Finders Keepers (Mill Brook Book 1) Page 12

  In a few minutes, Julian returned with two mugs of steaming cider, handing her one as he wriggled in between her and Pen, who promptly flopped her head on his lap. He seemed hardly to notice. Holly cupped the mug, feeling its warmth on her near-frostbitten fingers.

  “Warming up?” Julian asked.

  “Getting there. Now that I’m thawing, I realize how cold I was getting. Mmm—this smells wonderful.”

  He settled down beside her, not touching her afghan. “Every fall, I take Abby and David apple picking, and we come back here and make up a batch of our own cider. We always think it’s the best cider we’ve ever had.”

  Holly smiled, envisioning Vermont in autumn, Julian with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he raked leaves, his niece and nephew leaping into the brightly-colored piles. It was probably a hopelessly romanticized vision, but maybe trying to see life through her rose-colored glasses was one reason she was a storyteller. .. another being that she knew life wasn’t like that. She was a Wingate, after all.

  “Your niece and nephew seem to think a great deal of you,” she said.

  Julian shrugged. ‘They take me for who I am.”

  “And who are you?”

  “What you see,” he said, looking at her with those incredibly vivid eyes, “is what you get.”

  “Are you implying that’s not the case with me?”

  “Not necessarily. When you peel away all the defensive layers and finally come to the core Holly Paynter, I’ll bet what you see is what you get. It’s all those layers that give you pause, make you wonder.”

  She tried the cider, felt its warmth all the way down to her stomach. “Sort of like an artichoke, huh? I’ve never thought of myself that way.”

  He laughed softly, leaning back on one elbow, his eyes never leaving her. “Somehow when I look at you, I don’t think artichoke. How’s the cider?”

  “Good—hot. It has cinnamon in it?”

  “A little. I don’t like to overpower good cider with too many spices.”

  “Can’t blame you.”

  “Holly...”

  “I’m just about warm.”

  “Good. You look antsy.”

  She forced herself to look away, into the crackling fire. “You know me—I get stir-crazy.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s my nature.”

  She could sense that he hadn’t moved, was still studying her with those narrowed, insistent emerald eyes. Not giving up, he said, “There has to be more reason than that.”

  There was nothing demanding in his tone, but she whipped her head around, nearly spilling her cider. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because I’d like to know more about you,” he said, unperturbed. “Because I care about you, Holly.”

  “I thought I was a lying Texan.”

  He smiled, amused. “And a thieving Wingate, don’t forget.”

  ‘That’s just coincidence.” Unexpectedly this time the half-truth hurt; she almost winced.

  “Layers, Holly. Just layers. I haven’t gotten to the real you yet.”

  “Maybe I’m like an onion and you just keep peeling and peeling and all there is is more onion and more onion until finally you come to this hard little knot of a core that you throw away.” She turned back to the fire. “Maybe that’s me.”

  “How far are you going to carry these vegetable analogies? First you’re an artichoke, now an onion. Next you’ll be...I don’t know, maybe a pineapple. Prickly on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.”

  He was teasing her and she couldn’t help but laugh, and not take herself—or him—so seriously. “You’re not easily put off, are you?’’

  “Just a hardheaded Yankee.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know about me?”

  He straightened up, putting his mug down, and with one finger turned her chin toward him. “Everything.”

  She wanted to say something, maybe even tried to, but all she could hear were the popping sounds of the fire, the deep, steady breathing of the dogs. Was there any place more peaceful than right here? Let it snow all day...

  She didn’t resist, didn’t say a word, when Julian took her mug and set it on the hearth, out of the way.

  “My brother thinks we’re playing hands-off games,” he said quietly, “especially me.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Maybe he had a point.”

  “Had,” she repeated.

  “You got it.”

  And he brushed his mouth, so soft and warm, on hers, and drew back. For a second she thought that would be all. He’d come to his senses; she’d come to hers. But she wasn’t trying to hide anything now, wasn’t consciously repressing her attraction to him, and he seemed to see the hunger in her expression... the wanting. He smiled into her eyes, tasted her lips once more.

  Pulling back slightly, he rubbed his thumb along the smooth line of her lower jaw, his forefinger along her full lower lip. “Why didn’t you come down to me last night?”

  “You knew I was up?”

  “I’ve been in this house alone a long time. When someone else is here, I’m intensely aware of them. Yeah, I knew. So why didn’t you come down?”

  “You didn’t look as if you wanted to be disturbed.”

  “I was thinking about you,” he said. “About how much I want to make love to you. Isn’t that similar to what you were thinking? I can tell, Holly. You’ve been entertaining thoughts of us in bed just as I have.”

  Her mouth was dry, the base of her spine tingling, but she managed to arch a brow at him. “How can you tell?”

  “Haven’t you?”

  There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his tone. Even burning for him as she was, Holly couldn’t resist goading him: “Guess.”

  He laughed, a low, sexy laugh deep in the back of his throat. “I don’t have to guess—I can find out for myself.”

  She was laughing herself when he caught one arm around her and pulled her on top of him as he fell backward, landing softly on the rug. Holly’s laughter died in her throat as she drew in a breath at the sensual impact of his solid body under hers.

