Chapter Twelve
They’d made it to the cabin in about two hours, and that entire time as the driver took them out of the city and toward isolation, all Freya did was lean against Elijah. But Elijah had loved it, loved that she curled into him, loved that he could wrap his arm around her and just hold her.
They now stood in the center of the cabin, their bags on the ground, fire already roaring, and both of them staring at each other.
“Does it scare you that I said I love you?” he asked, not sure how she would react to him mentioning it again. She hadn’t said anything about it on the ride up here, and a part of him worried about that.
She didn’t answer right away, and instead moved over to the fire. For several seconds she watched the flames move along the logs, the gown she wore seeming almost black in color because of the shadows. Finally she turned and faced him. “No, it doesn’t scare me, Elijah, because I am falling in love with you.”
His heart started beating fast and hard, and all he wanted to do was be with her in every fucking way conceivable. This entire situation was confusing, he admitted that, but Elijah wasn’t going to turn his back on how he felt, or what he wanted with Freya. He could see them together, her by his side, and he wanted that, desperately. That was what scared him the most, the intensity with which he wanted this woman.
Elijah was done being alone, done with the random women that couldn’t fill the void in his heart. Maybe a part of him had separated when he left Meghan, a part that didn’t think he could ever be happy. The truth was his ex-wife hadn’t made him feel this kind of pleasure deep in his soul, not the way Freya did. She was everything to him, he knew that with every part of him, and he was going to make sure she knew that, too.
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“Come here, Freya.” His voice was low, hoarse, and there was a touch of dominance in it.
He might have been a kind of stepparent—sort of—to her all those years ago, but really she never saw him as that. He’d lived in the house she did, ate breakfast at the same table she did, but she didn’t see him as this parental figure, as this father figure. Maybe a part of her would have liked to, but only because she’d been missing her own dad so much. But even if at some point, at some level she kind of felt as if this was wrong, a little taboo, and most definitely tested given their background, she couldn’t lie and say that she hadn’t always felt safe around Elijah.
But after they’d left the event she’d just leaned against him, let him hold her, and it had felt so right. Being with him felt right. Freya didn’t want to let that go, didn’t want to lose that.
He was so much older than she was, so much wiser, more experienced. He didn’t look at her as this teenager anymore, as this damaged girl. He was looking at her like he wanted to see her naked, like he wanted to devour her whole. And God, did she want that, especially right now.
All she could think about was him telling Meghan he loved her. And then she’d admitted she was falling in love with him, too. Each day those feelings became stronger, harder to try to ignore.
“Come here.”
All she could focus on was the way his mouth moved as he said those two words.
She licked her lips and moved that last bit of space it took to almost have their chests brushing together.
This is crazy.
But it feels so good.
He reached out and cupped her waist with one hand, and covered one side of her face with the other. The scent of him was intense, intoxicating. He wore the tux still, and damn did he make it look good. His short dark hair was styled like he was ready to tackle the boardroom, and the scent of him, good God, the scent of him, that mixture of cologne and masculinity absolutely drove her insane with lust.
He held her cheek in a tight, almost painful grip. It was like he was afraid she would turn and leave. But she had no intentions of doing that, not when she felt this life move through her when he touched her.
“I love you,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
She swallowed, her heart beating hard and almost painfully in her chest. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
He brushed the pad of his thumb along her cheek.
Back and forth, back and forth.
All Elijah did was look into her eyes. God, his eyes were so green, so clear. She felt herself falling into them, getting lost in the color, in the deepness of them. Freya felt herself leaning forward, felt his warm and sweet wine smelling breath brush along her lips.
Here she was, standing in this elegant evening gown, wanting the damn thing ripped off of her. They were in this gorgeous cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, and alone. And right now, to her, this felt good, this felt right. She didn’t want to stop this, didn’t care that he used to be her family, technically, or that he was over a decade older than she was.
Freya didn’t care that if her father was still alive he might look down on her doing something like this. But as soon as that thought passed through her mind she knew her father would never have looked down on anything she did. He’d always been so supportive, so understanding. And he would have been of this, too, as long as she was happy.
Freya didn’t know if Elijah would kiss her, but she wanted him to, desperately. She saw the way he kept looking at her lips, felt the way he kept stroking her cheek with his thumb. When he leaned in she thought he’d kiss her, and end this torment of arousal and need she had burning inside of her, but he didn’t.
Instead he moved the hand that held her face to the back of her head. He tunneled his fingers into her hair, tightened his hold on the strands until the pain mixed with her already climbing and repressed pleasure, and then broke free into this explosive tingling sensation along her entire body.
