Reckless Fortune, page 14
She stood there, out in the gathering almost-dark, waiting.
And sure enough, as if she’d conjured him up in her own mind, Bowie appeared before her. He looked as delicious as he had earlier, in his usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, only now she knew how he tasted.
Now she knew too much.
“Ready?” His voice sounded rough, like all of those things inside of her.
“Ready.”
And she felt as if she’d suddenly become a figure from a myth as she followed him down to the water’s edge while above them, the moon rose over the lake.
She’d seen the lights he had strapped to the bow of his boat, but there was no need for them as the moon climbed higher in a sky that never quite got dark. Bowie guided the motorboat across the water with his usual skill, and it felt like flying. Her hair whipped around, the boat skimmed across the surface, and she was certain that if she looked down, she might find that she’d grown wings.
Back at the house, they walked up from the water together, and she felt that lightning inside of her.
What if? came that same voice inside. What if tonight you do exactly what you want to do?
“Listen,” Bowie said gruffly, as if he could hear her mother inside her. “Autumn. I think we need to—”
“Bowie.” She cut him off. “I don’t want to talk.”
He looked taken back. The moonlight drenched him in its soft light, emphasizing his truly marvelous cheekbones and making his eyes seem haunted. “That’s all right. It’ll keep.”
“I want to go to bed.”
He nodded, curtly, and she saw his neck move as he needed to swallow. Hard. “Fine.”
“But I want you to come with me.”
And if she thought about it, she would perish from embarrassment at the very idea of saying something like that. Particularly to him. A man who must have women fling themselves at him constantly. But she wasn’t thinking about it, she was doing it.
She felt as if the moon above, and the long hours of daylight, were all wrapped around inside of her. She felt powerful. Wild and free in a way she never had been before.
As if she was claiming what was hers.
Herself, first and foremost.
And him.
She held his gaze in the moonlight, and she knew she wasn’t haunted by a thing. “And Bowie, I want you to stay all night.”
Ten
He should say no. Right now.
Bowie ordered himself to step back, to turn away from her, but he couldn’t seem to move. He stood there, stock-still in the middle of his own damn yard, as if she’d turned him into stone.
He knew he was going to remember this moment forever.
Autumn McCall, the woman who wasn’t his wife but was living here like she was, with her lips curved into something feminine. Mysterious. Looking at him like she wanted to gulp him down whole.
And he understood, in a way he never really had before, why it was that people had been performing sacred rites on nights like this for as long as they’d walked the earth. Because it meant something to acknowledge the change of the season. It meant something to bear witness to the turning of the year.
Just like it meant something to watch the woman he shouldn’t want dance like she was made of pure fire and untamed joy, like she was something ancient and profound, wrapped up in a red dress that made his heart beat faster every time he looked at her.
And it meant something, too, that he was the one who’d kissed her back at the Mine. But now she was the one standing before him, offering him a night.
Bowie hadn’t forgotten the secret he carried. He hadn’t forgotten about Karina.
This was more complicated than that.
It was as if his ghosts were part of the moonlight. That smile on Autumn’s face, the wild magic in her gaze.
He had never denied himself a good time. But he’d always balked at anything deeper. He’d always made certain to hold most of himself in reserve.
But they were all alone in an Alaskan summer night, and he’d indulged himself with a taste of her after all this time abstaining.
There was no going back from that.
Maybe he didn’t want to go back.
They had sat at the same table, participating in the same ritual. And for all the fun of it, the community and the food, the music and the games, that’s exactly what it was. A sacred ritual, bidding farewell to the light and welcoming in the dark again.
It suddenly seemed to Bowie that Midsummer at the Mine had been the opening act.
But this was the show.
And he didn’t know if he was man enough to take on a woman who was looking him over like she wanted to eat him alive, but he surely intended to try.
Especially when that sensual, mysterious smile deepened. And she reached down to untie that dress she wore, then shrug it off.
So that she was wearing nothing but a little bit of lace and a whole lot of moonlight.
Deep inside of him, Bowie was dimly aware of all the objections he should have been having at this moment, but he would care about that later. He was sure he would care a whole lot.
The only thing he cared about right now was Autumn.
The only thing he could think, or feel, or see was Autumn.
“All night works for me,” he told her.
Then he moved closer and wasted no time hauling her up into his arms.
The way he’d wanted to do, if he was honest about it, for some time now.
She let out a sound that might have been a laugh, but he was already walking toward the house. Carrying her, not to her little guest room, but through the front door.
A lot like this was a wedding night, after all.
He kicked the door shut behind them and pretended he hadn’t thought something like that, because it was all kinds of wrong.
But it wouldn’t have stopped him anyway. He didn’t think anything could.
