Tears scalded her eyelids then streamed down her cheeks in hot trails. Sobs rose up out of her soul and clawed past the blockade of pride to pour out in harsh, racking coughs.
“Oh sweetheart.”
Strong arms clamped around her, pulled her to a wide, naked chest. Her cheek stuck to his skin, her tears the glue that bonded them. Over her cries she caught the soothing murmurs he crooned. A hand that could easily frame her head smoothed down her hair and a tender kiss ghosted across her forehead.
Tamar didn’t protest when Nicolai swept her up in his arms, cradled her in his embrace and carried her from the room. Nor did she utter a word when he settled her next to him on the living room floor. Weak moonlight streamed into the room through the windows, alleviating the dense blackness of the cabin. He retrieved the match and flint box from beside the fireplace and, with expert hands, removed the screen, lit the logs and replaced the mesh covering.
The orange flames crackled and leapt, hungrily eating the wood. Heat licked the air and soon penetrated and thawed the ice that had formed beneath her skin when she’d woken in complete darkness. She shivered and Nicolai frowned before rising from the floor in a single breath-stealing display of strength and agility. Her gaze followed as he glided soundlessly across the floor to a closet. He pulled the door open and several moments later returned to her, arms piled with blankets, sheets and pillows.
He flipped open one cover and draped it over her shoulders like a shawl. Then he prepared a thick pallet on the floor. The firelight played over him as he carried out the task. Except for a low-riding pair of black cotton drawstring pants, he was left bare to her fascinated gaze. The fire cast a reddish hue over his golden skin, emphasizing the wide breadth of his shoulders, delineating the tight muscles of his abdomen. And when he hunkered down to tuck the corners of the sheet beneath the covers… Oh good God. His hard thighs bunched under the thin material of his pants…and his ass…
She closed her eyes, shutting out the temptation his beautiful body presented. Desire lapped at her like the flames nibbling on the logs in the fireplace. The heat that sparked and flickered to life inside her stomach couldn’t be attributed to any man-made fire. She trembled, opened her eyes.
Nicolai stared at her.
Frozen, he kept his weight balanced on the balls of his feet and his arms resting on his thighs. His lavender eyes burned, studying her as if he was aware of the passion that wended through her veins, leaving a molten path in its wake.
Then his nostrils flared slightly, his chest rose on an almost imperceptible breath and Tamar’s gut coiled, perspiration broke out on her palms.
He did know. He could smell her arousal.
Several long, silent moments stretched between them.
Common sense urged her to look away from his unblinking contemplative gaze. But she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
He was the first to break the connection. With a sinuous grace that reminded her of the beast that lurked beneath the skin of the man, he prowled over the pallet and sank beside her. Always before he’d respected her personal space—a deliberate gap separating them.
Tonight he didn’t allow it.
Tonight he pressed to her from thigh to hip, his arm a solid weight against her shoulder. When she inhaled it was his scent she breathed—sweet wind and wild heather. They’d only been this close in her dreams but the intimacy was…natural. She didn’t feel crowded.
She was protected. Even if it was just for tonight, she cautiously lowered her guard, allowed him in.
A peek down at the front of his pants revealed she was wanted too. Knowing how that thick, rigid length would stretch and burn her deep inside until she molded to fit his cock perfectly…how it would shuttle in and out with slow, rolling thrusts of his hips…how that perfect, muscular ass would contract and release under her palms…
She shifted, drew her legs up to her chest and held on for dear life.
Next to her Nicolai’s breathing deepened. Once again, he was smelling her desire for him, tasting it in the air.
By all rights, mortification should be burning her up, not lust.
Somebody should explain that to her body. Maybe write a letter because her creaming sex wasn’t getting the memo.
As the quiet enveloped them in its snug cocoon, Tamar could imagine they were in a fantasy—alone, safe from danger and phobias. The weight of his unspoken questions hung between them and, for once, she wasn’t defensive or ashamed about admitting her weaknesses.
“I’m afraid of the dark,” she confessed into the silence. “I know it’s silly—”
A dismissive wave of his hand cut her off. “Never apologize for how you feel,” he said. “Can you tell me why?”