The breath caught in her throat. She’d expected fun, maybe even foolish. Instead he swept her away, made her feel weak and trembly, and a little unsure.
“Owen.”
“Your hands are so small.” He laid her on the bed, then lifted one of her hands to press the palm to his. “They look delicate, but they’re tireless. That’s the surprise of you. Then there’s your shoulders.” He nudged a strap aside. “The skin’s so smooth and pale, but they’re strong. They’ll hold a lot.”
Lowering his head, he glided his lips over her shoulder, down the line of her throat.
The glitter of the room, the fragrance of flowers, and his hands on her, featherlight. Everything in her surrendered, to him, to the moment, to this new gift as unexpected as the sparkling key around her neck.
He gave her the slow, the quiet, the achingly tender. No one had ever touched her, not quite like this, or made her feel . . . precious.
He eased the dress down, gliding his lips over newly exposed flesh, making it quiver. Making her sigh. He watched the way the light played in her eyes before she closed them, the way her body moved under his hands and mouth. And felt the way her heart beat under them, thickly.
Then faster when he guided her up, as he urged her higher. She clutched at him, riding that crest. Until the wave broke, and her hands slid away to lie limp.
Like that, he thought as he undressed. Like that, open, exposed, drenched in pleasure.
He took her mouth again first, drowning her in the kiss as his hand slid down, down to cup her. To tease a moan from her.
Then slipped into her, into hot, wet silk.
Now he trembled, steeped in her, trembled in the quick, desperate wanting of her. But he gave her long, slow strokes. Torturous, glorious.
He gripped her hands, linking them as beat followed beat. The air thickened, seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. He saw her face, only her face as he said her name—or perhaps only thought it.
But her eyes opened, locked on his. Hands and bodies joined, he lowered his lips to hers. Complete as they took that long, slow slide off the edge together.
In the morning, in the quiet, he watched her sleep. It was so rare to see her still.
He thought back to the planning stages of the inn, the debates, adjustments, countless meetings—and through the months of the long build.
He’d never imagined he’d spend his first night here with Avery sleeping beside him.
Now it was done. The inn, that first night. Another build underway, another plan. And here she was, sleeping deep, her hair a bold streak against the snowy pillow.
What happened next?
He planned, anticipated, calculated. It’s what he did, in his life, in his work. But he couldn’t quite formulate a plan where Avery was concerned, couldn’t see his way clear to anticipate the next step, calculate the next move.
It seemed strange—they knew each other so well. Shouldn’t the next step, the next move, come easily?
Maybe it would, he considered. So why worry?
He slipped out of bed, a little surprised when she didn’t stir. He eased the door of the bathroom closed, studied the glass shower with pleasure.
“Let’s give you a spin, baby,” he murmured.
He tested out the jets, the rain head—and, sniffing at the green tea and ginger shower gel, decided, with considerable relief, it wasn’t too girly.
By the time he reached for one of the fluffy bath sheets, he was awake, alert—and decided he needed coffee, pretty much now.
Shaving could definitely wait.
He pulled on jeans, tossed a flannel shirt over a thermal. He decided against the work boots—too noisy on the stairs—and settled on socks.
And still, Avery didn’t stir.
He slipped out of the room, headed downstairs, and didn’t hear a sound until he turned toward the kitchen. From there he followed the scents, and the murmur of female voices.
“Good morning, sweetie.” Bright-eyed and busy, his aunt offered him a welcoming smile as she set bacon to drain. “Coffee?”
“Name your price.”
She puckered her lips, took his quick kiss before reaching for the pot.
“What’s this?” he asked gesturing toward the white chef’s coats both she and Hope wore.
“We thought it presented a clean look,” Hope told him. “A little more upscale than aprons.”
“I like.” With the speed of experience, he snatched a slice of bacon before Carolee could slap his hand away.
She pointed at him. “No filching. Breakfast starts in a half hour.”
“But there’s bacon now. How’d you like The Penthouse?”
“I felt like a queen. I was so damn tired, but I just had to wander all over, sit on every chair awhile.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “I kept thinking it was like a dream. I remember when Justine and I picked out those fabrics. And there I was sitting on them.”
“How’d you like your room?” Hope asked him.
“It was great. Made me wish I’d worn a fedora. I think everybody must’ve settled right in once we called it a night. And everybody must still be settled right in because I didn’t hear anyone moving around when I came down.”
“Guests are allowed to sleep in. But if you’re hungry, we can fix you up pretty quick.”
“I’m okay.” But he grabbed another slice of bacon while his aunt had her back turned. “Maybe I’ll take some coffee up to Avery.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Then Carolee narrowed her eyes when he bit into the second slice of bacon. “And sneaky.”
Hope poured the coffee, doctored it Avery’s way. “Tell her to take her time. That’s what chafing dishes are for.”
He went back up, slipped back inside. She’d stirred, he noted—enough to stretch diagonally across the bed. There may not be a lot of her, he mused, but given the chance she could fill the best part of a bed all on her own.
He sat on the corner, leaned down and kissed her cheek. When that didn’t work, he brushed a hand up and down her arm. Giving up on the gentle awakening, he pinched her.
“What! Ow! Huh?”
“I wanted to be sure you were still alive.”
“I was . . .” Shifting a little, she rubbed her fingers over glassy eyes. “In a Harry dream.”
“A what?”
“Clare’s Harry. He has these weird, vivid dreams. I had a Harry dream about green giraffes with red splotches. It sounds Christmassy and cheerful, but no. I was on one in this stampede, and dressed like Lady Gaga. I think. Is that coffee?”
“Yeah, I think you need it.”
“Thanks. And the Animal Crackers monkey was on one, chasing me. He had teeth.”
“Does that happen often?”
“No, thank God. But we drank all that champagne last night. After,” she added with a sleepy smile. “It may have played into it. You’re all dressed. What time—” Her eyes popped wide now as she scanned the clock. “Shit! It’s almost eight.”
“Shocking.”
“I was going to be up by seven to help Hope and Carolee with breakfast.”
“They’ve got it handled. Relax.” He squeezed in beside her, bumped her over a bit more, then picked up the remote. “Watch this.”
He switched on the TV. “We can kick back right here, drink coffee, and check out what’s happening in the