She was close enough to naked, and in his arms, and he understood two things with perfect clarity. One, this had always been inevitable. From the moment he’d locked eyes with her outside her father’s house. And two, he might regret it in the morning—that was just as inevitable—but he intended to make sure he drank his fill of her anyway, all night long, as ordered.
Because he figured he was going to live on that memory for a long, long time.
He carried her through his house, regretting for the first time since he’d built it that it wasn’t a simple square and easier to navigate. He held her tight against his chest as he took her up the spiral staircase that rose as if it were heading straight for the stars, then curved around to deliver them to the second floor he’d given over to one big bedroom.
Then, finally, he carried her over to the bed he’d lain in all these nights, thinking things he shouldn’t and imagining scenes exactly like this one. He set her down on the mattress, then stood back.
“Don’t move,” he said, when she looked as if she was about to sit up. And he felt his mouth crook when she frowned at him, though he hadn’t found much of anything funny since she’d turned up in that red dress. Because of course Autumn frowned at him even now, laid out on his bed like the pinup he’d always wanted, her hair tousled around her, her curves a lush symphony that begged for his hands, his mouth. Naturally Autumn, who had already seduced him, wanted nothing more than to scowl at him. “I want to look at you.”
“I would have thought there’d been more than enough looking already,” she retorted, in that huffy way that should not have gotten him hot, but here they were.
There was no getting out of the way of this thing between them. Lord knew he’d tried.
“There’s been a lot of looking, I grant you.” Bowie took his time toeing off his boots and getting rid of his shirt. He took his time, tracing the lines of her with his gaze, because she was a dream come true. Literally. Those big, glorious breasts. Her narrow waist. Then the flare of her hips that made him wonder if he was going to be able to hold on to his self-control. At all. “But you were always wearing clothes. Layers,” he reminded her, as if betrayed by her devotion to merino wool. “This is better.”
She flushed a little, then she scowled even harder, and there was no pretending that she was simply the physical embodiment of his most fervent fantasies, though she was. What made her impossible to resist wasn’t her body, lush and gorgeous as it was. It was that she was Autumn.
Relentless, determined, unstoppable Autumn.
Even in his bed, wearing nothing but a bra and panties in a matching shade of deep lavender, she was 1,000 percent herself.
Bowie had never seen anything hotter.
“I really don’t think—” she began, sounding cross and irritated, which only made him want her more.
“Autumn.” He used his military voice and her eyes widened. Then she swallowed, hard. And was quiet. “I’ve wanted to get you naked since the moment I met you. It’s been nothing short of a living hell and I do not intend to waste this time arguing with you.”
“You’ve wanted to get me naked?” She sounded . . . shocked. Delighted. Both. “The whole time?”
“Baby, come on.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought of very little else.”
And this time, that rose and pink flush went everywhere. Bowie was shorting out. He was so hard it hurt and his hands kept twitching, as if they wanted to touch all that warm softness before him on their own. As if they thought he might not get the job done.
“I need you to help me out,” he told her, almost solemnly. “The minute I get my hands on you . . .” He shook his head as if it was too terrible a prospect to speak out loud. “There’s no telling what might happen.”
“I have a pretty good idea what I’d like to have happen.”
“We’ll get there. Don’t you worry. The question is, how fast.”
“Oh.” And there was such a wealth of disappointment and resignation in that one syllable that he almost laughed. “Well. I guess it’s nice of you to warn me in advance. I guess that will make it less disappointing.”
“You’re not understanding me here.” He was pretty sure he was smiling. Possibly ear to ear.
“No, I understand you. It’s okay.” He watched her make herself smile encouragingly, like she really wanted to be here for him on this. How a woman as stunning as she was could also be this cute escaped him, but she managed it. Easily. “How long have you had your . . . problem?”
He had no choice but to laugh at that. “I don’t have a performance problem, Autumn. I have a you problem, but you can trust and believe that no matter how long it lasts, it will be spectacular.”
She was still smiling like she was trying to be brave and kind. Very, very kind. “Like, a minute of spectacular? Is that what qualifies as spectacular this far north? Because I have to tell you, that does not sound remotely spectacular to me.”
“I like to think that I don’t have a weakness,” he said, not sure if he was laughing or in agony. Probably both. “But the perfection of the female form . . . Well. I don’t have any defenses.”
“I’m still hung up on a spectacular sixty seconds,” she said, sounding cross and Autumn-y again. His own little hit of pumpkin spice, sweet with a kick. “I don’t think that’s possible. I think, Bowie, that a lot of women have lied to you because you’re pretty.”
He was standing beside his own bed with a gorgeous woman splayed out before him, and he honestly didn’t know if he was going to need to take a time out to howl with laughter for a spell. Nice though it was to know she thought he was pretty.
