his cheek.
“Let me see it,” she said as though she hadn’t just done that-kissed him as though it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. Which, perhaps with someone else it would be, but from Meg it hadn’t felt ordinary. It had felt like a gift.
Refusing to be distracted, he adjusted the setting to replay and, not looking at the picture, passed her the camera. What he did look at was her. Her breath coming in small misty puffs. Her cheeks and nose getting redder still with the cold. The lips that had moments ago touched his face. So much for not getting distracted.
He dropped all pretence of resolution and cupped a hand to one rosy cheek. Meg looked up, a smile playing about her lips. The smile dimmed and her lips parted as she read his intent. Using his teeth he pulled his other glove off, let it fall to the snow so that he could frame her face with both his hands. Skin against skin.
Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her.
Properly.
If they only had this day left, if he only had a finite and too-limited number of kisses left, then he wasn’t going to let her waste them on his cheek.
The warmth of her mouth was an erotic contrast to the chill of her lips. Her heat, as his tongue teased and tasted, swamped him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him back, softened against him. Pure Meg. Laughter and depth, temptation and innocence. His past, his present and his- Just his past and his present. That’s all it would be.
He kissed her still, widening his stance so that he could fit her more closely against him. Kissing her out here was safe. Layers of clothing and a bitter chill to prevent his taking any of them off. But the temptation was so great that he’d likely stay out till they both froze just for the pleasure of feeling her pliant mouth beneath his, her warmth and sweetness, her eagerness.
It was Meg who broke the kiss, leaning back, her arms looped around his waist so that her hips pressed a little more firmly against his. “I don’t think we should.”
He’d think a little more clearly if it wasn’t for those hips. He knew all the reasons why she was right. This was ending. And it needed to end cleanly. As cleanly as was possible given what had already passed between them. He didn’t want to hurt her. “You’re right. But just one more.” He waited for her smile, waited till the indecision in her eyes was swept away by agreement and the flare of hunger as she abandoned reason and caution and lifted her face to his. Meg. His wife. So quick to respond to him. Something primal stirred. More than lust. He chose not to examine it, let desire and pure pleasure take the upper hand.
They were both breathing heavily, their breaths mingling in the air, by the time she again pulled away. And this time she broke all contact, stepping away from his touch, turning to adjust the snowman’s carrot nose. “We should go in.”
And this time he knew better than to disagree. Because despite what he’d thought, kissing her out here wasn’t safe. Far from it. Kissing the way they had been spoke too openly of more, of picking up where they’d left off last night. Of his falling into her heat. Of staying there.
“Besides, I’m cold.” Her cheeks were flushed.
Luke lifted her hand, pulled a glove off and enclosed her fingers in his. He tucked her hand against his side as he led her back to the house.
Inside again, he hung up their coats. He didn’t look at her cases by the front door as he led her toward the living room, knew a moment’s hesitation as they passed the Christmas tree, he wouldn’t kiss her inside, knew another moment as they passed the stairs, the stairs he wouldn’t lead her up to his bedroom. Finally in the relative sanctuary of the living room, he lit the fire. “Stand here. Warm yourself.”
Unquestioning and not meeting his gaze, she held her hands out to the flames.
Luke left the room, returned in five minutes carrying two cups of cocoa. He didn’t know why looking after her gave him such pleasure and satisfaction, but it did. She stood exactly where he’d left her, staring into the flames.
“You’re warm enough?” He handed her a cup of cocoa and she nodded as she took it, seemingly intrigued by the marshmallows floating on the top.
“What now?” she asked.
Almost all of the ideas that sprang to mind were unwise. “I have a suggestion.”
Her gaze lifted and narrowed on him.
“Not that.” He laughed. Because if he didn’t laugh he’d take the assumption as an invitation. “Not that the idea doesn’t have merit.” A slow blush crept up her face. “I’m suggesting a movie.” She quickly covered the flash of disappointment in her gaze. But the flash had pleased the unwise part of him. Like her, he covered the reaction. He slid a movie into the player, picked up the remote. “The snow’s stopped. Soon enough the roads will be cleared and you’ll leave.” He led her to the couch and sat close beside her, pulling the broad coffee table closer so that he could rest his feet on it. She watched him, waiting for him to continue. He settled into the soft black leather of the couch, pulled her back with him and tried to explain his reasoning. “I never intended to marry. Never thought I would. I don’t need other people the way some do.
I’m content on my own.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “So this might be it. My only chance to spend time with my wife. To experience married life. We can be like an old couple who have comfortable routines they’ve settled into over a lifetime of being together. Cocoa and a movie on a snowy afternoon. We’ll argue over chick flick or action movie.” He picked up the remote, pointed it at the TV and the screen flickered to life. “Action movie will win because we watched your chick flick last week.”
As the opening credits rolled and on-screen a car wound its way up a rocky mountainside at night, she nestled a little closer and stretched her legs out alongside his, resting her small feet, in their red socks, beside his.
They were an hour into the movie which had managed to capture only a portion of his awareness away from her, when Caesar started barking. Moments later the doorbell chimed. Luke glanced at his watch, his mood darkening. He stood. “You keep watching. I just have to deal with this.”
She reached for the remote, located the Pause button. “I’ll wait.”
“I’m not sure how long this will take. Depends on how much of a fuss he makes.”
“He? Jason?”
Luke nodded, resenting this intrusion, the sullying of his afternoon with her. But he needed to deal with it. He’d been thinking about their earlier conversation, about finding a way to deal with Jason that did justice to his mother.
“I’ll wait,” she said, looking away from him as she settled back into the cushioning leather, looking small and stoic, expecting better of him than he was prepared to give. On-screen, the hero was frozen with a gun pressed to the villain’s temple, his eyes bleak.
Seven
Seconds after Luke strode from the room, the sound of voices, muted but clipped, reached Meg, then faded as they headed to Luke’s office along the hallway. She made a bowl of popcorn, set it on the coffee table and then crossed to the wide windows. Outside, Frosty stood a lonely sentinel on the lawn, Meg’s scarf loose about his neck, his eyes dark and desolate. For a time she heard nothing. Then shouting. She crossed to the open living room door, her fingers gripping the door frame, hesitant.
Only one man was shouting. Jason. She couldn’t hear Luke at all.
She was still standing there, distressed by the anger she heard and wondering whether there was anything she could do to help, when the voice quieted. A minute later, Jason stormed out of Luke’s office, slamming the door behind him. He stalked along the hallway toward her.
“Will you be okay?”
Jason looked up, a dark dislike glittered in his eyes. “Don’t pretend you care.”
“I’m not pretending.”
His step slowed. “Then call your husband off.”
“It’s not my place.”
Jason shook his head, disbelieving. “Indonesia. What the hell am I supposed to do there?”
