Snow Bound Page 4

  Shit.

  No way could he leave a woman alone with a stalker peeking in her windows. That meant staying the night. Hell, maybe several nights with his libido roaring full force. And he wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination.

  Him and Miss Priss were about to become a whole lot more than neighbors.

  * * *

  When Damon reentered the kitchen, he took the time to strip off his coat, gloves, hat, and boots. No sense tracking snow inside. Not known for his subtlety, he stalked across the kitchen floor, pausing only long enough to blow out the candle on the butcher-block island.

  He breached the doorway to find Tori kneeling before the fireplace, now wrapped in a soft terrycloth robe. A glance at the window to the left assured him she couldn’t be seen from that window, although he’d known that from his own peekaboo a few minutes before.

  “Let’s go to bed.”

  He’d meant the words to be strong and straightforward. Instead the ache in his gut echoed in his tone. She rose with fluid grace, despite the hands twisting together in the cream-colored material. He bet she had no idea that the firelight framed her golden hair or that the robe was thin enough to give him a shadowy glimpse of her figure beneath. His body kicked in its approval of his plan for tonight.

  “Wouldn’t it be warmer down here?” she asked. Her drawn brows clued him in to her confusion, which made total sense. He’d burst out of here like she had the plague, and now he was proposing they go to bed together… and not just for the warmth. He wasn’t a saint, so he had no intention of laying next to her like a brother all night long. He had much more interesting plans for those hours.

  He’d take care of her, in more ways than one.

  “I’ll funnel the air from the fireplace upstairs,” he said. “But we’ve done all we can for now.” He kept his gaze carefully away from the window as he continued. “I did find some evidence of a visitor outside—“

  “What?”

  “Footprints. If I hadn’t gone out when I did, I might have missed them. The snow is coming down heavier now, covering them up. So while we need to be alert, I’d rather not be in a place where we can be viewed.” He cast a pointed glance at the thin fabric of the curtains.

  She nodded, though it was slow enough to indicate reluctance. No doubt. She’d had enough time for second thoughts, but they wouldn’t last for long. Of that he was sure. Her response spoke volumes.

  God, he was a cold-blooded SOB to stand there plotting this. Though he preferred to think of it as practical, something he knew would fly right out the window the minute he touched her. Better to make plans while he had a brain cell left.

  “Why don’t you head on up and I’ll get things ready down here?”

  “No, I’ll help.” Making the decision seemed to settle her. She retied the belt at her waist, a little tighter this time, then walked over to recheck the locks on the front door.

  Damon banked the fire in the fireplace before turning back to Tori. “Do you have a blanket we can use to cover this doorway?” he asked, gesturing to the double-wide archway into the kitchen.

  She nodded, reaching into a small door under the stairs to pull out a handmade quilt.

  “Are you sure you want to use that? It might get messed up.”

  “No problem,” she said. With quiet efficiency she handed him the blanket, then retrieved some heavy-duty tacks from a kitchen drawer. They had the quilt hung in no time, and Tori led the way up the stairs. Working beside her felt natural. More so than it should have.

  At the landing he closed off all the other rooms, creating a natural pathway for the heat to rise up the stairs, along with additional chances for an intruder to make noise. Tori walked ahead into the bedroom, and he could hear her pulling the drapes tight over the windows. Already the temperature was rising, from more than just the closed-off areas. He knew the minute he walked through that door, Tori would know his intentions.

  He simply hoped she took pity on him instead of leaving him to cope with an aching groin all night.

  * * *

  Tori froze in the middle of her bedroom, struck by the fact that she was about to share her mahogany sleigh bed with a virtual stranger. And she had no delusions about them sleeping. Damon might have bolted after that first kiss, but the heat in his eyes held no reservations upon his return.

  She’d never shared this bed with a man. The few relationships she’d had always seemed to end up with her going to their place. Maybe because she’d still been viewing this as her parents’ house until she redecorated a few years ago. This was her bedroom’s inaugural event.

  Pressing a hand to her stomach to quiet the nerves, she listened to Damon’s movements on the landing, then as he made his way into the room. The door remained open behind him, allowing a warm draught of air to rise from the fireplace below.

  She glanced over the rumpled sheets and remembered when she’d left them after hearing a noise earlier. Oh no—

  Solid heat met her back, Damon’s arms circling around her middle. He bent close, speaking right next to her ear. “Ready, darlin’?”

  As his hands pulled smoothly on the tie at her waist, all thoughts fled the premises. For once in her life she stopped thinking and gave herself over to feeling. Damon’s actions could have been construed as helping her get ready for bed. After all, he was simply removing her robe. But the urgent feel of his hands could in no way be misinterpreted.

  Their goal was to get her naked.

  He stroked her skin through the robe, lingering along her shoulders and arms instead of efficiently pulling the covering off. His heat radiated inches from her back, not bothering to maintain a discreet distance for propriety. His breath warmed the side of her neck, close enough to be felt through her hair, instead of… Yes, he was stripping her of her armor.

  And she let him.

  The material was tossed aside, unnecessary where they were heading. He pressed closer, the thinness of her nightgown no barrier to his touch. Her skin came alive as he made contact. She gasped. Though she knew he was virtually a stranger, her body seemed to recognize him, every inch acknowledging his effect on her with a jolt of electricity.

  Without conscious thought her hips rotated against him, pressing the curve of her cheeks into the cradle of his thighs. His moan echoed in her ears. She couldn’t believe how hard he felt, even through the clothes he still wore. As if he needed her, desperately, like no other man ever had.

  The tingle that worked its way down her spine settled in her core, wetness coating her, thick and warm. She repeated the motion, fascinated with his response to her, intent on driving him to act.

