Chapter 18

Penelope

The storm lasted five full days, but it left us buried up to our necks in the cabin for almost two weeks. Thankfully, the place had been stocked with supplies and different ways to entertain ourselves before we arrived. But that didn’t stop the elation I felt when Damien said enough snow had melted and suggested a short outing to stretch our legs.

I have on the jacket he bought me in Denver, but the rest of the cold gear I’m wearing is too large for me, obviously meant for someone else. It keeps the cold out, which is what matters most. We trudge across the white powder, taking in the picturesque sight around us. The sun is bright against the winter snow, and I’m greatful Damien insisted on sunglasses before we left the house.

I’ve never experienced snow before, and while I found the cold temperatures difficult to adjust to, I’ve enjoyed every moment of our time outside.

After an hour or so, I’m ready to call it a day, though, and head back to the warmth of our temporary home. Damien, however, looks like he belongs here amongst the frozen ground, and I find solace in his infinite knowledge of the weather and how to survive its harshness. I can’t help wondering if he grew up in a place like this but say nothing to him about my thoughts because I don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Are you ready to head back?” he asks before he turns around to face me. I nod vigorously, trying desperately to hide the cold chatter of my teeth, but I fail. His bright smile wavers when he sees the tension in my face. He sees how cold I am. Even with the warmth of the sun bearing down on us, I can feel the freezing temperature deep in my bones. He reaches for me and pulls my hat further down onto my head. “Why didn’t you say you were cold?”

“Y-you’re enjoying yourself. I d-didn’t want to r-ruin that for you.” I smile, no longer hiding the chatter of my teeth from him. “I’m not used to cold weather.”

“I’m sorry, Penny, I forgot. Let’s get you home where it’s warm.” He grasps my thickly gloved hand, pulls me in close to his side, and turns us around. I already feel warmer with him pressed against me. I ignore the way my heart skips a beat at his concern for my well-being

We follow the pathway carved out by our earlier footprints, carefully making our way back to the cabin. Neither of us speaks; the only sound we hear is the echo of our feet crunching in the snow as we go.

*****

Later in the evening, after a long, hot shower, I curl up in front of the fireplace under the thickest blanket I can find and wait for Damien to finish making dinner. It is my night to cook, but after I returned to the cabin as a frozen popsicle, he insisted I jump in the shower to warm up. I was too cold to argue.

I tug at the short length of my pajama bottoms, wishing for the thousandth time I was better prepared for the weather. Not that it would have mattered. It’s not like I knew where we were going. We packed whatever we could get our hands on. My wardrobe was planned for desert living, and it lacked the items needed to protect me from the freezing Alaskan temperatures.

“What do you want to watch tonight?” Damien asks, stirring the sizzling pan in front of him.

“It’s your night to pick,” I respond, trying to ignore the fact that he’s only wearing sweatpants and thick wool socks. From my spot on the couch, I have a perfect view of his back and the artwork that covers it. He turns to face me, and I catch a glimpse of the name peeking out from the underside of his left arm.

Starla.

I’ve been with Damien for a brief period, and though he rarely gets personal about his life before his undercover job, he’s never mentioned anyone by that name. Whoever she is, I can’t help wondering if she’s held his heart once. She must be important to him. Why else would he tattoo her name on his body?

I want to ask him about it, but I don’t. It’s been difficult to get him to open up. Every time I ask him a personal question, he shuts down and builds a wall, cutting me out completely. The last thing I want to do is ruin the day; it’s been surprisingly good.

There is a lot of mystery about the man I’ve called my husband for the last two weeks. While everything about our relationship has been untraditional, I can honestly say I know more about the man he called Tony than the one called Damien. I took a chance with Damien, trusting him more easily than I did Tony. I took a bigger chance marrying him. And yet, despite not knowing him, I would make the same choices given the chance for something different.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he chuckles over his shoulder, teasing me because he knows I’m always hungry.

“Har, har, you’re so funny.” I smile and run my fingers through my damp hair. “What masterpiece have you whipped up for us tonight?”

“Chicken stir-fry and the rest of the fresh veggies. We’ll have to make a trip into town tomorrow if the roads are clear by then.” He takes the pan off the stove top and begins dishing out the plates.

“Sounds delicious.” I tuck my knees under my chin, ignoring the growl of my stomach. I’m not sure what stir-fry is, but it smells amazing.

“I only hope you enjoy it. It’s a borrowed recipe,” he admits, and just like that, my mind goes back to the name tattooed on his skin.

Starla.

Is it her recipe?

Before I can gather the nerve to ask, he picks up the steaming plates of food and carries them into the living area. I unfold my legs, and he holds out one of the plates to me. My stomach growls again, louder, though, as my eyes feast on the meal he’s presenting me with.

“This looks amazing.” I eagerly accept the plate of food, carefully placing it down on the coffee table in front of me. We’ve been informal during meal times, unlike the fews days we spent together on the compound. The only meal we don’t eat while sitting on the couch is breakfast; even then, we sit at the breakfast bar instead of the three-piece dining set tucked neatly against the wall.

