Coming In From the Cold(17)

"No trouble," Willow whispered.

"So … I doubt we're skiing again today," Coach said. "Tell Dane I'm here, if he wants to talk."

"I will." She left him alone in the apartment and walked toward her own  door. She stood there on her stoop for a moment, to give Dane privacy on  his call. But there were no sounds coming from inside her kitchen. All  she could hear was the excited caw of a hen who had just laid an egg.  She pulled the kitchen door open, and saw Dane standing there by the  table, the phone abandoned on its surface. He stared down at the wood  grain, his eyes unfocused.

Willow tiptoed inside. His stillness was statue-like, his handsome face  carved as if in concentration on something she could neither see nor  hear. He didn't move, didn't seem to sense her. "Dane," she whispered,  stepping forward. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Did you lose him?"

For a moment she was unsure whether he even heard her. Then he put his  long hands on the table and bent forward, hanging his head. "I lost him a  long time ago," he whispered hoarsely.

The pain in his voice gutted her. Willow put a hand on the back of his  neck, her palm to his warm skin. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm  just so sorry." She moved her hand to his back, rubbing it quickly-a  chaste touch meant to shore him up. Whenever friends experienced grief,  Willow always felt so helpless, and in spite of her terrifying  complication with Dane, this moment was no different.

"He didn't see forty," Dane whispered. "Not even forty."

Willow watched his expression, but he did not look up at her. He seemed  trapped in his own grief, as if in shock. She was about to ask him if  she should fetch Coach, when he turned his head. Dane's eyes focused on  hers. "What will I do without him?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, feeling her eyes mist. "I'm so sorry." He looked lost. She reached for him with both hands.

Dane stood up and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her in tight,  her chin tucked against his chest, her back held tightly by one big  hand.

There was nothing she could say that would make it any better. She  looped her hands behind his back and closed her eyes. She inhaled the  scent of him-his wool sweater smelled like mountain air and wood smoke.  His body was unbelievably sturdy.

But even the strong could ache.

Above her, Dane put his nose in her hair and breathed in. She hugged him  a little tighter, and they stood there. The only sounds she could hear  were their own breathing and the insistent call of a chickadee outside  her window.

"Willow," he said after awhile.

She pulled back and looked up into his face. "What?"

He was there with her in the room then-not somewhere far away, as he'd  been before. His long lashes blinked, his expression serious. "Why are  you good to me?"                       
       
           



       

The question startled her. "You mean … right now?"

He nodded.

"Because … because … " she swallowed. Because that's what people do. "Because you're sad," she said instead.

Dane stared at her, as if considering her answer. She felt him begin to  tremble, and it tore at her heart. She stepped close and squeezed him  tightly again. He put his nose against her cheek.

"Dane," she said, softly, "is there someone I can call for you?" He'd  said he'd grown up somewhere nearby. There must be other family members  who needed to be told. Or a friend who could comfort him.

He leaned back again, regarding her with those lake blue eyes. "Not a  soul," he said, his voice hoarse. Then he leaned forward and kissed her.

When his soft lips met her own, Willow went very still with surprise. He  kissed her again, harder, this time. He tucked her hips against his  own, and parted her lips with his tongue. She gasped against him, giving  in to it. Desire flooded Willow as they kissed, sliding down her core,  making rational thought difficult.

Her stomach fluttered. She shouldn't let him kiss her-there were  complications between them that he didn't even know yet. It wasn't fair.  But even as she had these thoughts, his mouth grew rough and needy. One  of his hands raked her hair; the other clamped her body tightly to his.  He cupped her bottom, pulling her against the hard evidence of his  need, straining behind his fly.

There were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea. But Willow's body  was ready to overrule them. Her nipples hardened against his chest. She  felt his thumbs at her belly, his hands grasping the fabric of the skirt  she'd worn to work.

And his mouth-his beautiful mouth-was already making love to hers. He  was hungry for her in a way that proved she hadn't been the only one  thinking about their recent tryst.

"Willow," he rasped. "I want you to take it all away for me. Like you did before."

The psychologist inside her put in an appearance then. With a deep  breath, she put both her hands on his face, but pulled her body back.  Her voice was soft though her words were very clear. "Oh, honey," she  said, and his eyes fell closed, as if the endearment was too much for  him. "That doesn't really work."

His eyes snapped open again. "But it's all I've got."

"Shhh … " she smoothed her thumbs across his cheekbones.

He stepped closer to her. "Just make me forget."

The request was so raw, so honest that it squeezed her heart. She kissed  him then, her mouth giving in to his need. His tongue responded with  the urgency of someone lost, his mouth hot with desperation.

Whether or not it was a bad idea, Willow's body continued to oblige.  Each brush of his roaming hands-against her breasts, her hips, cupping  her bottom-charged her like a spark.

Dane released her, grabbing his own fly and ripping it open, shoving  down his pants. His cock stood at attention, thick and veined, and  pointing at her. Willow's breath caught at the sight, she felt herself  flush. Dane leaned against her table as she grasped his shaft. With one  glance up into his cool eyes, she lowered her mouth to his tip, kissing  him gently on the knob. Then she began to lick him, and he groaned as  she held him firmly in her hand.

She opened her mouth and slid him inside. Above her Dane braced himself  against the table with a sigh. She felt one of his big hands slide over  her hair. Willow took her time with him, her tongue stroking the length  of him. Then she did her best to take as much of him in as she could.

Even so, Dane slipped a hand under her chin and gave a gentle tug. She  stood up, startled, facing him. Dane pulled her in, his forehead against  hers, their noses touching. "I need to see your face," he said.

Willow felt herself shiver at his words. That was her weakness, wasn't  it? The handsome man said he needed her, and she came running. It never  ended well, because it was always a lie.

Dane tugged on her skirt, a look of smoldering intensity in his eye.

For a long moment, she didn't move, only held his gaze. Then, deciding,  she reached around to the back and unzipped the skirt herself, which  fell to the floor. He put his hands on her hips, scraping her tights  down her thighs. Then Dane slipped one arm under her butt and lifted her  up, turning around to deposit her on the high kitchen table. With one  good yank, he pulled her tights off and dropped them, leaving her naked  from the waist down.

She held his gaze as he spread her knees. Willow put her hands on his  shoulders, then wrapped her legs behind him. He held her bottom,  balancing her on the edge of the table.                       
       
           



       

She couldn't look away.

Dane's eyes were still locked on hers as his thumb began to stroke her.  Her eyes flickered as she felt herself flood with wetness. But his groan  brought her back into the moment.

And then Willow found she could not break their gaze as his cool eyes  bored into hers. She felt him breech her opening. And then it was her  turn to groan as he worked into her completely. Their foreheads  together, they rested there a moment, joined and silent. Willow held her  breath.

Dane began to kiss her as he moved. "What is it about you?" he  whispered. Then he covered her mouth with his. His thrusts grew more  insistent, the pace fast and needy.

In spite of everything, Willow felt at peace, surrendering to his need.  With his blue eyes on hers, it didn't matter that his grief was only  beginning or that her pregnancy terrified her. Because sometimes, a  moment of grace meant everything. The friction of his powerful body  against hers began to break apart her thoughts, which became as wispy  and dreamlike as wood smoke in the winter air.

"Oh, what you do to me," he panted. The sound of his arousal sunk right  into her, bringing a moan from her chest into his ear. The edges of her  vision began to darken, and when she felt his first shudder, she was  right there waiting, squeezing his hips between her knees. His name  escaped from her lips as climax overtook them both.