Snow One Like You (7 page)

People lingered and lingered. A day to
be merry. A spreading of cheer. Rhys had run out of conversation.
He could only rehash a topic so long. He strolled toward the front
door, curved his hand over the knob; hinting the party progress to
Treasures.

He was ignored. And Allie was paid
utmost attention. People gravitated to her. Not just for her
incredible sugar cookies, but because she made each man, woman, and
child feel special. Nothing was ever about her. It was all about
them. She was a caring woman. He had every respect for her. She was
perfect for him. He should’ve recognized that fact years ago.
Better late than never.

A reverberating outside the front
window drew his eye. Snowplows. Tag-teaming Main Street. The room
shifted, everyone wanted a peek. “Sleigh rides later?” someone
tossed out. “Once the progressive party ends.”

Groups agreed to meet on the
courthouse steps at dusk. They’d layer clothing. Sit close; snuggle
shoulders. Sing Christmas carols. Sip hot chocolate from a thermos.
Someone would bring a flask of whiskey. Everyone would stay warm.
The ride lasted an hour. Rounding Town’s Square at a leisurely
pace, then taking back streets at a faster clip.

Rhys caught Allie’s eye.
They had the same thought at the same time. They both grinned. They
lifted their hands, wiggled their fingers. ‘
Hands above the hay
’ was a parental
chant when they were in high school. Sleigh rides were as much a
part of winter as snow. High schoolers took advantage of deep hay
and dozens of woolen blankets. Stolen kisses, wandering hands.
Teenagers pushed the limits. Rhys and Allie had never officially
dated. Still they’d had a great time hanging out as
friends.

The upcoming sleigh rides
now dominated the conversation. He couldn’t catch a break. Couldn’t
catch Allie. She again retreated to the kitchen, replenishing a
tray of sugar cookies. She made three separate trips before he made
his move on her. She’d stopped under the mistletoe to brush a few
crumbs from the sleeve of her green shirt.
After the Christmas Rush
received a
lot of attention. Friends all asking about her parents in Florida.
How the weather fared. The coastal town of Barefoot William was
sixty degrees warmer than Snowbound. Sunny skies and turquoise
Gulf.

Rhys went after his woman, as he now
saw Allie. He was about to take pleasure in her. In front of
everyone. Winding through the crowd, he came up behind her.
Startled her. Leaning over her shoulder, he said loud enough for
those nearby to hear, “Mistletoe,” as he twisted her toward him.
They stood in profile to their audience.

“
Mistletoe” was whispered
over and over again in a wave of amusement and interest. People
stared. Smiled. Nodded their approval.

She lowered the empty tray to her
side. Her gaze darted, noting all the people. He’d never been one
for public affection. Not before Allie. He didn’t give a damn who
watched them. He welcomed witnesses. He was crazy for this
woman.

Cupping her face, he gently took her
mouth. A romantic holiday kiss. Her lips were soft; her taste,
sugary sweet. He forgot those present. Lost track of time. He
wrapped her in his arms, drawing her as close as was humanly
possible. She sighed against his mouth, a willingness for more.
More lasted a good long time.

Until he straightened, and side-eyed
the store. He blinked, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Hartley’s was
empty. The last person out the door was Granny Flannery. A New
Year’s tiara sparkled in her gray hair. “Happy snow angels.” She
finger-waved, and disappeared, too.

“
Snow angels?” Rhys raised
a brow, questioning Granny’s comment.

“
She’s had cataract
surgery. Perfect vision. I wasn’t aware, until today.”

“
Busted.”

They stood in silence. Privacy
captured the moment. It was just the two of them. “We sure know how
to clear a room,” she noted.

Their kiss. Christmas opened hearts.
Joy warmed souls. The townsfolk understood his desire to be alone
with Allie. He was grateful to each one.

“
I’m locking the door.
Turning off the lights. No more visitors.” He went to do so.
Returning, he suggested, “Let’s clean up. So we don’t face a mess
later.” She agreed.

