“What are you going to do?”
“Set up a room for her downstairs. Molly will help, and I’ll have to take over the business for a while.”
“Can you handle all that with school?”
“I’ll have to.” Cruise closes his eyes a moment, looking completely fatigued.
“I can think of a few ways to help you relax.” I wet my lips in the event he needs a compass to direct him.
The idea of a laugh trembles from his chest as he pulls us down in front of the fire. Cruise rocks me gently in his arms as we sit mesmerized by the blue and purple tongues of the flames—the same colors that the snow offers in the shadows. The fire, the ice, it’s all related on some level.
“I can’t lose my mom.” It comes out morose—as though he considered the options life had to offer and found this one unacceptable.
“Give her some time. She’ll be okay.” I tighten my grip around his waist. “Believe me, my brother has cataloged a ton of broken bones. She’ll be back to her old self in a few weeks. I promise.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“She’s always been there for you, hasn’t she?” I can feel his love for his mother, the only real family he has, outside of Molly.
“She’s been a rock, and I let her down. I used to run the house while she took care of the salon. Last summer I more or less gave life the kiss-off and a part of the fallout was leaving the business square on her plate. She’s had me working shoulder to shoulder with her since I was twelve and I abandoned her. I guess a part of me wanted to forge out on my own, and all I managed to do was morph into a giant asshole.”
“And that’s how we met.” I give a tiny laugh and brush my lips over his neck. “Cruise”—I glance up at him, his handsome features reflecting the hues from the flames—“what happened last summer?”
He pulls me in, burying his face in my neck and lets out a warm breath.
“I escaped a fire that I didn’t even know I was in. Then I ran around feeling sorry for myself when what I really should’ve done was move on, hold onto who I was and not turn my life into a testament to condoms.”
My face ignites with heat when he says the word condom. God—what if there’s a miniature person with us in this room right now, swimming laps inside my belly? Cruise is going to hate me for being so virally stupid.
“Anyway...” he says, slipping his hand up my shirt and landing it flat against my stomach. “I think we met our quota on drama for the night. We’ll save it for some other time. It was one of those backward life moves that could have really screwed with my future. I’m glad it’s over, and I’m very glad you’re here.”
I shrink a little at the thought of unintentionally screwing with Cruise’s future and assisting him in any more “backward life moves.” Those stupid pills probably work in reverse if you don’t take them correctly and I’ll be prone to having one of those “litter” pregnancies with six or eight babies. God—we’re going to be on the news.
“I’m especially glad, things turned out the way they did with me and you.” Cruise rides his oven-hot hand a little higher and cradles my breast, full in his palm.
I take an unexpected breath as I relax into him.
He moans into me with a kiss. “I’m so glad you were at the party that night. I’ve been thanking God every day since I laid eyes on you.” He seals the sentiment with a mouthwatering kiss that lingers. His tongue sears over mine, hotter than a live coal.
Cruise plucks off my T-shirt, and our lips hardly miss a beat. His hands smooth over my skin, covering every inch of my body with a few lusty swipes. He pulls back and inspects me, twitching his brows in a naughty manner.
“Going commando?”
“I thought I’d surprise you.” I give a little wink. “Underwear are just a formality at bedtime.”
“Best surprise since this afternoon. You really know how to brighten a person’s day.” He purrs like a motor.
Cruise unbuttons his dress shirt, and I peel it back revealing his chiseled chest that glows underneath. I run my lips over the wall of flesh, drag them up over the hard ridge of his neck until I meet with his mouth.
Cruise lies over me, nudging his body between my thighs, and the idea of him firing off his baby-making missiles sours my mood.
I spike up on my elbows. “I think we should change things up. You know—you should put a hat on it.” I wince when I say it, should he be quick to do the irresponsible math.
“A hat?” He ticks back a notch, with a playful grin because I just don’t think he gets it. “I got a hat right here.” He plucks a baseball cap from under the coffee table and secures it to his head before diving over me with more of his delicious kisses.