Baby, It's Cold Outside Page 7

  When she turned to look at him, a shift occurred. He held his breath, recognizing the crumbling of a barrier between them; recognizing the naked emotion in her eyes as confirmation. Dylan leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her trembling lips. Then smiled.

  “Let’s skate.”

  They needed to hike through mounds of snow to get to the gallery where he housed the skates and equipment. She fell a few times, muttering under her breath about his crazy-ass ideas, and hung on to his hand as he dragged her through thigh-high powder. Dylan quickly fitted them with skates and led her onto the rink.

  He tamped down the laughter for the first twenty minutes. Besides grabbing on to the rail and refusing to let go until she was ready, Riley frowned, muttered, and looked generally pissed off at his ability to skate perfect figure eights, backward and forward, while a few tentative tries landed her on that gorgeous backside.

  Dylan enjoyed the transformation, though, when her usual stubbornness drove her forward into the middle of the ice in a sink-or-swim approach. Like most things the woman did in her life, she took the gamble.

  And she swam.

  He glided by her, grabbed her hand, and they hit stride. Watching fat chunks of snow surround them and ice sparkling added to the dreamy atmosphere. Dylan sunk into the moment, not needing conversation, just the presence of the woman he’d fallen in love with in an evening.

  “My dad wanted a boy,” she said.

  Dylan didn’t answer. A gut instinct told him to be quiet, because something bigger was happening underneath the surface and he didn’t want to jinx it. After a moment, Riley continued.

  “When I was born, he was disappointed. Of course, I didn’t realize this until much later, after the tragedy. Sure, I knew he treated me with a distance, and seemed uninterested in anything purely female. But I had my mom, so that was okay. Dad’s world revolved around my brother. He was three years younger. His name was Rick.”

  Dylan swallowed. He noted the terms she used, and knew the story was a rough one. But he kept skating, because he knew if he paused or said a word, she’d stop talking.

  “I couldn’t be too jealous because I adored him, too. Dad was always pushing him, in sports, grades, social status. Had dreams of Rick doing something really successful, and always talked about him being the head of some super conglomerate or running his own company. Rick would roll his eyes and crack jokes—he had this great sense of humor that just made everyone love him. He made things easy for me. Mom rarely gave me crap, happy that I was happy, and Dad concentrated all his efforts on making sure Rick would excel at everything he did.”

  Over the sound system, “Jingle Bells” turned to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” They did a few more laps and she was able to continue.

  “Rick and my mother were killed in an auto accident. June 11, 1998. I was sixteen. He was thirteen. Guy fell asleep at the wheel and hit them head-on. No one survived.

  “After that, it all changed. Dad walked around like a ghost. So did I. I felt so guilty. I was obsessed with my social status at school, crushing on this guy in my biology class, and hoping he’d ask me out. I felt so stupid, worried about ridiculous things when my brother had been working so hard to give Dad what he wanted. Excellence. Success.”

  She lapsed into silence. “What did you do?” Dylan asked.

  “I changed. I had to. I stopped worrying about friends and boys, and studied all the time. I decided to give Dad what we were all missing, and try to honor Rick’s memory. In a way, it wasn’t even hard. I learned to focus. I think I had the skills needed all the time, but I’d never been pushed before. I began enjoying the control and discipline it took to reach goals and depend on yourself. Much easier than maneuvering through social conventions, relationships, and teenage angst. Suddenly, my life was . . . cleaner.”

  Dylan fought the need to take her in his arms and comfort her. All his questions about her drive and talent were answered. Of course she’d take her brother’s place. Of course she’d dedicate her life to making her father proud. It was probably always within her, but never had the opportunity to flourish with her brother being in the spotlight. His heart hurt for the family they were, the girl she’d once been, and the sacrifices she made. But he sensed she’d locked up this story for a long time, and it had festered, like an abscess. In order for her wound to heal, it needed to be lanced. Shared. Purged.

  “Did your dad notice?”

