doing was assessing their situation.
“Maybe fourteen,” he added, watching her face. Forcing her eyes to stay on his face, she resisted the juvenile impulse to make a penis joke.
Because said penis was currently ensconced only in a pair of very nice boxer briefs, the rest of Moore completely undressed, and if she wasn’t careful, she was about to expose her true attraction to him.
Which would be lethal for their friendship.
And worse, her pride.
“Fourteen inches is a lot,” she replied, biting her lips and curling them inward to try not to laugh. “Of snow.”
“Rum?” he asked, then poured without waiting for her reply.
Looking around, she let his words sink in. “How far is this cabin from the road?”
“Maybe a quarter mile?”
“You carried me a quarter mile in a raging snowstorm? In the woods, without shoes?”
He shrugged.
“Moore. Jesus.”
“I’m nothing like him. Other than a beard, but mine’s trimmed.”
“You went to heroic lengths to save me.”
“I did what any decent human being would do.”
“Yeah, but–”
His hand went to her bare shoulder, a primal look in his eyes. Nudging the mug of rum against her hand, he said in a gravelly voice, “I don’t want to relive what happened outside, Colleen. How about we get drunk and do our best to forget it all, then deal with life in the morning?”
“Drunk?”
“Fine. Not drunk. Just… let’s unwind.”
“Unwinding sounds good,” she answered, slow and unsure of herself, though the food and water was helping. Holding her mug, she raised it a bit, her hand starting to shake.
“To life,” he said.
“To you.”
“Me?”
“You saved me.”
“I had to.”
“Right, because Mom and Dad and Luke would kill you.”
“Hah.” He clinked the rims of their mugs together and took a sip, eyes roaming around the world as if he were struggling not to say more.
So many questions swirled through her, her muscles beginning to ache as if they were being pulled by some new gravitational force.
The tops of her forearms, her calves, the inner thigh muscles–random places made themselves known, her brain calling down and getting reports from below that everything was still in disarray.
Another part down below, though–that part was warm, wet, and beginning to throb.
As they drank their shots, Moore kicking his back in one gulp, Colleen sipping hers slowly, she noticed how quiet the cabin was. Not knowing what else to do with herself, she took a deep breath through her nose, inhaling the light aroma of rum, and closed her eyes.
“How about we make a hot toddy?” she murmured.
“A what?”
“Hot toddy. You know. Tea, honey, lemon, water, and rum.”
“I thought it was bourbon.”
“Don’t get picky.”
“I’m picky? You just listed a bunch of ingredients we don’t have. I can give you hot water and rum.”
“Then I’ll use my imagination.”
“Is this a subtle way to ask me to pour hot water in your mug of rum?”
Shivers radiated in erratic patterns across her legs, her toes so warm, they felt like dough that had been left to rise too long on top of a radiator.
“Yes.”
“Hot toddy it is, madame.” With a joking flourish, he stood again and went to the stove, reappearing with a battered enamel kettle, the kind Colleen wouldn’t even consider buying at a yard sale where everything was a dollar.
But here? It was retro cool.
Moore poured himself a mug full, too. “Wish we had cinnamon. Some kind of tea.”
“I’m surprised the owners don’t leave more.”
“I’m not. Who wants bears and squirrels breaking in?”
“True. But I could really go for a nice cup of chamomile right now.”
“Rum a dum dum.” Moore tipped his mug up and appeared to drink half of it, jaw moving, giving Colleen a moment to eye him without being seen.
If she weren’t already shivering, she would quiver with pure desire.
Maybe it was the rum. Perhaps it was the way he fiercely protected her.
It could even be the coziness of the cabin as it warmed up, the fire granting the space a gentle glow as the wind howled outside.
And it certainly could be nineteen years of pent-up wanting.
But right now, Moore looked so deliciously fine, like a lover about to climb into bed for a night of pleasure.
Oh, dear. The rum was sinking in, wasn’t it?
“I probably shouldn’t drink this,” she said, taking a long sip.
“Because of your heart?”
“Because I’ll tell you all my secrets if I drink too much.”
Moore picked up the bottle and poured her another shot.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“I just told you I shouldn’t do this!”
“You don’t have any secrets I don’t already know.” His saucy grin warmed her up in a way that no woodstove could.
