Snow Page 10

  He groaned and his feet thumped on the floor, his arm once more brushing hers. A moment later light shone—he held up his cell phone with the flashlight turned on, swinging it over the room.

  Twice the size of the old motel room but that was it. Old worn couch under the window, fireplace, bed. A kitchenette with a hotplate on a counter by a sink, two chairs and a table. Doors at the back probably led to a bathroom and closet.

  O’Hara started forward, his steps heavy and labored. “Summer cabins. Rented to tourists. No one’s up here during the winter.”

  That was clear now. The mattress was covered in plastic and had no sheets. Dust had gathered on every surface. Probably no electricity either.

  Logs waited to the side of the fireplace, but that wouldn’t do them much good if they didn’t have a way to light them. “Do you have any matches?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  Sure enough, he shook his head, but instead headed past the fireplace and bed toward the bathroom. “They might have supplies of some kind here.”

  She wished they could’ve split up to look but in the glow of the flashlight, O’Hara was looking pretty pale. It wouldn’t be right to leave him even if she could. “You’re hurt. You need medical care.”

  “Priority is heat.”

  In that, she could agree.

  The bathroom was tiny, just a toilet and shower—not even a tub—and a small rickety cupboard below the sink. Within it was a box with items that rattled when O’Hara lifted it. He settled the box in her arms without opening it, then went for the linen closet. Vacuum-sealed plastic bags with bedding, thank God—he grabbed one of those as well, and they hobbled back to the main part of the room.

  They crouched by the fireplace and Liliana immediately pulled open the box to rifle through the contents. A box of first aid supplies—she set that aside. Some toiletries, little samples of soap and toothpaste. A comb. Hair elastics. Three tampons. Condom. Broken toothbrush. A button. Q-Tips that looked dirty. Like someone had swiped all the random items around the bathroom into one box at the end of the season.

  There at the bottom waited matches and Liliana heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  They moved some logs into the fireplace and rolled up dusty newspaper left in a pile nearby. Her fingers barely obeyed her and it took three tries but eventually she got a match lift and held her breath as she leaned forward to light the paper.

  It caught, orange flames dancing wildly and reaching for the wood.

  Liliana sat back on her heels, shoulder sagging and head tipping forward. God, she was exhausted. Her skin started to thaw and with it came the sting of the heat. All she wanted was to curl up by the fire and sleep.

  Miles to go and all that. She drew herself up again. “Let me look at your arm.”

  “It’s—”

  “It’s not fine, c’mon.” Her knees creaked as she unfolded herself and got standing again. O’Hara took an extra moment as well but he stood too, lifting the box of meager supplies with him. She grasped the edge of the sealed bag of blankets and they moved toward the bed. Tore off the plastic protecting the mattress, opened the one holding the blankets, and emptied bedding onto the bed.

  She sat, kicked off her soaked shoes and socks. Her shirt was damp but the cotton would dry—not so with her jeans. She unbuttoned those and worked the rough, soaked denim down. It rolled off of her legs and she kicked it away. Fresh goose bumps rose on her bare legs, her skin wrinkly from the prolonged exposure to the wet fabric against her skin. Warmth slowly spread through the room as the fire picked up and orange light flickered, tossing long shadows over the space.

  O’Hara sat as well, still moving stiffly. His eyelids looked heavy and while Liliana didn’t have medical training, she was pretty sure it was a bad sign.

  “Hey, hey. Stay awake. If you pass out, I’ll have dead weight to drag, and I’m not strong enough.” She pulled the first aid supplies from the box while he moved sluggishly to slide off his shoes. She glanced at his jeans, where the built up snow had melted and stained them dark. They could wait, though—his immediate injuries were her concern. The shirt was caked with blood, all up and down his right arm, and the fabric was stiff from the cold. She leaned over his back, the chain of the handcuffs jangling between them, as she plucked at the shirt. “Take it off. Is the plumbing running? To wash it out?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She suspected the water worked just fine, he simply didn’t want to move. And she hardly blamed him. But he’d been hurt because of her. Trying to protect her, breaking a window he’d previously secured to keep her from running like an idiot.