Paper plates and cups scattered the
shop. People had set them down where they stood when they’d hastily
made their retreat. He retrieved a garbage bag from the kitchen,
went through the room in record time. Allie followed him, damp
cloth in hand. Wiping up spills and crumbs. They grabbed brooms
from the storeroom, and swept the floor spotless.

“
Now…what?” she asked when
they’d finished.

“
Now…us.”

Her face softened. “Where?”

Flat on the floor, against the wall,
on a tabletop. It didn’t matter to him. It would, however, matter
to her. This was their first time together. A bed was the answer.
“Your room?”

She nodded. Motioned him toward the
stairs. He had one further side trip. “Hold on. I’ll be right
back.

He took the steps two at a time; then
came down faster than he’d gone up. He patted his jean pocket.
“Protection.”

“
You planned ahead?” She
didn’t seem the least surprised.

“
Wishful thinking,
only.”

He turned the knob on her bedroom
door, nudged it wide with his shoulder. He pulled her in behind
him. They stood just inside the threshold.

Her bedroom was as little girl as it
was woman. Vintage stuffed animals and two porcelain dolls in fancy
dresses sat on her dresser. He knew the animals. By name. She’d
introduced him to them. Jocco monkey. A black Scottie with felt
eyes. The Rabbit Topsy Turvy Plush Doll. A mohair teddy bear. A
velvet cinnamon deer. Glass-eyed yellow duck.

He’d been allowed to look, but not to
touch, as a boy. Allie found him too rough. All because he played
military games with G.I. Joe, and purposely ran him over with a
plastic tank. Popped off his head. The action figure was never the
same.

Centered against the far wall, her bed
was dark heartwood with a classic arch for a headboard. One corner
of the patterned quilt was turned down, revealing charcoal gray
flannel sheets. She had pillows. Lots of them. Foam, feathers,
neck-support, gel, memory foam. She liked to prop up in bed, read
or watch TV.

Family photographs collected on her
bedside table. One in particular stood out. A picture of him at the
Olympics, standing on the podium, wearing his gold medal and a big
grin. That had been one of the happiest days of his life. Tonight,
with Allie, would be added to that list.

She held to his back. She’d yet to
turn on a light. The bedroom curtains opened on a rectangular
window. Dusk crept in. The night would be clear. Another snow storm
was forecast for the end of the week. They had a few days of mild
sunshine and melting.

He looked at her over his shoulder.
“You okay?”

“
We’re good, and about to
get better.”

She wrapped her arms about his waist,
and he covered her hands with his own. Her cheek pressed his back.
Her breathing was even. She held him for long minutes. Getting used
to the moment. Until he slowly turned and faced her. Her eyes were
as soft as her smile. She welcomed him.

Their lives became intertwined. She
was his. He belonged to her.

Silence, thick and heavy as foreplay,
settled between them.

She’d never been as aware of a man as
she was of Rhys.

His maleness bound her before he even
touched her.

The press of his lips marked her
forever. Forever his. Erasing all doubt. There was history in their
kiss. A lifetime of friendship and compassion...and something
deeper, slowly pushing to the surface. Something unrecognizable,
yet irreversible. Long delayed.

Tilting his head left, then right, he
took her mouth from both angles. A prolonged open-mouthed kiss,
both intimate and impassioned. The scrub of his stubble against her
cheek drew attention to his masculinity. His touch was strong, yet
gentle, as he smoothed his hand into her hair. She curled her
fingers over his shoulder, felt heat and contoured
muscle.

There was no hurry. The night was
theirs.

She wanted to touch him. Needed to. So
she took the initiative. He willingly let her lead. Hands splayed,
she skimmed his shoulders, down his arms, finger-walked under his
sweat shirt. She pushed up, the fabric bunching at his pecs, then
clearing his neck and head. His hair spiked. His jaw worked. The
pulse at the base of his throat, visible.

Allie admired his chest. A man of
powerful athletic proportions. A dusting of hair shadowed sculpted
muscle and virile strength. His arms were hard sinew. She touched
with need. A lifetime of need. No part of his body escaped
her.