“A part of me sees this as wrong on some level,” he murmured, staring at her lips. “But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop, Freya. I love you, so fucking much, and I won’t deny it.”
She breathed out harshly.
“I just want to get lost in you, to forget about that time we lived in the same house, and dealt with a woman that wasn’t meant to be in our lives.”
She licked her lips, knowing he was right, and not caring or wanting to stop either.
“You have no idea how much I want you right now, how I felt when I first saw you after all these years.”
She held her breath, looked into his green eyes, and felt her heart skip a beat.
“I felt like I was looking into something I’d been missing, if that even makes sense.”
She nodded. “It makes perfect sense, Elijah.” She’d felt this recognition and electricity move through her when she’d seen him, a feeling of comfort that had nothing to do with already knowing him. He’d been in a suit, looking so good, so smart and sophisticated. He’d looked so powerful and controlled, and something in her had woken up. It had been uncomfortable, but also pleasing, in a way.
His lips were so close to hers that if he just leaned forward that last couple of inches that separated them they’d be kissing. Freya felt desperate for him.
“I want to kiss you,” he said in a low, deep voice, “and although I’ve kissed you many times already, I feel like I should go slow.”
“I don’t want slow, not anymore,” she said right after he spoke. It was like neither seemed to breathe in that moment.
She closed her eyes, a gust of stuttering air leaving her. God, she didn’t think she’d even been this aroused. She felt like she’d combust right now in front of Elijah.
Her heart was thundering, and she swore her wetness soaked clean through her panties. He was so much bigger than her five-foot-four height, nearly a whole foot taller it seemed. His muscles were also so pronounced, so defined.
“You haven’t kissed me yet.” Although she wasn’t talking about in general, but right now it felt like she’d never kissed him before. That’s how much she wanted him. She felt how hard he was for her, how aroused.
“I haven’t.” He stared in her eyes.
She swallowed. “I want you to, right now. I want to be with you,” she whispered.
“I won’t stop until you’re mine irrevocably, Freya.”
Oh. My. God.
She wanted to tell him she wanted him to cross that line, too, but the words lodged in her throat. Freya found that nerve, grabbed onto it, and just spoke out. “I want you, Elijah.”
“Christ.” And then he had his mouth on hers and his tongue speared between her lips.
She wasn’t kissing a man that had once been married to her stepmother, or a man so much older than she was. She was kissing a man that wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She was kissing Elijah, the man she loved.
He slid his hands down her shoulders, over her arms, and gripped her waist tightly. And then he was walking them backward until she felt the cold, hard wall greeted her, and the heat from the fire right beside them moving through her clothing.
He hadn’t broken the kiss, and the deep rumbles that left him had her inner muscles clenching almost painfully. He opened his mouth wider and deepened the kiss, and then moved his hands down her thighs, grabbed the dress, and bunched it in his fists. He started to slowly lift it up, but he stopped far too soon.
“Tell me you want this, that this is okay and I’m not going too fast.” He murmured against her mouth, and all she could do was nod. “I need you to tell me, Freya.” He sounded pained as he murmured against her lips, but also frantic with his need.
“I do want this. I want you.”
He started grinding his erection into her belly, and a gasp left her as she let her head fall back against the wall. The crackling of the fire seemed so intense, so powerful. Or maybe her senses were just so attuned right now that everything seemed heightened.
Freya wanted this to go further, so she placed her hands on his pecs and gently pushed him back. He took a stumbled step away from her, his head downcast and his eyes trained right on her. He was breathing so hard his chest was rising and falling fiercely.
For several seconds they stood there, just staring at each other. She didn’t know why she’d pushed him away, or maybe she did. Maybe she’d pushed him away because she wanted to tempt him in a way she’d never tempted a man before? Maybe she wanted to be able to see the product of his desire on his face, and the way he tented his pants because he was so hard for her.
She licked her lips and knew she didn’t want to postpone this, knew she didn’t want anything going slow or being stopped by their thoughts.
“I want you,” he said in a very pained, almost strained voice. “I want this.”
They stood there several more seconds, neither speaking, but the sexual chemistry and electricity bouncing between them. “I want you, too,” she breathed out so softly she wasn’t even sure he had heard her. And then finding her strength, she grabbed the straps of her dress and pushed them off of her shoulders. She was left standing there in nothing but her panties.
Freya was really doing this, and she wasn’t going to stop.