Chapter Thirteen
Liam was really glad he still had the keys in his pocket. Claire was already in the truck, glaring, and he was pretty sure she would have left without him given half a chance. He walked past her without more than a passing glance and hit the little grocery store just up the block from where they’d parked. If she wanted to join him, she could see easily enough where he’d gone. But he remembered that she needed groceries and had no intention of leaving without them, so he’d wing it.
He’d wing it with beer.
He also grabbed a couple bottles of the wine she kept on hand and the ingredients for a double batch of white chicken chili. It was probably the only recipe he knew that wasn’t prepped on a grill. He didn’t know if it went with her wine or not, but if she didn’t want to be seen with him, any lack of a suitable food and wine pairing was her problem. Beer went with everything. At the last minute, he threw an entire display of overpriced ornaments on the conveyor. He paid, then had a hell of a time carrying everything back to the truck, even with the bagger’s help.
Claire didn’t even look up as he loaded the stuff in the back, though he knew she had to have glanced up at least once to see him coming or she wouldn’t have her attention so purposefully pegged to her lap.
He tipped the bag boy and climbed inside. “You want coffee before we go?” he asked as he fired up the truck.
“No,” she muttered. “Yes. Dammit. I’ll be right back.”
She came back a few minutes later carrying two cups. “Here. I asked for plain, boring coffee with a shot of nothing.”
He snorted. “Confused the hell out of the barista, didn’t it?”
She smiled, though obviously against her will. “Actually, it did.”
And just like that, they’d forged a tiny truce. One of which he took full advantage.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything, but in my defense, there’s no way that kid would have made that connection. You’re not the world’s only runaway bride. I mean, a couple years back they put one on billboards across the country. It was a thing before you.”
She sighed, frustration evident. “In my defense, you knew I came here to get away from that.”
“And in mine,” he countered, “he didn’t know shit until you threw that Hot HVAC Guy thing out there.”
“I’m sorry,” she bit out. “Or maybe not, because you had no right to out me. It’s not like I wanted to be that person. I never opted to have my engagements blow up in my face literally right before walking down the aisle. You know what? I own it, and I’m proud of it. I didn’t settle, and I still wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean I need the entire town knowing I’m here. I just want to be…normal.”
“And you can’t be normal with the HVAC guy.” It was more of a profound truth than a statement she needed to address. That particular bit of writing had long been on the wall.
“You and I could never be normal together,” she said, confirming every thought he’d ever had about them. Or at least every argument against.
But that didn’t make him want her any less, which was damned inconvenient. He shot her a quick sideways look. “That’s because you and I are fucking fantastic together.”
“I don’t think we can spend our entire lives fucking.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “I never thought I’d ever hear that word come from your mouth.”
“Yeah, well, you missed a whole bunch of good ones walking back from that sleigh disaster.”
He’d just bet he had. He shifted the truck into gear and looked behind him. The slanted on-street parking didn’t work so well with a big vehicle, which was almost ridiculous because nearly all he saw were big trucks, crammed door handle to door handle in narrow spots better suited for bicycles. Not that parking in New York City was any picnic. Of course, in the city he didn’t usually have to wait for snowmobiles to clear the road, which was a thing on this particular Main Street. He shook his head as a trio passed behind him.
Small towns.
He couldn’t wait to get back to the city.
Once traffic cleared, he eased out of the spot and headed toward the lodge. “So you thought I was hot?”
He was goading her, not really expecting a reply, and not really needing one…especially since hot was a downgrade from her previously stated stupendously hot. But she sure gave him an answer. “Me and half the Internet.”
Well, okay then. “But you actually did?”
He could have sworn she rolled her eyes, but it was hard to tell when he couldn’t take his eyes off the icy road for more than a split second. “No,” she said, “I lied earlier when I said I thought about you. I actually think you’re a troll, but the sex happened anyway.”
“That’s not terribly flattering for either one of us,” he pointed out.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to the city?” An abrupt change of subject, but one that was oddly important to him. Probably because he needed to avoid her.
She sighed. “Eventually. I’m not in any hurry, and my station manager told me to take all the time I needed. That doesn’t bode well.”
They passed a break in the trees along the roadside, giving him a glimpse of the broad side of a mountain with wide white snow-covered lanes streaking it. A ski resort. He waited, but the gut-punch longing to be there instead of almost anywhere else didn’t hit. That disconcerted him. Who the hell would rather be on the tail end of an argument with a woman who posed more complications than possibly anyone else on earth when there were miles of trails right there?
Him.
Apparently him.