Each stroke sent blood to his groin.
His own desire embraced her. He’d never wanted a woman so
badly.

She wanted him right back. She lowered
her hands to his jeans, and he stilled her. He looked down, his
gaze smoldering; his voice, sexy. Making her tremble. “Catch up to
me.” He wanted her naked to the waist, same as him.

Her holiday shirt came off. He stared
openly at her breasts. Her nipples made hard points in the center
of each ivory cup. His light blue eyes darkened a shade. A
competent flip of his thumbnail, and the front clasp parted. Her
breasts spilled into his palms. He stroked the pale undersides,
gave equal time to her sensitive nipples. Her breasts became
swollen and tender. He traced her cleavage, then arrowed to her
navel.

He went back to kissing her. Hot and
French, slick tongues, deep and drugging. She melted into him,
turning soft and yielding, wanting the oneness only lovers
experience. She pressed so tight, they felt joined at the
hip.

She returned to his jeans, riding low
on his hips. Wanting them off. He stalled her for a single second,
scoring the pack of condoms from his pocket, and tossing them on
the bedside stand. He then heel-toed his boots, kicked them aside.
Toed off his socks. Awaited her next move.

He didn’t have to wait long.
Unbuckling his belt, she pulled the leather free. Tossed it to the
floor. She pressed her hand to his bare stomach, then ran her
fingers inside the band. The flick of the snap, the lowering of the
zipper, were life-altering sounds. She drew the jeans over his
prominent hipbones. A fraction lower. A shift of Rhys’s weight, and
they dropped to the floor. He was fully naked beneath.
Magnificently raw. His arousal was swift and hard.

Her pulse leaped. She tingled. Goose
bumped. And her whole body shivered. She could barely stand. Rhys
supported her. In that moment, he understood commitment. Absolute
oneness. After tonight there was no going back. The thought of
having sex with Allie for the rest of his life created a physical
ache so strong he could barely breathe.

He nudged her toward the bed, and they
did a slow shuffle. Soon, the back of her legs connected with the
bedframe. She kicked aside her Converse, left on her socks. The man
knew what he was doing. He’d unsnapped, unzipped, and stripped her
boyfriend jeans in a matter of seconds. He fingered the elastic on
her bikini panties. She barely sensed him lifting her or snatching
the white cotton.

He laid her on the bed. Flat on her
back. He eased down beside her. Leaned over her. Began kissing her
again. Prolonged nips to her lips. Mating thrusts of his tongue.
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He found every
erogenous zone on her body. She touched him, too. Finding the
sensitive spots that made his breathing hitch. His heart raced. He
was all tight, flexing muscle. Her own skin was tender.

He reached for the condom on her
nightstand, tore the silver foil with his teeth. Sheathed himself.
His erection was long and throbbing and stretched the latex. He
kneed her legs apart. Molded to her. Her nipples poked the hard
wall of his chest, and her belly was flush with his groin. He
rocked his hips, and gave one shallow thrust. Found resistance. Not
a virgin’s resistance, but the tightness of a woman who did not
have regular sex.

“
It’s been a while.” Her
words, spoken against his neck, were soft, almost
apologetic.

A while.
His body grew even hotter. Withdrawing a fraction
of an inch, he worked his hands between their bodies and touched
her. Touched her with all the knowledge he had of a woman’s
body.

She grew slick, and her body loosened.
He took her to the edge of orgasm. He held her there, spread, wet,
and flushed. Ready for him now, she accepted him easily. He drove
her beyond herself. And into him. They moved as one.

A low moan blended with the night.
Maybe his. Maybe hers. Maybe both. They focused on the sound of
their breathing, the rhythm of their bodies, soon bringing them to
climax.

Allie shattered with Rhys’s name on
her lips.

A single heartbeat later, and his own
satisfaction spilled deep. It took a very long time to catch his
breath.

Muscles slack, exhaustion claimed them
both. He rested his forehead against hers. Calmed. Then slid out of
her, and disposed of the condom. Resettled. Drawing her close, he
kissed her gently. A kiss that tasted of woman and
lovemaking.