  Liliana popped open the buttons of his shirt, eased the stiff fabric down from his shoulders and off his free arm. Blood stained his skin and she couldn’t see how bad the gash was without properly cleaning it, especially in the low light.

  “You need to was this out—”

  “I’m fine.”

  She huddled there at his side, staring over his back, frustrated tears rising in her eyes. All her fault. A fucking psycho was after them and she’d managed to make things about a hundred times worse, and now he’d lost all kinds of blood and God knows what had infected the wound.

  “Leave it alone, it’s fine,” he said, his voice holding more a bite than it had. “Let’s just...rest. For a bit.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she tried not to sniffle or outwardly cry, just pulled out the pack of gauze and some saline solution. Cleaning the wound gave her something to do, something to focus on, so she didn’t feel so helpless. Any moment the Huntsman could burst through that door and kill them both and it was all her fault.

  “I shouldn’t have gone to the police,” she whispered. “I wasn’t even supposed to work late that night and then...I knew better, knew I couldn’t help Polly, knew nothing would come from trying to get help.” She ran the saline water-soaked gauze over his arm, dabbing where she thought the wound was under the blood, trying to keep the tremor from her hands and her voice. And failing. “Nothing good comes from doing the right thing. And you...you wouldn’t be in this mess either.”

  “I’ve been in worse.”

  She highly doubted that. More words tried to tumble forth but she pushed them back, swallowed, trying to focus on her task despite the tears blurring her vision and shadows making it hard to see. She got a fresh gauze pad fixed over the wound. Her fingers skimmed his bare back, skin smooth and stretched over carved muscle. So much strength, both inside and out, just to get them as far as they’d gotten.

  And it wouldn’t be enough. The Huntsman would catch up to them and O’Hara was stuck by her side, literally, until the fatal moment happened.

  The mattress dipped under her knees as she shifted around again, sat back on the edge of the bed, her shoulders turning inward. She tried not to cry, tried to keep it together, but the adrenaline that had gotten her to the cabin that night was dissipating and simply left bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. Christ, they’d been shot at. That bullet whizzed right past them. If O’Hara hadn’t acted so quickly, they’d be dead.

  And she didn’t want to die. She could be fatalistic and smart-assed about everything, but truthfully, she was scared to die. She didn’t know what she actually wanted to do with her life, had no grand plans, but she just knew she wanted time to find out.

  “It’s okay.” O’Hara was at her side, working one of the blankets around her shoulders, running his free hand up and down her arm to help warm her. “You’ve been through a trauma. Your body is crashing. This is normal. It’s okay.”

  The tears fell freely and she shook her head, knowing maybe he was right but that wasn’t it entirely. This wasn’t just a physical response to the terror of the night, it was pent up fear she’d tried to repress for too long, and now it wouldn’t get away.

  “It’s not okay,” she whispered, head bowed. “It’s never going to be okay. I’m sorry I made this so difficult. I’m sorry—”

  “It’s okay.” His voice was quiet but firm.
Certain. Hands came up to rub her shoulders, keeping her tucked in that blanket. “We’ll get through this. We’re safe now. This is my job, and I promise you, you are going to be fine. There is me and six others entirely dedicated to keeping you safe—they’re waiting to help us, at my word. Seven of us, at your disposal. I will get us out of here. I will put you somewhere no one will find you. It’ll be okay, Liliana.”

  She met his eyes, found them just as firm and certain as ever, willing her to believe him. Her pulse beat hard, loudly, slamming against her ribs, her throat, her ears. His hands were reassuring, warming her and promising her safety even more than his words had as he kept a hold of her shoulders.

  Liliana leaned forward, just a few inches. More than anything in that moment, she longed for him—longed to lose herself in him, to find the only comfort that seemed to exist in her world anymore. Her nose brushed his, that tiny bit of contact making her tremble. She searched his eyes, found them icy and closed off, and his hands had stilled on her shoulders.

