Coming In From the Cold(5)

"What do we do now?" Willow asked. He was pleased to hear that her tone was playful, not scared.

"Oh, I think we have a beer," he said.

"It would be really nice if you weren't kidding."

Dane felt around the lower part of the driver's side door. His hands  closed around the bottle. He took the keys from the ignition and fumbled  with the church key he kept there, popping the top. "You can have the  first sip. Give me your hands. We can't spill a drop."

"Seriously? You have a beer?"

He found her fingers, and curled them around the bottle. "Give you a dollar if you can tell me the brand."

Laughing, she took a sip. "Saint Pauli Girl."

"No fucking way!"

She giggled. "You left the hazards on, and I know the label. The girl in the German costume, with the big tatas … ."

He hit the button to shut off the hazards. "Cheater."

"I can't believe you just happened to have a beer in your car."

"The ski tech gave me a roadie. I forgot about it until the energy bar made me thirsty."

"Here," she said, passing it back to him. He managed to put his hands on  hers while taking the bottle, and again while passing it back to her  after a swig. What was up with that? He hadn't been so eager to touch  anyone's hand since about the eighth grade.

"You don't secretly have a six pack, I suppose?" she asked.

"No," he smiled. "I wish I did. But then we'd have to pee."

The joke caught her while sipping, and she choked a little.

"Easy," he said. "That's precious liquid you're holding."

She passed it back. "I didn't spill. I swear." With the lights off  again, it was very, very dark. He couldn't see her at all, and the  effect seemed to sharpen his awareness of her sounds in the dark. Each  exhalation, each word she spoke, sounded intimate.                       
       
           



       

"A full bladder is only useful if you're trapped in an avalanche, not in a Jeep," he said, keeping the banter alive.

"Why is a full … ? Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Wise girl." He took a tiny sip and passed the bottle back, executing a full-contact hand-off.

They sipped slowly to make the bottle last, but it went fast anyway. "You finish it," he said, turning in his seat to face her.

"Okay," she said, downing the last sip. "But only because I have one more thing to add to this party."

This time, when she handed the bottle back, he caught her hand and did  not let go. "What's that?" he asked, wondering how she would react. Her  fingers were slim and delicate.

She paused before answering, and he wondered if he'd overstepped. But  she didn't pull her hand away. "My pocket is full of raisins," she said  eventually.

"Your pocket?" She still didn't pull away. So he put his other hand on top of hers.

"Yeah," she breathed. "They were supposed to be a treat for my chickens.  But I promise there's no chicken spit on them or anything."

He pressed her small hand flat between his two, rubbing her knuckles gently. "Do chickens have spit?" he asked.

"No," she whispered.

Hopefully he wasn't the only one who found their grade school touch  exciting. "I didn't know that," he said. He turned her hand over in his,  stroking it.





* * *



What the hell was happening here? Willow had never thought of her palm  as a sexual organ before, but the sensation of his fingertips on her  skin was electric. "Do you like raisins?" she asked, stupidly.

"Sure," he said.

Willow put her free hand into her pocket. "So, how about you tell me  something …  I know-something that you've learned from life experience.  And I'll give you one."

He chuckled, dragging his thumb slowly down her palm. "Something I've  learned the hard way. How about this: gravity never takes a day off. You  learn that pretty quick in my line of work."

"Hmm," Willow said, distracted by his touch. "That's a bit obvious, but  I'll give it to you." She pulled a raisin out of her pocket, passing it  into one of his hands.

He briefly let go of her to pop it into his mouth. "Thank-you," he said,  finding her hand again in the dark. "Now you tell me something wise."

"All right," she said. "I never planned to raise chickens, but watching  them has been fascinating. You can take three-day-old chicks, who have  never seen a hen, and never been out of a cardboard box, and they'll  peck at the cornmeal you feed them. But if you put a worm in there, they  go nuts, fighting over it. They're crazy for worms, even though they've  never seen one before. Instinct is real."

And wasn't that the truth. Because she was feeling a whole lot of instinct, all of a sudden.

"Well, that is cool," Dane said. He was still massaging her hand, his  thumb warming her palm. "If I get to judge, I'd say you win a raisin."

Willow popped one into her mouth. "Your turn."

"Okay," Dane said, "I've learned that airplane food is universally bad,  no matter where you go in the world. That's not just a cliché."

This time, when Willow brought a raisin toward him in the dark, he  caught her hand and raised it to his mouth. Her palm brushed his chin as  he guided the raisin to his lips. "Thanks," he whispered. "So it's your  turn."

She laced her fingers in his. His hand was so much bigger than hers. So  warm and strong. "Hmm … I've learned that you can keep guacamole from  turning brown by pressing plastic wrap across the surface."

"There you go again, mentioning food," he scolded.

His fingers brushed the sensitive skin above her wrist, and Willow was  glad that the darkness prevented him from seeing her face. The sensation  made her close her eyes. "But you mentioned food," she whispered. She  was beginning to feel giddy. Being trapped in a car in a storm should  have made her feel stupid. Instead, she was pointlessly and  inappropriately happy.

"Big difference. I mentioned bad food. Your homemade guacamole versus airplane food-in a cage match, who wins?"

"My guacamole, of course," she giggled. "But you have no way of knowing  that. Come on. Tell me something empirically true, and I'll give you  another raisin."

He sighed, and the sound of it made her wish she could feel his breath  against her face. "Okay. If you don't look at the needle, it really does  hurt less."                       
       
           



       

Well, that was a bit dark. "Sure … " Her pulse began to race. It was crazy  to touch this stranger. It was crazy, and she really wasn't the type.  But something about him made it difficult to stop. Willow reached into  her pocket and retrieved another raisin. This time, she raised it to his  mouth herself, sweeping her finger very deliberately across his lower  lip before slipping it onto his tongue. He closed his lips, catching her  two fingers in his mouth. He sucked the tip of her forefinger as she  pulled it away.

Good God, it was sexy.

"Your turn," he whispered.

Willow felt light-headed. That was the only explanation she could give  for what she said next. "Lately," she whispered, "I've learned that not  all bad days end that way." It was too dark to read his expression, even  if she were brave enough to look.

In answer, he squeezed her hand. Then he tugged gently on it, pulling  her toward himself. Willow held her breath, wondering if he was about to  do what she hoped he was about to do.

It was very, very dark.

She felt his breath on her face before his lips found her cheekbone. He  paused there, for two beats of her heart, his mouth offering a sensuous  brush against her skin. Then, with a sigh, he turned his chin to find  her mouth. The first kiss was small, a sweep of soft lips across hers,  coming to rest at the sensitive corner of her mouth. "Is this okay?" he  whispered. The words vibrated on her face. "If you tell me to fuck off,  I'll understand."

Willow answered him by brushing the tip of her nose very gently up the  length of his face and then down again. Dane's next kiss brought his  soft mouth over hers. And again he paused. But it was less a hesitation  than a moment of heightened anticipation. Her heart practically stopped  beating while she waited for his next move. And then his lips parted her  own, his tongue sliding inside. And when she met him there, tasting  him, he gave a low moan, and the sound made her heart skitter.

She felt both of his hands rise to the nape of her neck, his fingers  detouring under her knit hat, into her hair. Then she was pulled closer,  his kisses drinking her in, nibbling her lips, scorching her tongue.  The effect was exhilarating, and suddenly her body was too far from his,  the damned car too constraining. She wanted to feel her own arms  encircling him, to know more about him than quick glimpses had allowed.  But Willow had to content herself with a half-decent grip on his  shoulders, which felt powerful under her hands.