He tightened his grip on the wheel when they hit a patch of slush that dragged the tires left. Too bad he couldn’t so easily get a grip on what he felt for her. Or why. “So what if instead he’d told you that you were fired? Claire, you’re fired. What’s your gut reaction to that?”
She remained quiet for a moment, then said, “I feel like I’ve already lost what I loved about that job. I miss the way it was, before I became the story. I’m not sure it’s possible to go back.”
He shrugged, but nothing inside him felt as casual as the gesture should have conveyed. If she stayed out there in the woods, he wouldn’t be so tempted to look her up. Or, at least it wouldn’t be so convenient. But the thought of her having her three hours away didn’t offer the relief it should have. “So,” he said, “maybe you don’t go back.”
“I’m just not sure I want to stay here. I like the city. I just don’t like being known everywhere as the Runaway Bride.”
“Have you put an explanation out there?”
“I don’t need to justify myself or my actions, although that stupid blogger put it all out there.”
“I didn’t mean you needed to justify everything. Just that if you take the mystery out of it, maybe told your story your way, people will lose interest.”
She shot him a look that probably melted snow outside his window. “And where’s the mystery in being Hot HVAC Guy? Because last I heard, you were still making the rounds.”
“It’s dying down,” he said. “A little.”
“See?” She held out her hand, almost slinging coffee on him. Or at least that’s what he imagined, probably due to a hot chocolate flashback. “And can you imagine what would happen if we were ever connected? Even platonically, that would be a nightmare.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that.” At least he hoped she wouldn’t, but the kid with the horse knew, and if this small town was like most, soon everyone would, and she’d hate that. Which pissed him off, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he really liked her, and she didn’t want to be seen with him.
His tone had been unintentionally harsh.
Hers softened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what? There’s not much room for interpretation there.” Dammit. He was mad that he was mad. He wasn’t some asshole with double standards. He was just…confused. And considering how readily he functioned to make sure things stayed uncomplicated, confusion could go fuck itself.
“When will your truck be ready?” she asked. It should have been a welcome change of subject, but it didn’t leave him thinking about her any less.
“They couldn’t tell me anything yet. I’m not even sure what they’re doing other than getting the dents out. I’m going to have to get one of my brothers to pick me up.” He paused. “I can just have him sit in the driveway, as far from all trees as possible, and blow the horn. You know, so we’re not connected, platonically or otherwise.”
Blue eyes flashed irritation. “Could you not be a jerk?”
“Because that was a real dick move, taking you skiing and on a sleigh ride and buying ornaments and not losing my shit when you wrecked my truck.”
Silence followed his outburst. Then, “You bought ornaments?”
He forcibly loosened his grip on the wheel, then had to tense all over again when the slush pulled at the tires. “Yeah, I bought them. I bought all they had. They’re not vintage, but it was the best I could do.”
She didn’t say another damned word. Not then, and not the rest of the way back to the lodge. Maybe she was mad the stupid ornaments didn’t date back to the fifties or whatever era those old ones had come from, but he’d tried. A thank you would have been fantastic.
When he parked at the lodge, he tossed the keys on the middle of the seat and grabbed the groceries. He left the ornaments in the truck and Claire out there with them, not that he was stranding her. She could walk. Unless she’d gotten hurt when the sleigh tipped, but she hadn’t been limping when she got the coffee.
Once inside, he realized the power was out again.
“Hey, Stanley,” he said when he found the raccoon in the kitchen. He kept a relatively wide path around him, but the animal didn’t make his usual racket, so Liam didn’t bother too much with boundaries. He wished the damned window didn’t have to be open all the time, but the latch was broken, and Claire didn’t seem too concerned, so he let it go. Wasn’t his problem. Irritated despite it, he dropped a banana at Stanley’s feet. “Here you go, buddy.”
Putting groceries away in a kitchen that had to be the size of his entire apartment in the city while a raccoon sat quietly observant, peeling and eating a banana, went right up there as some of the weirdest shit ever, but every moment since he’d arrived could belong on that list. Tomorrow he’d hit the basement and check out the furnace. He had the equipment now that he needed to test it. By the day after, he’d be ready to go back to the city.
Back where things were normal.
Feeling domesticated, he finished putting everything away, slid the pocket door closed to keep Stanley in check, and headed back to the front to finish unloading the truck.
But Claire had already done that.
She was standing in the front room surrounded by boxes and…crying?
“What’s wrong?” He really should have grabbed a beer. It wasn’t like they hadn’t stayed cold on the forty-one degree, thirty-two-minute ride back up the mountain. He wasn’t concerned by how much those ornaments had cost, but he sure hadn’t paid the shopkeeper’s rent for the month just to make her cry.
