Chapter 13 #2
In the next few minutes, they were pelting each other, tumbling around in the powdery substance, and laughing like hyenas.
Mistakenly thinking he had defeated her, he rolled over and was about to gallantly help her up when he was met with a face full of ice.
"Sneaky," he sputtered, his face freezing.
"And you deserve to be paid back in full."
Before he could gather his arsenal, she was up and running, laughing and looking back to gauge the distance between them. That was her downfall, literally. Because she wasn't paying attention, she tripped over a tree root hidden beneath piles of snow and fell flat on her face.
He was about to dump what he had on top of her when he realized she wasn't moving. His mirth turned into alarm and had him dropping down at her head. "Baby?" Taking her shoulders, he carefully turned her over and saw that her eyes were closed. "Sweetheart, are you hurt?"
Panic had him looking for any signs of blood or a tear in the skin. He was about to unzip her jacket when she opened her eyes. He saw the mischief in them, but it was too late. She had already smashed a handful of snow directly on his face and was off like a shot.
Sitting back, he shook his head and grinned as he watched her head for the house.
"I hope you know that you're going to pay big time for what you did," he announced as he stepped into the foyer after stripping off his soaking wet jacket and boots.
His warning was met with silence. Stalking into the kitchen, thinking she was in there, he stood staring at the empty room.
His search of the downstairs area netted him nothing.
Bounding up the stairs, he strode into the bedroom to see her trail of wet clothing on the floor near the bathroom.
"What took you so long?" Her voice was throaty as she looked up from where she was trailing her fingers in the suds at the lip of the oversized tub.
Two glasses of wine were on the table next to it, and the robe she had on was as clear as glass.
He could see every seductive curve. The lapel was hanging open, revealing a nipple.
"This does not make up for the fact that I owe you one for the stunt you pulled out in the yard." He was already rock hard. Christ! But the woman had a power over him that was staggering.
"Strip." Rising slowly, she untied the sash of her robe and shrugged it off before stepping into the suds.
He needed no further bidding. With his eyes holding hers, he dragged off his sodden clothes and stepped in behind her.
"What have we here?" she murmured. Turning to face him, water sloshing over the rim, she took hold of him and sent his blood pressure straight through the roof. "Am I forgiven?"
"What?"
She smiled when he blinked at her. "Am I forgiven for beating you in the snow battle?"
"Is that what it was?" he grunted when she slid her fisted hand up and down his very stiff member.
"So, am I?" Her thumb was rubbing over the very tip of him and sending him soaring.
"Yes." He would have agreed to anything.
"How about the wine?" She nodded to the glasses, and he handed her one, picking up the other and taking a sip.
"A very good vintage."
"It sure is."
She downed the excellent Cabernet and put away the glass. Before he could take another sip, she was straddling him.
He went in deep and was lost. The glass bobbled, and he had to put it away. Her body arched, inviting him to cup her breasts. Scooping up suds, he slathered them over the nipples, circling, circling, circling, his eyes holding hers.
Her teeth captured her bottom lip as heat spun inside her, making her dizzy.
"I need your mouth," she gasped.
"Impatient, are we?" He pulled at the nipples, his eyes still holding hers.
"Very, Brant."
The breathless sound of his name on her lips had him surging even more.
"Tell me you want me," he demanded harshly.
"I need you," she said instead.
"Better." Bending his head, he tugged a nipple into his mouth and simply gorged.
Her hands gripped his head to keep him there while she slowly undulated her hips.
His hands wandered down her back to grip her buttocks, fingers digging into her skin.
She was destroying every shred of control.
Piece by piece, he felt himself shattering.
This woman, this amazingly wonderful woman he had married, suited him in every way.
Outside, just a few minutes ago, she had rolled around with him in the snow, pealing with unaffected laughter, showing that her unhappy childhood had not quelled her vivacity.
And now she had culminated their time together by drawing a bath and seducing him.