  “Discover anything?” she teased.

  “Not enough,” he murmured, “not nearly enough.”

  He gave her no time to revel in the strength and hardness of him. He rolled over, and this time she was the one on the bottom, with him on top. She felt the weight of him, yearned to move under him, rhythmically, primitively.

  The orange light of the fire glowed on his face. “Are you going to admit you’ve fantasized about sleeping with me?”

  Holly grinned at him, feeling slightly breathless, and warm ... very warm. “Why should 11”

  “Because I’ll kiss you until you do.”

  “Ah, sweet torture. Come right ahead.”

  “Holly.”

  “I admit it, I admit it. But kiss me anyway.”

  “Ever since you crashed through my ceiling,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers, “I’ve imagined you here, right where you are now.”

  His mouth covered hers in a blast of heat, his tongue tracing her teeth as she opened her lips. She could feel herself melting into the floor, wanting him. Still deepening their kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, he raised himself up slightly off her chest and slipped his hands under her sweater. Her turtleneck was tucked in nice and tight. He moved his palms up the smooth cotton fabric, until his thumbs were under her breasts.

  “I think my feet are on fire,” she said. She threw her hands up around his neck and threaded her fingers into his thick hair.

  He laughed, nibbling on her chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that line before. How’s the rest of you?”

  “Burning, but not in the same way. I’m serious, Julian.” She raised her head about half a foot, still hanging on to his neck, and nodded in the direction of her feet, just inches from the burning log. “Look—my socks are going to burst into flame any second.”

  Julian glanced behind him. “They are
a bit close to the fire, aren’t they? But I thought that’s how you liked it, your feet to a hot fire, ready and willing to face whatever challenge lies ahead. You like living on the edge, don’t you?”

  “I’d hardly call a storyteller’s life living on the edge, although I admit I do yearn for the occasional adventure. What about you? Working in a sawmill can provide a certain edge to life—no pun intended—and buying a house in as bad a shape as the Danvers House has its risks. And living out here in the woods like a wolf. Does Mill Brook give you all the edge you need in your life?”

  “Maybe not,” he said, returning his gaze to her, his eyes lost in the shadows, “but it’s where I belong.”

  She nodded, suddenly envious. “What a nice feeling that must be, to belong somewhere. Julian, we’d better stop.” She dropped her hands back down and tried sitting up, but he didn’t budge. “Really. This isn’t going to get us anywhere but into trouble.”

  “We’re adults, Holly. Tell me,” he said, not teasing now, “do you want us to stop?”

  “Do you?”

  “I know I don’t want you leaving Mill Brook without us taking the chance to find out what we could be together. Is that what you want?”

  Again he brought his mouth down close to hers, his hard, warm body nestled into hers. He just looked at her, waiting. She could smell the damp fabric of his shirt, and placed her palms on his upper arms, exulting in the knots of muscle there. She knew she’d made her choice when she’d agreed to spend the week at his isolated house in the woods. With her fingers extended, she slowly brought her hands along his shoulders to his nape and she clasped her fingers. She met his gaze without hesitation or self-consciousness. “No,” she whispered, gently pulling his mouth to hers, “I don’t want that at all.”

  They could hear the fire crackle from up in the loft. ‘The wolf’s lair in the deep dark forest,” Holly said, smiling.

  Julian laughed. “I sharpen my claws every morning before getting out of bed.”

  “I believe it. And your teeth?”

  ‘They don’t need sharpening.” His voice was low as he slid his arms around her waist and brought his mouth to hers, teasing her with a feathery kiss. “As you’ll discover.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He brought his mouth to hers once more in a hungry, passionate kiss that sent waves of longing undulating through her. She parted her lips immediately, searching for his tongue with hers, moaning with pleasure when she found it. He untucked her shirt and slipped his warm hands underneath, sliding them up her bare skin. She shuddered with excitement.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured, inhaling deeply when he found her breasts.

  Slowly, indulging himself and her, he circled each nipple with his thumbs, turning them into hard buds under the filmy fabric of her bra.

  “I don’t think I can stand this,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No... never...”

  He pulled her sweater and turtleneck higher, up to her neck, and she groaned with impatience, peeling them off. She flung them onto the floor. Her hair was wild and filled with static, but Julian didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was riveted on her near-naked torso. She could feel her excitement building, just having his eyes on her.

  She started to unclasp her bra, but he stopped her. “Let me,” he suggested hoarsely, finishing the job himself with trembling fingers. He dropped her bra on the floor. His eyes never left her.

  She smiled, moving closer to him. “You have the sexiest voice. Even when you were yelling at the Danvers House and trying to scare an innocent trespasser—”

  “Innocent and you are two things that just don’t go together.”

  “Is that so?”

  “So you thought I had a sexy voice while you were cowering up in the bedroom with your crowbar.”

  “Mmm. I thought it sounded delicious. I just wanted to gobble it up.”

  He laughed. “Who’s the wolf now...”

