CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
M EL WOKE FROM a sleep infused with the scent of cedarwood and sweat, her body slick with longing, yearning for a connection, giddy with release…
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the half-light, for her ears to hear the storm battering the shutters outside… And to realise that Rene’s scent wasn’t a phantom memory any more from four years ago, and the warmth of his skin was real—her cheek pressed into the strong muscles of his back. For a moment she lay there, simply inhaling his distinctive scent and listening to the murmur of his breathing as she absorbed the shift from dreams to reality.
She wasn’t that na?ve girl any more, with delusions of love and for ever, but still it felt so good to be with him again—warm, safe, secure. He’d saved her. And that meant something. Although her exhausted brain couldn’t quite figure out what.
But then he grunted and turned towards her. ‘Melody?’ he murmured, his voice gruff with sleep.
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. Her heart jumped into her throat as she hugged him back, instinctively seeking the vivid connection they had once shared so briefly.
‘I’m here.’ She stroked his chest, the hair soft and springy against her palm, the beat of his heart solid and so reassuring. ‘We’re safe.’
He buried his face against her hair, his lips nuzzling her neck. The burst of joy and validation was so sudden it felt like a continuation of the vivid dreams she’d had so often, reliving the pleasure, and the foolish infatuation, from that night. But the languid longing only became fiercer and more undeniable as the outline of his erection pressed against her belly through his shorts.
‘Need you,’ he moaned, his hands stroking, caressing.
But the longing didn’t feel foolish or sentimental now. It felt elemental and life-affirming as she freed the thick length from his shorts—and found him hard and ready. For her.
‘Yes, I need you as well,’ she replied, heady with desperation as he delved into her panties to find her slick folds—touching, stroking, circling until the hunger became sharp and insistent.
He groaned, the sound rich with relief as he grasped her hips, angled her pelvis.
He levered up and over her, his urgency, his focus making her ache even more, her tired brain clinging to one thought: I need him tonight, just to prove that I’m alive. That we’ve survived.
He tore away the damp lace shielding her sex, but then found her core again with his fingers—using his thumb to drive her into a frenzy. She bucked beneath him, her sobs drowning out the sound of the storm which had nearly killed them both.
She groaned as the ache inside her turned to desperate pain, her body primed and needy.
‘Don’t wait,’ she urged, knowing she wanted him to be inside her when she reached her release.
He dragged her knees up and plunged into her at last.
She welcomed the thick weight of him, driving deep, stretching her unbearably—joining them together again.
One thrust, two… The heady feeling of connection surged as exquisite pain turned to tortured pleasure and the glorious release exploded through her body, shattering her with stunning force. She heard his guttural shout, felt the slick heat inside her as he climaxed, too.
He collapsed next to her, then dragged her towards him. She snuggled into his arms and let herself tumble back into an exhausted sleep, safe and sated and secure again for the first time in four years.
* * *
Mel’s eyelids fluttered open hours later, her body humming even as discomfort intruded too. Her mind drifted for a moment, still floating on a sea of sensation, and blissful ignorance. But, gradually, the anchor of reality drew her back to the surface. She became aware of the rush of wind, the rhythmic thump of the shutters rattling against the window frames, which had woken her in the night, the ambient blue, now joined by the muted daylight. And the subtle aches and pains—at her core, between her thighs and against her hip, where the floor was hard and unyielding.
She blinked and the shimmer of remembered pleasure dissolved in a rush, to be replaced by full consciousness as she became aware of Rene breathing heavily beside her.
Realisation struck. Of what she’d done. What they’d both done… Together, during the night.
She felt sore, used, still branded by the huge erection—which she’d begged him for. Not to mention the fierce rush of pleasure, followed by that foolish rush of validation.
Mel, you absolute idiot.
Emotions blindsided her—but in the cruel light of morning they were panicked and shaming, no longer visceral and life-affirming.
She shifted and stifled a groan.