“Oh, yeah? Maybe you’re wrong about that.”
“I know everything about you. You know everything about me. We’ve been friends forever–you’ve literally known me since the day I was born. What important fact could I possibly not know about you?”
Wind pushed hard against the window frames, rattling them like they were Colleen’s heart.
At the same time, her limbs were relaxing. A fuzzy feeling began in her skin, and not just because her peripheral nerves were confused. The rum was doing its job, and as she drank the rest of it, she shivered.
And didn’t stop.
“Wow,” Moore said. “Still that cold?”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
“Here.” Moving behind her, he straddled her back, curling his knees and calves around her legs. Positioning one comforter behind him, he pulled it into an igloo-shaped puffball, her head peeking out.
Then he stretched across the bed for the rum bottle and poured them more.
“Whoa, buddy,” she said, her words loud in the quiet cabin. Once in a while, a log spit and crackled as it burned, the scent of woodsmoke so comforting. “That’s enough.”
“Not for me.”
“That bad?”
“I really think it’s hitting me now. That was a lot, Colleen.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Plus, it’s eerie here. So quiet. Nothing to do. No electricity, no radio, no tv. No phones.”
“Want me to put on a variety show?”
“I watched you in the last Love You No Talent show. Taping red glow-sticks in the shape of hearts on your butt, turning off the lights, and dancing to ‘Despacito’ is not a talent.”
“It counts!”
“Forcing people to watch your ass bouncing in the dark counts as talent now?”
“You watched, didn’t you?”
The long, slow slide of his breath through his nose, measured and heavy, made arousal flare up.
All she could do was pull her hands out from under the covers and take another sip of her drink.
A loose feeling seeped into her pores now, that gentle moment when the voices in her head that constantly debated everything decided it was time to take a break.
Relaxing back against his chest, she let out a sigh of her own.
One of contentment and release.
Bra straps were no fun in any situation, but being pressed against him meant every part of her body was suddenly up for inventory and examination. As she pulled her knees up, soles of her feet on the mattress, she shook again, inner thighs quivering violently.
“Don’t spill your drink,” he joked.
“Not enough left in there to spill.” Her laugh was bigger, bolder, brasher than normal, and as she loosened, she craned her neck up, looking at upside-down Moore.
Or his chin, at least.
“Is that a request for more?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I need to make sure I’m okay.” Scooching forward, she tested her legs, which handled the standing maneuver better than expected.
Every breath felt better than the last, but nothing felt as good as having permission to touch and be touched like this.
No, it wasn’t intimate, but it was closer than she’d ever been to Moore. Even in crisis, she wanted him. No level of denial was high enough to deny that.
All her defenses were melting away. Maybe it was the trauma.
Perhaps she was just too exhausted to fight it any longer.
Most likely, the rum was contributing, changing her in a way that felt magical.
What else were they supposed to do, closed off from the world, reeling from their narrow escape from death?
Standing up felt good. Moore joined her, hovering like a parent guiding a child’s first steps, attentive eyes watching her every move. Chilled a bit, the cocoon of the comforter and Moore’s warm body now removed, she shivered again and the sudden twitching of her body threw her off balance.
Instantly, his hand was on her hip, snaked around her waist, providing firm support.
“I’m fine.”
“I know you are,” he murmured against her hair. “Just making sure.”
In any other situation, they’d be making love right now. If they were romantic partners, the accident would be a source of conflict, the cabin a relief, her recovery a blessing, and they’d be celebrating life by connecting in the deepest way possible.
But they weren’t romantic partners. She was just a friend, standing in her bra and panties, with another friend standing in his underwear, his arm around her.
The thought depressed her, dread washing over her skin, and her knees buckled from the emotional enormity of it.
“See?” he said as he caught her weight, lifting her gently in his arms, moving her a few feet back to the bed. “Making sure.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your knees didn’t get the message, Colleen.”
“My body isn’t cooperating. It’s being a jerk.”
“Bodies can do that.”
“Maybe it needs more rum.”
The sadness that had just inserted itself into her like an injection faded as quickly as it came.
Moore fussed over her, tucking her under the covers again, moving to the stove to feed it another log, this one bigger and thicker than the others.
She had to give it to him; Moore knew how to make and tend a fire.
Boy Scouts had served him well.