“I’m going to need you to shut up,” he informed her, with that military edge again. “I’m talking about a perfect hourglass shape. Breasts that look like they’re going to just overflow my hands. Hips I can’t wait to hold on to while I sink into you.” He smiled again, because she went silent and her eyes widened. “But first, what I need you to do is get naked for me.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” she asked, a bit impatiently. “That sounds like a lot more fun than continuing discussions of your minuteman issue.”
“To clarify, if all I have to give is sixty seconds in heaven, you’re here for it.”
She sighed as she sat up. “I don’t think disappointment can actually kill a person, can it?”
Bowie was still laughing as she unclipped her bra and tossed it aside. But the laughter had turned to some kind of ache by the time she wiggled out of her panties and dispensed with them, too. And then she lay back, propped up on her elbows, naked and beautiful.
And here in his bed. At last.
He wasn’t sure if he should fall down on his knees and praise whatever celestial being had allowed this to happen. Or whether he should simply throw himself down beside her and stop worrying about finesse.
That voice inside him that tried reminding him that he shouldn’t be doing this at all was quiet, which was maybe more damning. It really should have given him pause.
But in the end, Bowie did what he’d been hungering to do for what seemed like a lifetime now, because this was the only night he got to have her, it was the shortest night of the year, and time was a-wasting.
He knelt on the side of the bed and grinned at her, because she’d gone quiet, too. She’d lost that scowl, too, and now she was all big eyes, that soft mouth, and the flush all over her that gave her away. He did the only thing he could.
Bowie scooped up her hips and lifted her toward him like an offering. Then he rolled himself between her legs and got his mouth right there, where she was scalding hot and slippery sweet.
And went straight to his head like moonshine.
Soon enough, she was crying out his name, and that was even more intoxicating.
But he liked the sound of it so much, he did it again.
And when he finally wrung out that last cry from her, he began to make his way up that marvel of a body of hers that he should have known was built to make him silly.
Hell, he had known. From day one.
But he couldn’t find it in him to regret that now. The only thing inside of him was a need to please her.
More. Again. Over and over, until they were both worn out.
And then he wanted to start all over again.
But here and now, he focused. He tested the width of her hips again, then tried to touch his fingers together around her waist and thought he almost made it. But by that point, he’d brought his face up level to her breasts, so he spent some quality time acquainting himself there.
Right where he’d wanted to be for near to a month.
And as he introduced himself to all the parts of her he’d been admiring all this time, slowly and carefully and with intent, she returned the favor. She kissed her way across his chest. She found his scars and learned them with her lips. She sank her hands in his hair and she buried her face in his neck, and she didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
But he had the better deal. Because he got to listen to all the songs she could sing when his mouth found her nipple and he let his fingers draw patterns in her slippery heat.
And only then did he pull himself up over her, so he could kiss her neck, and feel the way she panted there below him. When she opened her eyes again, their gazes seemed to tangle. It was almost like they were back in that hallway, alone, with everyone he knew just there on the other side of the wall. But between them, all of this.
Because it had always been between them.
Because he’d been kidding himself, pretending that it would ever end anywhere but here.
She was breathing heavy, her eyes were wide and gleaming with that same heat he could feel in him like thunder.
That ache inside of him intensified, and it wasn’t as simple as sex. Or need. Or any of the things he’d already done to her. Or even the things he had yet to do.
Because he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for her. He had never intended to be ready. He had never intended for this to happen, and on some level, he knew that this, here, was the real betrayal.
But Bowie also knew that he wasn’t going to stop. That he didn’t want to.
Maybe later, he would beat himself up for that, too.
And it would be worth it, because that was how much he wanted her. Like she was already a part of him and he was just playing catch-up here.
Bowie had no idea how he could possibly open his mouth and explain any of that. The tangle of it. The pain in it, but wrapped all around that, far brighter and better, the joy.
Even if it was only for tonight.
“Autumn,” he began.
“I have to insist that you use birth control,” she said then, so matter-of-factly and prosaically it took him a moment to process what she was saying. “I got my latest shot right before I came here, but that’s only one kind of preventative. And I know it’s all the rage to be swept away by passion, but I’ve always suspected that there is less sweeping and more not wanting to be bothered. And now I know that’s true. Because this was very passionate, but I’m still in possession of all my faculties and I think you’ll agree, we really have to make sure—”
Bowie shook his head as he looked at her. “You should know better, baby. That sounds like a dare.”
He set about kissing her with everything he had, then. He revisited all the places he’d already discovered, and this time, made sure that she had no time to mount lectures on the topic of protection or anything else, because she was too busy falling apart. Shuddering and shattering, again and again.
And when she was soft and mindless beneath him, he reached into the drawer beside the bed. He pulled out protection and handled himself.
“But—” she began when he notched himself into her heat, though her head was thrown back and her hips rose to meet him. “We have to—”
