“It’s after five, so it’s safe,” he teased.
Margot wasn’t sure how safe it really was, actually, but she didn’t protest. At the moment, she was feeling warm and relaxed, safe in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever been. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had the stray thought, I think I’m okay with this.
Whatever “this” might be.
Lucas poured some wine into one of the glasses and handed it to her. She held it, waiting until he was done getting some for himself. Afterward, he lifted his glass and said, “Here’s to a good ski season.”
“Do you ski?” she asked, amused.
“No. One of my cousins broke his leg in two places when we were both in high school, and although our healer patched him up, that sort of cured me of wanting to tackle the slopes. But hey — it’s good for the local economy, and someone might as well get some use out of all this snow.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They clinked glasses, and Lucas and Margot both took a swallow of wine. Yes, that tasted good, and felt even better going down. Rich and fruity, with just the slightest hint of oak. It went well with the fire, with the falling night outside the enormous windows that made up one wall of the room. And yet she didn’t feel exposed at all, sitting here like this in their little oasis of light and warmth. Only trees faced the house; the neighbors’ homes were safely hidden on either side. So different from Jerome, where you tended to be piled up on one another.
“Are there any other Wilcoxes in this neighborhood?” she asked.
“A couple. My cousin Roxanne and her husband are two streets over, and down on the other side of the hill is my cousin Tom and his family.” He shot her a curious look. “Why?”
“Just wondering. It seems like you have so much land to spread out on here, and yet I didn’t get to see even a tenth of the town yesterday.”
“Sorry about that — ”
She waved a hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. The weather isn’t your fault. It’s just nice that you can have your family near…but not too near, if you know what I mean.”
“It is good to have some privacy,” he agreed. Then he paused, his eyes meeting hers, as if to say, And I know exactly what I’d like to do with that privacy….
This time the heat that went over her wasn’t unwelcome at all…and had nothing to do with the fire in front of her. She drew in a breath, watching Lucas as well, the silence between them growing and growing until it felt almost like a live thing, like some entity their unspoken attraction had given life to.
She didn’t know which of them set their glass down first. All she did know was that suddenly his fingers were tangling in hers, and he was pulling her toward him, and then his mouth was on hers, insistent, as if he’d been holding off for as long as he could but didn’t have the will to do so any longer. And that was fine, because her resistance seemed to have fled, leaving nothing but the desire for him, the need to touch him and taste him, to open her mouth to his, feel his hands let go of hers and now move to her shoulders, pulling her close.
Her body pressed against his, and she once again marveled at how firm and strong he felt, how very real, as if everything else around her was a dream and Lucas the only solid thing in it. One hand tangled in her loose hair, moving up to run over her scalp, and she shivered at the strangely intimate touch.
He lifted his mouth from hers, whispered hoarsely, “I want to take you upstairs.”
She knew what that meant, also knew that he was asking her permission, that even now, when she could feel how aroused he was, he was trying to hold back, to allow her to retain control of the situation. Only she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted to let go of everything, every worry, every doubt, every fear, and revel in the moment, of being with Lucas.
“I want you to take me,” she replied, her own voice barely above a murmur.
That seemed to be enough for him, as he scooped her up in his arms and began to move toward the staircase. Wait — was he actually going to carry her up to his bedroom?
It seemed he was. And she wouldn’t protest, would only allow herself to revel in the sensation of being held in his arms like this, of being carried as if she weighed nothing, up all those steps, moving down the upstairs corridor, all the way to his bedroom. At last he yanked back the bedclothes and then set her down, pausing for a second to retrieve something from the nightstand. Margot wasn’t sure at first what he was doing, until she realized he’d picked up a remote for the gas fireplace on the opposite side of the room so he could switch it on.