  She could back off and apologize. Blame it on the trauma. He’d let that pass, she was sure.

  But she gently glided her trembling lips over his. Just lightly. Just a taste, a question she hoped he’d answer. Kissed the corner of his lips, raised her eyes again to his. Please.

  He watched her, that same steady stare that was near indecipherable to her. Body completely still. Her gaze remained locked on his as she brushed another feather-light kiss against his mouth, an invitation for more.

  Tense seconds passed and she braced for him to push her away. His fingers tightened on her upper arms.

  Then he pulled her against him and met her lips at last.

  Chapter Ten

  The kiss was firm and rough, devouring, and Liliana opened to it entirely. Yielded and molded against his body, gripped his shoulder as his arm wrapped around the small of her back and pinned her to him. His mouth covered hers hungrily, each passionate probe of his tongue sending fresh shivers through her.

  Any question of what the past few days with her had done to him was answered then, the way he held her firmly, consumed her mouth, each touch making her feel like he never intended to let her go.

  Her back hit the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath her. He was already working her T-shirt up and off her head to hang on her arm as his did, the cuffs preventing full removal. His mouth was on her throat, her chin, teeth grazing and nipping at her skin. She gasped and arched, mumbled his name, her free hand working between them to tear at his belt, push open and down his jeans.

  Before she could reach him, to feel him fully against her palm, he grasped her free hand and thrust it over her head, pinning her down and holding her in place. Eyes on hers, then on her cheeks, her lips, taking in her whole face, heavy breaths heaving his chest and a tremble in his jaw. He looked at her then like he was seeing her for the first time—or allowing himself to really look at her the way he’d wanted to.

  She rolled her hips upward, felt him already rock hard. Her body longed for him, more and more heat building between her thighs.

  “Mike,” she said in a low, breathy whisper, realizing for the first time she’d used his first name.

  He kissed her again, that same intense, consuming touch that she surrendered to entirely. His mouth moved down again, tasting all of her, his tongue sliding over the delicate shell of her ear that left her gasping, biting her jaw, sucking over the pulse in her throat, and lower still to her collarbone.

  “Liliana,” he whispered, her name like a prayer on his lips. He released her wrists again and pulled at her bra, jerking the straps down so her breasts tumbled free.

  The fire had warmed the room but there was enough chill in the air that her aroused nipples pulled tight and hard, hypersensitive when he sucked one into his hot mouth. His cuffed hand grasped her other breast, massaging and squeezing, sending pleasure darting through her entire body.

  It was everything she’d imagined and more, giving her everything she wanted and awakening all she didn’t even know she could feel. She longed to have him everywhere on her, in her, tasting and driving into her. Any vestiges of control he’d had were long gone now.

  Her jeans were already discarded, leaving just her panties, and he grasped those as he continued down her body. Jerked them down her thighs and off, his shoulders moving between her thighs.

  No teasing touch, no light flick of his tongue. Instead like everything she’d encountered from him thus far, he went full on without hesitation. His open mouth descended on her pussy and she bucked against his tongue as it glided up and down her slit. He sucked at her clit and stars danced behind her eyes, her body bowing against the bed as she let out a sobbing cry. She reached for his broad, muscled shoulders between her thighs, grasped him as he licked her. Blood was seeping through the gauze over his cuts and she knew she should say something, to warn him, but she wasn’t sure even that would stop him. So she blocked it out, let go of everything that wasn’t him and her, their bodies moving together at last.

  The firelight danced over his body, highlighting the cut of lean muscle and strength that hadn’t been lessened at all in their race from the motel. He shifted up, abandoning her pussy to press swift, biting kisses along her belly and back to her breasts.