  A tiny sigh escaped her. “No. But I don’t blame him. I know he loves me. I know he’s proud of me and what I’ve accomplished with Chic Publishing. He framed the cover of Fortune magazine and hung it in the living room. But Rick and Mom left a hole that couldn’t be filled, no matter how good I was. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s the way it should be.”

  He stopped. Tipped her chin up. Tenderness coursed through his body, his heart, his soul. She blinked furiously, her face a picture of confusion and sadness and longing. “I bet your mom and brother look over you every day, so damn proud of who you’ve become. Others would have sunk and given up. Whined and bitched and given excuses. You’re a hell of a woman, Riley Fox. A hell of a daughter. And a hell of a sister.”

  She nodded. Accepting his comfort. Listening to the words and taking them deep to find a place where they could fit. He broke then, needing to touch her, protect her, make her happy.

  The kiss was pure giving and comfort, but she turned it fast, grabbing on to him as if needing more. Dylan groaned and held her tight, his tongue plunging into her mouth and savoring her taste. The spark caught and exploded. He pushed her against the railing, ripping at the bulky clothes loaded with zippers and buttons, desperate to hit skin and give her the connection they both needed. She whimpered, and he swallowed it whole, managing to get the jacket open, sweater hiked up, and his fingers down her pants.

  Holy crap, she was dripping wet and hot as his fingers hooked under the panties and sunk deep into her pussy. She bit down hard on his lower lip, but he didn’t break contact, moving his fingers and dragging them across her clit, pushing her higher even as she bucked and bit and moaned underneath him.

  “Give it to me, Riley. Now. Give it all to me,” he demanded, twisting his fingers and slamming deep against her G-spot. And then she was coming, flooding his hand, while his mouth crushed her screams, never releasing the pressure they both craved. He kept his fingers inside her for a while, kissing away the one tear skidding down her cheek, murmuring inane nonsense in her ear while she settled. He kissed her, held her, and she relaxed completely in his arms.

  “I need you,” he said. “In my bed. Naked. Open.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I need that, too.”

  Dylan tried not to shake as he fixed her clothes, took her hand, and led her out of the rink.

  He moved over her, surged inside, and began the rhythm to break her apart so he could put her back together. Riley lived her life on her terms, but tonight there was nothing she couldn’t give him. A distant fantasy and memory of a man whose image never left her now claimed her completely. She knew it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. But for these last few hours, Riley didn’t care.

  She opened herself wide and met each thrust. Her lips opened to his tongue, her nails scraped down the muscled ridge of his back, drawing blood, making her own mark so tonight could be remembered. When her climax came, he commanded her to open her eyes. He was witness to it all—both brutal pleasure and the completion of the fall she’d started ten years ago at the first touch of his lips on hers.

  She fell in love with Dylan McCray. Owned it. Relished it. Reveled in it.

  She called his name over and over while her heart screamed out the words she refused to utter.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  The mingling scent of sex and musk and sweat rose to his nostrils in the sweetest perfume in the world. Dylan stroked her shoulder as she rested, staring at the woman naked in his arms, in his bed. How many times had he wondered what it would be like if they met again, yet reco
gnizing they may never be able to transition the connection between them into the real world.

  When he joined Kinnections, he’d been so hopeful. He was ready to settle down and find his forever. The team was incredible, noting every one of his points, and even digging under the surface until they found needs he didn’t realize he had. Most of his dates impressed him. Made him laugh. Engaged him in stimulating conversation. Many even caused a physical reaction that would’ve led directly to sex, or at least a lot of foreplay.

  Usually after the first date, he realized the truth.

  None of the women were meant for him.

  Frustration beat in his blood, and he had trouble convincing Kate he wasn’t screwing around, wasting their time. How do you explain the search for something that many didn’t believe existed? The magic of a connection, a deeper knowledge you met the one meant for only you? Especially coming from a male, he’d be laughed out of Kinnections and by anyone who heard the ridiculous story. So, he made half-assed excuses and kept his mouth shut.