“Bon appetite,” he chuckles and sits down beside me.

After debating our movie choices and inhaling two plates of dinner, we spend the rest of the night occasionally flirting with one another and laughing ourselves to pieces. He leans back against the couch with his feet propped up on the table, looking completely relaxed. My long legs are once again tucked under my chin, and my eyes are on my toes. I feel his gaze on me. He takes a deep breath, shifting closer to me.

“I’m glad we met,” he whispers before closing his eyes. He’s exhausted, and it’s not from our brief outing today. I know he hasn’t been sleeping. He thinks he’s good at hiding it from me, but the signs are all over his face. He’s worried about what happened in Vegas, and it’s keeping him from letting his guard down. I’m not sure why. The FBI said everyone was accounted for. His behavior has me concerned we aren’t completely out of the woods yet.

“You are?” I let go of my legs to shift my body closer to him and lean in to allow my head to rest on his shoulder. His long, lean fingers brush against my thigh, tracing various lines and shapes against the bare skin. His touch sends a shock of electricity through me, and I swallow hard. It’s the same feeling I felt when he kissed me two weeks ago, sealing the wedding vows we pledged to one another. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, and I barely manage to control my breathing.

Keep calm, Penny, I tell myself.

“Of all the scenarios I planned for, you were the biggest surprise.” I close my eyes, unsure if his words are meant as a compliment or a complaint. “I hate that you had to go through all that you did to get here—”

“I don’t want to talk about that, please,” I beg and feel the bile rise in the back of my throat, killing the warmth I was feeling. The memories of the last few months begin to surface. I do my best to push them down. “It’s over now. There is no reason to bring it up.”

“You saved me, Penny.” His hand finds mine, and he instantly laces our fingers together. I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going. “I know you’re going to tell me that’s not true. That I’m the one who saved you. But I’m telling you the truth. The morning before we met, I didn’t think I would make it out in one piece when we made our move to take Charles and Armando down.”

“Damien—” I tense beside him, but he squeezes my hand, urging me to let him finish.

“It took nine months to get what I needed to take them down, but during that time, the things I witnessed, the darkness of it all, I didn’t know how I could come back from all of that. Then you walked into that room, and the moment our eyes met, it was like the world shifted under my feet and I had a reason to make it out alive.” He stares down at our connection, his brow puckered into a frown.

“Damien, please,” I beg, not sure what I’m asking for but needing to close the distance between us. I lean further into him, letting him wrap his arm around my shoulder. I feel like I can’t breathe without touching him and lift my face to nuzzle his neck.

His scent fills my nose, intoxicating me, and the temptation to taste his skin is too much. My mouth touches his neck, and my tongue darts out to run along a corded line. The flavor of his skin bursts across my tongue, and I moan throatily. He tastes salty, manly, intoxicating. It’s a taste I could become addicted to, but one taste isn’t going to be enough. I open my mouth again, this time placing a hungry kiss on his skin, swirling my tongue across it.

He gasps and pulls back, grasping my shoulders with his hands. He’s shocked, and when he looks at me, I expect to see anger burning in his eyes. But it isn’t anger I see. There is something else there, something unfamiliar to me. Whatever it is makes my body tingle in all the right places.

“Damien…” His name is on my lips, but if I’m honest, I wish it were more of his skin. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, searching for any remaining trace of him, addicted to the taste of him already. He watches me attentively, and his brow crinkles with frustration.

His eyes are glued to my mouth, and I know he’s thinking about the only kiss we’ve shared. I wonder if he felt this pull between us then, too.

He leans forward slowly, and right as I think he’s going to close the distance completely and kiss me, he pulls back.

“We can’t,” he decides, but the sound of his strangled voice tells me he’s as affected by the moment as I am. If not more.

“Damien—”

“You don’t want me.” He shakes his head and moves away.

“Yes, I do,” I argue.

“Penny, I’m not the man for you.”

“You’re my husband—”

“And as soon as I can remedy that, I will.” His words are like a slap to the face, and I can’t help flinching. Whether he notices how they hurt me, I’ll never know, because he isn’t looking at me. “I can’t give you the life you deserve, and because of this, our marriage will remain what we intended it to be.”

“You’ve given me everything already, don’t you see?”

“No, I’ve only given you my name and the protection that goes along with it.”

“What if I want more?”

“It would be a mistake.” He takes a breath. “It’s late. You should probably get to bed.”

My heart cracks a little. His words make me feel like a child being told to go to bed, but before I open my mouth and say something I know I will regret later, I unfold myself from the spot on the couch and walk into the bedroom. Yes, I know I’m giving in too easily, but I have no other choice.

There is something between us. Something he is blatantly ignoring. Something I want to explore more of. But I know if I push too hard right now, I won’t be able to handle his rejection. This is going to turn into a battle with him, and if I plan on fighting it, I need to figure out what exactly it is I want from him.

I slump down onto the bed and close my eyes, ignoring the little voice in the back of my head telling me I already know what I want from him.

I want it all.

I want the happily ever after.

And I want it with him.