But when she looked at him, his irritation faded. She had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Those eyes were killer, but more than that, it was how gorgeous she was when she wasn’t wearing all that gunk for the camera. Anyone could be made presentable with a painted on face. She blew him away for who she really was, and he wished like hell he knew a way to say that that wouldn’t come across as an insult.
“I don’t trust myself to tell you what I’m feeling,” she said.
More than what she’d laid out for him in the truck? Yeah, that was better left unexamined. “You’re not going after the chainsaw, are you?”
He really didn’t want to know, because she was coming at him with purpose. She put her fingertips on his chest and pushed him backward until he landed on the sofa. She must have uncovered and cleaned it, because the drop cloth was gone, and the leather shone. What she apparently didn’t know, however, was that he’d stolen the fluffy stuff from inside one of the cushions for the fire, so when he hit, he went down all the way. Hard.
She laughed—which was the best possible reaction to his pilfering of her sofa innards—and crawled on top of him, straddled him on her knees, and kissed him. And she meant business. Her hands drove through his hair, holding him, keeping him close, as if she needed to hold on to keep him there.
Not fucking likely.
He didn’t waste any time sliding his hands under her shirt, lifting the fabric until she finally took the hint and let him drag it over her head. Then she turned her full attention back to his mouth, her sweet little tongue tangled with his. It was a fucking injustice that all her bare skin was wasted on his shirt, so he lost that, too, then dove right back in, earlier trepidation forgotten.
The fire hadn’t been touched in the short time since they’d returned, and the embers did little to heat the place. The cavernous room was cold enough to elicit chills from her that he doubted had anything to do with his kisses, but he resisted the urge to close his mouth on her tightly beaded breasts. Instead, he explored with his hands. She arched against him, whimpering against his lips when he skated his palms along her sides, making her shudder. Loving the way she squirmed against him, he pinched her nipples, both of them, both through her bra, both hard. She gasped and slammed against him, dislodging his grip.
Screw that.
As much as he liked her on top of him, he was done waiting. All the damned thinking he’d done, trying to figure this thing out, trying just as hard to shove it aside because in two days it wouldn’t be a thing anymore, flew like the force of an avalanche hit it. Thinking was overrated.
Having good girl Claire Stevens come onto him was more of a turn on than it should have been, all things considered, but he was tired of considerations. She wanted him, and he wanted her, and that was enough.
He fit his hands around her torso and spun her, bare back on a section of the cold leather that still had some cushion inside, and yanked off her pants. Whatever they were, they were stretchy and perfectly formed to her ass. So far he’d counted at least three different pair in various muted colors, and they’d been driving him fucking crazy for days.
He slowed down long enough to grab a condom from the pack he’d just bought and stashed in his jacket, then lost his jeans.
She lay there, chest heaving, bra on. “Take it off,” he said. He half expected her to be coy, but she didn’t hesitate. She had it off in seconds. Last time she’d been naked for him, there’d been blankets and firelight and dancing shadows of darkness. This…this was her, being his. And he didn’t want to take that from her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to miss the view, so he sat next to her and pulled her back into his lap. She was awfully wet for someone who’d been yelling at him thirty minutes ago and whose eyes still shimmered with tears, but he didn’t question it. Just guided her until he was buried, the used his hands to move her back and forth. She arched her back, most likely inadvertently thrusting her breasts in his face, but he grabbed the opportunity. With his teeth.
“Oh, God,” she said when he bit down on one tight nipple.
Yeah, no shit. He switched from his teeth to his tongue, licking, then sucking, driving her back and forth on his lap, the angle evidently the right one to grind against her clit. Way too quickly, her movements became erratic. She grabbed for his shoulder and missed, then she managed to get her hands behind his head, tangled in his hair, dragging his face to her breast. He was rapidly losing the ability to control any of it, but he did manage to thrust hard, throwing some vertical motion in with the grinding.
He held on while she went over, her muscles tight and spasming, skin glistening. He tasted it, gentle kisses, licking and taking tiny bites, letting her catch her breath for several amazing moments before he picked her up and lay her on the sofa, then rolled his hips, pumping so slow and deep, he thought he’d lose his mind. Or maybe he already had. He just knew he couldn’t pound and go this far without hurting her, and he wanted to feel every hot, delectable inch, so he rocked into her; then when he was nice and buried, he ground against her clit, feeling her nails dig in his back and the cold air biting the scrapes.