  She arched beneath him again, part of her terrified to break the silence lest it change things, make him remember his previous guardedness and stop touching her, but she couldn’t help herself. “I need you. God, I need you,”

  A growl rumbled his throat in response, then his hands were on her hips, twisting her onto her stomach. He squeezed her flesh, massaged her ass, moved his fingers down to part her thighs. She had one hand braced on the bed to keep her upright on her knees, the other crossed under her from the cuffs still linking them. Her gaze caught the condom among the discarded pile on the bed; he saw it too, grasped it, and moments later the foil tore.

  His cock pressed at her opening, held there a moment, drawing out seconds of anticipation. She was quivering, her pussy soaked and ready, ready to start begging him if he didn’t fuck her soon.

  Then he sank forward, thrusting all the way to the hilt, stretching her.

  Liliana’s groan of pleasure mingled with his. She clenched her pussy, squeezing him, the feeling of fullness falling away to extreme pleasure. He pulled back and then pumped into her again swiftly. The force slammed the bed forward, knocking the brass headboard against the wall. He fucked her with a ferocity his usual stoicism kept hidden, hips slapping into her ass. She reached up with her free hand, managed to grasp one of the brass bars of the headboard for leverage, the mattress against the side of her face only partially muffling her cries. The warmth of his chest pressed down against her back, pushed her into the mattress, his knees spreading her thighs wide so he could drive in even deeper to her. It wasn’t as good as she’d imagined but somehow even better, the sex with him all consuming until every fear and worry left her completely.

  His hand moving between her and the bed, dragging her hand with him, his fingers finding her clit and making pleasure radiate through her body. He bit down on her shoulder, the intensity of feeling him in her, over her, tasting her, fingering her, almost too much to bear. He never broke rhythm, thrusting deeply over and over again.

  The touch on her clit was sending her over the edge. Orgasm hit her, shattering her, and she shrieked with pleasure. Waves of heat blasted through her too intensely, white briefly flickered over her vision and she slumped onto the bed, completely wrung out.

  But O’Hara hadn’t joined her, his thick cock still working. Again he flipped her, and she could do little to help him, just going along when he moved her as the orgasm had drained her of the last of her strength. Once more her back hit the bed and he was over her, his sweat-slicked, muscled body covering hers. His thrusts had grown more erratic, just as deep and hard but telling her he was close. Their faces were inches away, close enough that she could watch his eyes, their shared look somehow penetrating deeper, taking more of her, tha
n his cock did. Her heart surged, warm feeling she didn’t understand rising in her chest.

  “Liliana,” he breathed out, lips brushing hers as he did. His hand ran up her arm, over the cuff that locked him, and pressed his palm to hers, their fingers folding together.

  She drew up the last of her strength to undulate her hips in time with his unrelenting pounding, her feet braced against the mattress. He squeezed her hand, his lips parted, and he came hard with one final, long thrust.

  O’Hara collapsed on her, his full weight pressing into her. She could barely draw a breath but didn’t care, just wrapped her arm around him, her legs too, and held him close. The room’s air chilled their sweat-soaked skin; as if reading her mind, he moved and grasped the heavy blanket and drew it over them, shifting so he was on his side and she was curled up next to him. His panting breaths stirred the hair strewn across her forehead and she pressed her hand to his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat slowing as the moments ticked by.

  The afterglow of climax still ran through her veins, easing the soreness and aches of her body, and she let her eyes drift closed at last and sleep come.

  ****

  It was a terrible mistake.

  A stupid, terrible mistake.

  He told himself this over and over as he stared at the wood-slatted ceiling, listening to her breath, her scent and warmth all over him. He’d slept soundly, at least, and now she did as well. The snow had stopped at some point during the night and dawn was a faint blue streaking through the closed curtains, the promise of real sun on its way.

  Biggest mistake he could’ve made.

  If he kept repeating it, he’d believe it. That was part of how he worked, repeating the same mantras over and over until they were natural and part of what he believed. And he’d need to keep repeating it now because his body was quiet and comfortable, mind at ease at last as well, and it was extremely difficult to deny that this Zen was entirely her doing.