The soreness, though, where Rene had taken her so comprehensively during the night, was nothing compared to the brutal regret making her ribs hurt. Because this was still Rene, the man she’d kidded herself cared for her once before.
Good grief, when would she ever learn? Yes, he’d been magnificent during the storm, protecting her, saving her, but giving in to the desire for a connection with him again, while they had both been barely awake, was madness.
She lay on her back, staring at the vaulted ceiling, scared to move, scared to look at the man beside her, slowly becoming aware too of the residue of his release, which had dried between her thighs during the night.
Wow, Mel, when you mess up you never do it by halves, do you?
The good news was she had just had a period, she reasoned frantically, so the chances of a pregnancy were slim… She would just have to hope for the best and take a test when she got back to the White Palace. No biggie.
She tried to gauge the intensity of the snowstorm outside, still battering their refuge. Was it morning yet? Surely it had to be… How long had they slept?
She eased herself out from under the throw, her skin warmed by the heated air in the room even though the fire was out. She slipped off the torn lace panties, which he’d ripped from her during their lovemaking session…
Not lovemaking, she told herself staunchly as she hunted for her clothes. More like no-holds-barred, dirty, sweaty, life-affirming and insanely dumb sex.
Which is, let’s face it, what we have always specialised in.
She found her yoga pants and slipped them on.
The first time she’d had sex with Rene she had been high on vintage Napoleon brandy and the full glare of his undivided attention for an entire evening after their chance encounter in a London nightclub. This time she had been high on the erotic dreams which had never left her since that night, and the impact of waking up to discover she was wonderfully, gloriously alive, and he wanted her again.
Neither time had had any emotional significance. And that was what she needed to focus on now.
She found one of her discarded jumpers, which had dried by the fire, and tugged it on.
She needed a shower. But before leaving the room she risked a glance at Rene.
She let out a relieved sigh. He was still deeply asleep, his face flushed. Not all that surprising, seeing as he’d done the lion’s share of the work to get them out of the storm—and during their late-night dumb-sex session.
Perhaps he wouldn’t remember what had happened between them… All she could do was hope. And if he did, she’d just have to ensure he realised it was a one-off, never to be repeated.
Whatever happened, she needed to re-establish her boundaries now, and shore up her defences.
But as she continued to stare at him she frowned, noticing the reddened skin around the makeshift bandage on his arm. Then the harsh sound of his breathing registered too, above the noise from outside.
She knelt beside him to brush his hair away from his forehead, strangely drawn to the scar she remembered. But when her fingertips touched him, she gasped.
He’s burning up.
She tugged the throw down to press her palm to his chest and felt his galloping heartbeat—as well as the shocking heat.
Rene was on fire. No wonder he’d seemed so deeply asleep. Was he even conscious?
She shook his shoulder as gently as she could. ‘Rene, Rene, wake up.’
He let out a low groan. ‘Stop. Arm…’ he murmured, the words tortured.
She tugged off the makeshift bandage she’d applied when they’d arrived. But he flinched when she inspected the sore flesh around the jagged cut.
His lids snapped open, his dark chocolate eyes glassy with fever. ‘ Ouch! ’
‘Rene, I think your arm is infected,’ she said, becoming frantic when his lids closed again.
Guilt assailed her. She had been panicking about their night-time encounter, while he had developed a raging fever in the hours since…
Shivers began to rack his body. ‘Cold,’ he said, then reached for the throw she’d stripped off him.
‘No, we need to get your temperature down,’ she managed, wrestling with him for control of the blanket.
This time she won, far too easily. He sank back onto the rug, giving up.
Hastily, she stripped the throw off completely. A blush fired over her cheeks as she dragged his boxers up, to preserve what was left of his modesty, and hers, guilt consuming her now, as well as a rush of shame—and awareness.
‘Don’t move,’ she said somewhat redundantly, as he seemed to have sunk into unconsciousness. ‘I’m going to see if I can find water and some medicine,’ she added to no one in particular.