He never thought it was possible to love someone so much. It filled him and then some. It poured through him, heating his blood and sending him into unparalleled degrees of wonder and delight.
He would love her until his dying breath. He adored her, and that would never change.
She came, clinging to him, digging into his dense hair, riding him hard and fast, her breath whooshing out.
The suds streamed over the lip of the tub, but they weren't even aware of it.
The room steamed up as their passion took over.
He came, driving upward, his head lifting from her nipples to seize her lips, the kiss hungry and demanding.
When it was over, she sagged against him, her face buried on his shoulder, breathing labored.
For a few minutes, they just stayed that way, with his arms wrapped around her, holding her against him. He did not want to move. He was buried deep inside her and wanted to stay in that position forever.
"The water is cooling."
"Hmm." He kissed her exposed cheek. "You're forgiven."
She laughed softly. "I'd better be."
He bathed her. While she was drinking wine, he took up the soft sponge and ran it over her back, after which he ordered her to turn around so he could do her front. When they had finished, he wrapped her in towels as soft as clouds and led her into the bedroom.
By the time they had finished their bath (and hot bath sex!), the sun had gone down and darkness had descended.
He refused her offer to cook and suggested some chunky vegetable soup the housekeeper had left in the freezer.
They ate it along with the sourdough bread that Mrs. Holt had left in the bread basket.
Bundled up in a thick robe and leaning against him, Indigo ate her meal and stared in awe at the snow-covered scenery spread out before them.
The white substance clung to the green leaves of the palm and redwood trees.
They had heard the sound of the snowplow and looked out to see the man clearing the drive and walkways.
"Will we always be this happy?" she wondered aloud as she broke off a chunk of bread and absently fed him a piece.
His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and he was eating with one hand.
"We will fight. But the makeup sex will make it worthwhile," he told her teasingly.
Her indelicate snort had him laughing. "Typical male."
"I happen to be one. And don't pretend that you're not hooked as well. You were the one who initiated the scene in the bathroom."
"Which reminds me that we have to clean up the mess."
"No, we don't. Mrs. Holt will be here in the morning."
Tilting her head back, she gave him a wry look. "There's no way we're leaving that wet floor with clothes and damp towels strewn all over for that poor woman."
"That 'poor woman,' as you put it, makes more in a week than some people working in offices make in a month. She doesn't mind cleaning up the mess."
She stared at him. "Exactly how much does she make?" she asked curiously.
He told her a figure that had her staring at him, her mouth open. "You're joking."
He merely grinned at her. "Am I? I told you she's been with the family for years, and she's very good at what she does."
"But, but..." She could not comprehend it. "It's... oh goodness!"
"No wonder she protests when I try to step on her territory. Who wouldn't want to work for that amount of money?"
"Precisely." He kissed her parted lips.
"I still am going to pick up the stuff we left on the floor."
"Suit yourself."
"And you have no intention of helping."
"None whatsoever," he told her with an unabashed grin.
"You're used to people like Mrs. Holt picking up after you." She reached for another piece of bread and tore off a piece for him. "I keep wondering if she hates me."
He frowned at her. "Has she said anything to make you think-"
"No." She shook her head hastily. "It's just that I can't help but wonder if she looks at me and finds me wanting. If in her mind, she's wondering what on earth you're doing with someone like me."
"Stop it," he ordered quietly. "And faithful housekeeper or not, if I find out that she has disrespected you in even the smallest way, she's gone."
She stared at him and realized that he meant every word. A lump became lodged in her throat, and she had a difficult time swallowing.
No one had ever had her back this way, and it was overwhelming. He was protective of her, and it meant so much to her that she felt the tears threatening.
"Don't do that," he warned.
"Do what?" Using her lashes to shield her eyes, she plucked at the bread in her hand.
"Cry." Tucking his fingers under her chin, he brought her face up. "Or I'm going to be pissed."
"Then be pissed," she whispered. Putting the bread down, she launched herself into his arms and kissed him instead.