  About a year ago, Dylan began to believe that kind of relationship didn’t exist. The depression he felt realizing he’d have to settle haunted him, but he promised to give the search a bit more time before he accepted the fact he’d never have what his parents have. How could he even understand what he was looking for when he’d never experienced it personally?

  Tonight, the shattering conclusion of his journey shocked him to his core. Riley Fox was the one. The one he’d been searching for. The moment he buried himself deep into her body, clasped her hands, looked into her eyes, a low hum vibrated in his gut and spread throughout every inch of him, refusing to be denied.

  It was as if he’d found his other half. His mind settled, his heart ripped open, and he gave himself to her with each stroke, binding her body to his in the most primeval way possible for a man to claim his mate. He craved to protect her, push her, fuck her, comfort her.

  Love her.

  Holy shit.

  “You okay?”

  He blinked as the sound of her voice broke his short-term panic attack. No way could he tell her that. Not so soon, after a few hours in her company. Somehow, knowing Riley’s sense of control and order, he figured his big news would have her launching herself naked out the window into a pile of snow.

  He’d need to ease her into the same realization. Failure wasn’t an option, because this time Dylan wasn’t letting her go.

  He pushed the hair out of her eyes and tucked it gently behind her ear. Her skin glowed, her lips were slightly bruised, and her eyes shone like a woman who was well satisfied. Dylan fought the urge to beat on his chest like a primate. “I’m better than okay.” He propped an elbow on the pillow and leaned his head on his palm, studying her. “How’s your head?”

  She gave a low chuckle and stretched her leg. “Not my head I’m worried about right now. Other parts are taking up my attention.”

  “Just what I like to hear,” he growled. “Can I tell you the fantasy wasn’t half as good as the reality? And trust me, I can spin a very dirty fantasy.”

  “I bet you can.” She smiled, her face open and relaxed as she gazed at him. “I never knew it could—it could be like that.”

  He pressed a thumb against her bottom lip, dragging it over the tender flesh. “Me, either.”

  She wasn’t ready to hear the words, but he could show her in other ways.

  Dylan spent the rest of the night showing her over and over again.

  chapter 8

  Riley opened her eyes.

  The bedroom was half lit, a lazy breaking sun shining through the windows. Her muscles ached like a bitch, she was sore between her thighs, and she smelled of sex.

  She couldn’t remember a time when she felt this satisfied.

  The deep rumble of a snore drifted to her ears. She turned her head and studied the angelic profile of his face. God, he was perfection. A blinding beauty mixed with the carnality of a sexual animal. Waves of white-blond hair fell over his forehead, and a rough stubble coated his jaw. The lean muscles of his face were relaxed in sleep, gentling the curves to blend in fluid symmetry. The sheet was tangled around his hips, baring his impressive back to her gaze, making her fingers itch to touch him, though she hadn’t had her hands off of him for over twelve hours.

  What was she going to do?

  In the cold light of morning, panic edged her nerves. What had she done? In one evening, she’d shared secrets of her past, stripped naked, let him make love to her in a variety of ways, and begged for more. But this couldn’t be real. Normal people didn’t begin relationships jumping into bed in the middle of a snowstorm. The evening seemed like a hazy dream of blurred images and feelings that could never survive. She didn’t need a mind-blowing sexual affair doomed to fail. She wanted something solid and real, reasonable in everyday routine.

  Dylan McCray was larger than life. Bigger than a boring domestic schedule no matter what he said about his parents or his true goals. If she believed him, Riley knew she’d throw away her ridiculous list and go for it. She’d follow him anywhere, do anything, and live in a fantasy world that would eventually crash. And once it did, could she ever settle for something less?

  No. At least this way she had a beautiful memory to warm her nights. She had more than she had before. It would have to be enough.

  Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Riley carefully climbed out of bed. Grabbing her clothes, she tiptoed out the door, dressing quickly. She headed to the kitchen and peeked out the window.