It was a mind-blowing rhythm, one that had them both panting despite the slow pace, until he slipped over the edge into that mile-deep crevice that left him pulsing so deep inside Claire that he could have sworn he felt another orgasm ripple through her. Hell if he knew. He saw stars or sparkles or something that probably meant he needed medical attention. That and a beautiful woman who looked way too much like she was going to cry again.
He pushed a strand of hair away from her eye. “Please tell me those aren’t tears of regret.”
“No.” She laughed, and then a real tear did fall, and then he kind of felt like hell.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Just maybe my pride.”
“Your pride?”
“Twice now, I thought I was in forever relationships, but no one has ever made love to me like that before. I didn’t even know that existed.”
Frankly, he agreed. Which disturbed him. Sex was sex. That was…more than sex. Something he hadn’t known existed. He’d assumed if he ever fell in love with someone, there’d be some other level, but her calling it making love didn’t make it love. She probably just used that term because fucking wasn’t in her vernacular, at least not until she got mad at him.
He eased out of her, thinking it past time to break that connection. “I’m going to go clean up,” he said. He leaned to kiss her before he walked away, then immediately mentally kicked himself because of how goddamned relationshippy that was.
For once, he was grateful for the cold air, and not because it meant there were slopes to shred. He needed as much distance from that woman’s heat as possible, especially when he went upstairs and noticed they each had clothes spread across the bed. How. Fucking. Cute. He washed up, then pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweat pants, then headed back down stairs.
Claire had tugged on her clothes and was building the fire. He opted to grab a beer. Stanley was gone, so Liam pushed the window shut, fully convinced the critter would open it back up when he was ready. While he was in there, he threw together the ingredients for the chili into a stock pot and carried it into the other room to cook over the fire. Then he went back for the beer and wine and handed her the latter. Already, the fire roared.
“You’re good at starting fires,” he said. “With the proper equipment, I mean.”
Eyes bright, face flushed and gorgeous and happy, she asked, “Is that innuendo, or are you referring to the actual fire?”
Happy. When had that become such a dangerous word? “Pretty sure I mean both,” he said.
He expected her to smile, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Thanks for the wine. That was thoughtful. And for starting dinner. You’re headed into dangerous territory, you know.”
“What might that be?” And why must he keep going there, half flirting with her in an attempt to draw out a confession he didn’t need to hear?
She poked at the fire. Without looking at him, she said, “I might actually start liking you.”
“Good to know we haven’t crossed that bridge yet,” he said dryly. “So what about these ornaments? Are they going on? I know they’re the wrong kind.” And there he was, making excuses when he’d just done something nice.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “That’s why I got so emotional. No one had done anything like this for me since…since I had parents.”
“You’ll always have parents, Claire.”
“I know,” she said, laying the poker on the hearth and wiping her hands on her pants. “But it’s unbelievable lonely when they’re out of reach. It seems like everyone who has ever cared is out of reach. Even you.”
“Considering the number of ways things go wrong when we’re together, that’s probably for the better.” Yeah, whatever. He wasn’t convinced.
“Hey, Liam?”
“Yeah.”
“The day we met. How did you know it was me? I don’t look anything like my television persona when I’m out there. The clothes are gone—”
“Don’t think I don’t notice when clothes are gone.”
She scowled, only it probably didn’t have the intended effect because he’d begun to find it endearing. “And,” she said pointedly, “there’s no makeup department or stylist to make me look presentable.”
Could she really think she was anything less than jaw-dropping gorgeous? He’d never seen bluer eyes, and he knew exactly how those silky blonde strands of hair felt between his fingers. Nothing about her required improvement. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful just like this. So much more beautiful than I’ve ever seen on TV. You’re glowing.”
She blinked. “That’s the fire.”
“It’s not the fire. It’s you.”
“Well, before you knew it was me, how did you know?”
He walked over to her and lightly brushed the trio of freckles at her temple. “This was how,” he said. “You have these three freckles.” They were easier to see now that she wasn’t made up. “I would have known you anywhere, though I bet anyone would. Your eyes are amazing.”
She sighed. “I don’t want my eyes to be amazing. I want to be a normal person. One who can walk down the street without mockery, marriage proposals, and such gems as Hey, baby, you would never run from this.”
Liam immediately wanted to put whoever had said that to her on the ground. Every whoever. But he didn’t want to focus on that. Not then. “Normal is pretty much never going to happen,” he said.
“Thanks for the encouragement,” she said with a glare.
“Not what I meant,” he said, grinning when she frowned. “Sex like that, like what’s between us, isn’t normal. Not by a long shot. Now get over here and help me decorate this tree.”