Any medicine, she thought frantically. But first she should call for help.
No one knew where they were. From the dim strip of light coming through the shutters, it had to be daytime by now. And she felt as if she’d been sleeping for hours since she and Rene had…
The blush burned her cheeks.
Okay, maybe don’t think about your ill-advised sex-fest while he could be dying.
She dived for her jacket, found her phone zipped into the pocket. Dead. Needless to say, she hadn’t thought to pack her charger when they’d left the car. Next, she searched the pockets of Rene’s coat, only to discover his phone was dead too.
She looked around the shadowy room. The furnishings were luxurious and expensive, the space beautifully designed. So, the lodge had to be in regular use.
She ignored the wrenching sensation as she left him lying on the floor in a pool of sweat, still shivering.
It took her less than two minutes to discover the chalet’s mains power and phoneline had been knocked out by the storm. She searched the ground floor, which included a guest bedroom, a kitchen and a cold storage locker full of frozen food—well, at least they wouldn’t starve—and then the master bedroom on the mezzanine level, but had no luck finding a phone charger.
Right, back to plan A, finding medicine and water. Because they were on their own, it seemed, until the storm cleared. She’d done first aid training a couple of years ago—what they needed was antibiotics or, failing that, some antiseptic and anti-inflammatories. And painkillers. Hopefully, it was only a localised infection.
She would need to clean the wound. Why hadn’t she done that last night, before falling asleep in his arms? Or, better yet, when she’d woken up in the hours just before dawn, instead of deciding to have unprotected sex with him?
She pushed the renewed wave of recriminations to one side.
So not helpful, Mel.
She rifled the cabinets in the guest bedroom’s bathroom, becoming even more frantic when she found nothing, not even a stray toothbrush. The main bedroom’s bathroom was equally bare, other than a sealed box of condoms.
Bit late for those. She pushed that thought to one side, too. One catastrophe at a time, Mel.
Then she remembered the utility room they’d walked through to get into the house.
She raced down the corridor and skidded to a stop in the doorway before she tore her feet to ribbons on the broken glass strewn all over the floor. After putting her boots on, she tiptoed through the glass to search the room. She hooted with joy when she found a brand-new first aid kit tucked next to the emergency generator.
Bingo! No antibiotics, but bandages, antiseptic, a thermometer and a ton of painkillers and anti-inflammatories.
After filling a glass from the kitchen with cold water and a bowl with gloriously hot water—the generator was a godsend and no mistake—she headed to the living area with the first aid kit under her arm.
Rene was still flat out on the rug, groaning—and not in a good way this time.
She set her cargo down beside him, then pressed the button to open the room’s shutters. The storm cut out most of the daylight but added a pearly glow.
‘Don’t worry, Gaultiere,’ she whispered as she plonked herself on the rug next to him. He didn’t react. Day-old stubble darkened his jaw, making him look like even more of a reprobate than usual. But he also looked strangely fragile… The way he had seemed on their first night when she’d asked him about the scar and a look had flashed in his eyes—both vulnerable and defensive—before it had disappeared.
She blinked to control the rush of memory, and emotion.
Okay, maybe don’t go getting delusional again. This is still Rene—the thoughtless, entitled egomaniac—he’s just an injured, feverish, thoughtless, entitled egomaniac who saved your life, and can still tempt you to make daft decisions.
‘You’re not going to die on my watch,’ she whispered, going on to repeat the words he’d said to her in the Jeep, what felt like a lifetime ago now. She found the thermometer and placed his head in her lap to tuck it under his tongue. ‘Because we’ve still got a ton of arguments in our future.’
But as she brushed the sweaty hair back from his brow, her fingertips grazed the old scar and the disturbing emotions—which had driven so many foolish decisions, not just four years ago, but in the early hours of this morning, too—pushed against her chest once more.