  His voice trailed off, his eyes clouding with bridled longing, and Holly shuddered, tingling all over with desire. The time for chitchat had passed. She opened her palms on his waist, her fingers splayed on the hard flesh of his back, and pressed herself against the soft, worn fabric of his shirt. She could feel the solid muscles of his chest against her breasts, could feel herself responding, aching for more of him.

  They kissed again, deeply.

  “You’re getting goose bumps.” he said, sliding his palms up her bare arms.

  “I’m not sure they’re goose bumps, but—”

  “There are flannel sheets on my bed.”

  “But no electric blanket.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need one.”

  She brushed one finger across his chin. “I can’t imagine we would. By the way... are you prepared for this? I’ve got the proper equipment in my van—”

  He arched a brow. “Equipment? Sweetheart, I can’t tell you how ominous that sounds to a man about to make love with a woman.”

  With, she thought, not simply to. “Well, you know.”

  “I guess I do, but we’re all set. No need to go out into a nor’easter if we don’t have to.’”

  Standing back from him even a few inches, she shivered in the cool temperature of the bedroom. He was right. She was getting goose bumps. She quickly pulled back the blankets and scooted between the flannel sheets, then pulled the covers up to her chin. In just seconds she had the rest of her clothes off and pitched them out onto the floor.

  Julian had pulled off his shirt and was working on his pants. His arms and shoulders and abdomen were just as lean and muscular as she’d expected. Inhaling, holding back the waves, she imagined running her hands through the dark hairs on his chest.

  “The cold doesn’t seem to bother you,” she pointed out, hearing a husky quality to her own voice.

  He grinned at her as he stepped out of his pants; she could see the knots of muscle in his thighs and calves, a jagged scar across the top of one knee. ‘‘Maybe I’m just looking forward to the process of warming up.”

  In one swift movement, he removed his underpants.

  “I guess you are.” she replied.

  He laughed. “Some things tell no lies.”

  She shoved over, making room, and he eased under the covers beside her. Already she could feel the heat of his body. When he touched her, his hands were only slightly cooler than they had been, and she rolled onto her back as he rubbed her sides from her hips to her breasts, as though just warming up.

  “You’re making me hot,” she said.

  He moved on top of her. “Is that good?”

  She wriggled under him, feeling his maleness pressing against her, and draped her arms over his shoulders. “It’s wonderful.”

  His skin was sleek and hard as she ran her palms across his shoulder and down his arm. She exulted in the sound of his soft moan of pleasure when she dropped her hands to his hips, cupped the curve of his buttocks.

  “You can’t begin to know what you’re doing to me,” he said, his voice raspy, and dropped his mouth to hers.

  Their kiss was hot and wet and hungry, and it went on and on, even as he lowered the length of his body onto hers... even as he slipped his hands under her buttocks and pressed himself erotically against her. She ached for him, knew she’d never have enough of him. He trailed wild kisses down her throat, searing a path to her breasts, where, slowly and exquisitely, he took the tip of one pink nipple into his mouth. He teased it with his teeth and tongue, sending tremors of desire all through her.

  The primitive, rhythmic motion of his hips, his maleness, against her never stopped, never abated.

  “Julian...”

  “I know, darling, I know...”

  In just a few efficient seconds he dealt with the matter of protection. Then he smoothed her hair with one hand and held her eyes with his, until at last he entered her, cautiously at first, slowly. She shut her eyes, co
uld sense the passion, the thrill of her pleasure, on her face. He had to see it as well. She pressed her hips up into his, drawing him deeper into her, and he responded with a deep, hard thrust that made her head spin with ecstasy.

  It went on like that for a long time, time without measure, absorbed in each other, giving pleasure, receiving, joining hearts and souls in a union beyond the physical. She remembered that they had to kick off the blankets; they were getting too hot under them. Remembered feeling the cool air on her, refreshing now, almost erotic. Remembered thrust after thrust after thrust as she cried out with the energy and joy and sheer beauty of her release, and again more thrusts, more cries, as he joined her in a place where neither had been before, not like that, not with that sense of completion and perfection.

  She remembered everything, afterward in the silence.

  Julian drew her close to him, seemed to know words weren’t necessary, not now. Downstairs the fire crackled, and she could hear the dogs sigh, as if they approved. And she thought, feeling drowsy and satiated, I belong here... somehow.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday evening before Holly Wingate Paynter’s scheduled appearance at the Mill Brook Historical Society fund-raiser, Julian had dinner alone at his favorite local diner. He ordered the dinner special, homemade chicken potpie. Holly was off with Beth putting the finishing touches on her plans for her performance. They’d become fast friends over the past week, his sister and his lover.

  He winced. My lover...

  They had had an extraordinary five days together. Monday afternoon after the blizzard, she had sat beside him in the truck while he plowed his driveway. He expected she’d eventually recreate the experience in some fanciful way for one of her stories; she’d asked enough questions about what he was doing. Then Abby and David had showed up with their sleds, and Holly had been forced to admit to the two kids that she’d never been sledding. They fixed that in no time. Julian could still see her wide-eyed look of delight and terror as they piled onto the toboggan and went screeching down the snow-covered path to the brook, coming to a crooked stop at the water’s edge.