  The snow had finally stopped but there was definitely two feet out there. The walkways and paths were covered, and God knows there’d be no way to get down the mountain until some crews came out to clear the roads. Her heart beat faster and she fought back panic. She had to get out of here. Her instincts screamed the quicker the better to avoid a confrontation she dreaded. Should she—

  “Morning.”

  She whipped around. He stood in the doorway, feet apart, hip cocked. He’d put on a pair of sweats and was naked from the waist up. The sexy morning-after stubble made her ache to cross the room and rub it against her tender lips, slip her fingers around his rock-hard length, stroke, suck— Oh, God, what was she doing?

  “Morning.”

  “I’ll put on some coffee.” He motioned toward the window. “How bad is it?”

  “Snow stopped but it’s a mess. I’m hoping the phone lines are back up. I need to get my cell phone from the car. Umm, any idea how I can get out of here?”

  He filled the pot with water and took out the grinder. “Figured we’d spend the day together. I’ll have my staff get you towed. Plow guy should be here in a few hours.”

  “Oh. Well, that sounds good, but I really need to leave as soon as possible.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m way behind on—work.”

  He finished grinding the beans, filled the filter, and flipped on the brew switch. Then turned to her. “Got the spooks, Riley?”

  She stiffened. Cooled her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a ton of work, messages to return, and can’t afford to be trapped on a mountain all day.”

  He nodded, seemingly calm, but a dangerous aura pulsed around him. “I see. Are we going to at least talk about last night?”

  She blew out a breath. “Sounds like an old eighties movie. I didn’t think we needed to, Dylan. Last night was amazing. But now it’s daytime, and we need to get on with our lives.”

  “How neat and tidy. Sorry my answer won’t be.”

  “What answer?”

  “Fuck that.”

  She jerked. Anger flooded her, pure and hot and mean. “Look, I don’t know what you think last night was, but I refuse to be spoken to that way.”

  “Didn’t mind it last night when I was buried deep inside you. Seemed to like anything I said then.”

  Her face turned warm. Damn, she hated blushing. “That was then. This is now.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what last night was about, then?” Dylan
rested his fists on his hips, challenging her with a gaze that dared her to lie.

  Why was he doing this? Wasn’t he the man in the relationship? He was supposed to be stumbling over himself in an effort to get her quickly out of his house and praying they wouldn’t be talking about feelings or expectations. Screw this. She refused to cower under his overbearing high-handedness.

  “Fine. You want me to be truthful, I will. Last night was wonderful. It was hot, and a fantasy, and a memory I’ll never forget. But I think we both realize we were trapped in a snowstorm, had some leftover feelings from our time together at college, and needed to get it out of our system. Now I need to go back to my real life. You wouldn’t fit, Dylan, and you know it. Let’s do the right thing by admitting our time together was special, and deciding to move on. Maybe even be friends?” She choked on the word but managed to forge ahead. “How does that sound?”

  He moved so fast she never saw him coming. Suddenly he loomed over her, his hands gripping her shoulders, fury transforming him into the rebel archangel bent on getting what he wanted. “I think your plan sucks,” Dylan stated coldly. “I think you’re so scared of how deep things got the only way to feel safe again is to pretend it didn’t mean anything. I may not blame you, but I gotta admit, Riley, it’s pissing me off. I thought you were braver than that.”

  She gasped. “How dare you! We spent one night together and that doesn’t give you a right to pretend to know me! All we have together is great sex. It’s not enough to base a relationship on.”

  “I disagree,” he growled. “The sex is the best I’ve ever had, but it’s about connection. We get each other. It’s not rational or good on paper, but there it is. We fit. And walking away from it because you think I’m suddenly gonna spook, or some bullshit about me not owning nine out of the ten qualities on your ridiculous list is a cop-out.”

  “It’s not ridiculous, it’s real! Don’t you get it? The sex is too good. We’re too—intense.” Her voice broke, making her even madder, but his grip gentled and he pressed his forehead to hers.