  His large, sure hands traced the slope of her hips, down to the edge of the sleep shirt, then back up along bare skin. When he reached her hips, he paused, squeezing the flesh curving over bone. Her breath shuttered through her lungs, her body shaky and overwhelmed. His touch was so good. But she needed more.

  Glancing back over her shoulder, she found his eyes downcast. He watched the movement of her body, the press of her flesh against his groin. Her heart sped up, though why this excited her, she wasn’t sure. But it did.

  Suddenly his exploring touch gathered force, became demanding and directing, rotating her harder against him. His own hips pressed forward, adding to the force with which they met. The denim of his jeans rasped against the cotton of her shirt, but she was ever conscious of her nakedness beneath.

  “God,” he groaned. “I have to feel it, feel you.”

  The drag of his fingers felt like he had to pry himself away, but within moments he fumbled with the button on his fly. Tori twisted, wanting to help, but he stopped her with a firm grip. “No. Stay like this.”

  Waiting was excruciating, yet exciting too. Hearing the fumble of his fingers had her pressing her thighs together, reveling in another gush of moisture. The pulse in her clit was stronger than she’d ever felt and they hadn’t even gotten naked yet.

  Having sex with Damon might be more dangerous than the
man lurking outside.

  Chapter Five

  Damon cursed under his breath as the layers of clothing he’d dragged on to stay warm now thwarted his struggles for removal. If he didn’t get out of the restraining material, he might just strangle a very important part of his anatomy permanently.

  Breaking his cock would not make a good first impression.

  Finally the zipper yielded to his pull and he yanked it the rest of the way down. Spreading the placard of his jeans, he then pushed them from his hips, along with the sweats and boxers underneath. He didn’t have the patience to strip completely, so he left the clothes in a tangle around his thighs. His hands returned to the soft upper curve of Tori’s hips, dragging her sleep shirt with them.

  For a moment his intentions deserted him. All he could process was the picture of Tori’s full ass with the tiny pink G-string tucked between the cheeks. His grip tightened. “Oh, sweetheart. You are trying to kill me, aren’t ya?”

  The subtle movement of her hips accompanied soft laughter. She wouldn’t be amused if she could see into his brain. All he could think about at the moment was bending her over and giving it to her hard, but he doubted that’s what she had in mind for the night. He needed to rein himself in, remember who he was with. She might have surprised him with a shotgun and a drawer full of thongs, but he doubted she liked his usual down and dirty. Unfortunately, the urge to go straight for hard and fast seemed to have multiplied with her, quickly outdistancing his control.

  With a drawn-out groan, he pressed forward. His aim snugged his cock right along the deep crease that halved her ass, the purple of his head a complement to the pink triangle resting at the top. Adjusting his grip, he slid a little deeper, beginning to pant as her warmth engulfed the stem. He squeezed, pressing her tight around his flesh.

  The movement of his hands inched the nightgown higher, revealing her lower back. It was the sight of two tiny dimples, one on each side of a little pink heart tattoo, that sent him over the edge into pulsing orgasm.

  * * *

  For a moment Tori didn’t recognize the tiny pulses. She was too busy enjoying the feel of Damon’s hardness against her most private skin. But there was no mistaking the splash of liquid heat against her back.

  She froze, literally paralyzed as his groan filled the room. He’d come. Already. The ache between her thighs pulsed in protest.

  As the reality that their little interlude was over settled into her cooling body, Tori’s mind whispered with memories of strange cars she’d seen parked overnight at his house, all the times she’d heard someone mention he’d been seen at the honky-tonk, and a small part of her wept. When she’d thought about his popularity in town, she’d assumed the women were right happy to have him around here. She obviously didn’t rank high enough on his meter to warrant a decent effort.

  Selfish prick.

  “Damn, woman,” he said against the back of her shoulder, his voice as guttural as his groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  If possible, her spine stiffened even further. “Excuse me?”

  “This.” A single point of warmth slid along the base of her spine, right where her tattoo resided. “How am I supposed to control myself when you pull a surprise like this?”

  Her hands, which up til now had been reaching back to clutch his thighs, released their hold to cross over her breasts. Damn, she felt exposed all of a sudden. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She could feel the rumble of the laugh in his chest. “See. Who would have expected a princess like you to use such language? To brandish a gun like a natural?” His voice deepened a notch. “To have the sweetest pink tattoo pointing the way to that delectable ass? That’s more than a man can take.”

  “Obviously.” Unable to stand the closeness with no promise of more, she stepped away. “Now if you’ll excuse me—“

  The pull on her shirt kept her from moving far. “Where’re you going, sweetheart?”

  “To clean up.” She wanted to flinch at the misery tightening her voice, but there was no help for it. The one night she’d hoped to break out of her self-imposed shell and he wasn’t even man enough to give her a decent orgasm. Was it her? Was she simply not worth a little bit of effort?

  But Damon’s hold didn’t ease. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What?”

  “I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. She’d give anything to be out of this humiliating situation, except then she’d be facing the night alone with a psychopath outside. “Please,” she said, tugging away. “Please just let go.”

  He did. But the release of her shirt was replaced by a breeze of movement as he stepped in front of her and cupped her upper arms. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  Like she would dare spill her humiliation in front of him. “Nothing.”

  “Women always say that when they’re upset about something.”

  That jerked her out of her misery enough for her to glare at him. The quirk of his eyebrow told her that had been his intention. Her chin lifted and her back straightened as she could literally feel her “southern lady” persona asserting itself. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like you’d know how to fix it anyway.”

  He inched closer, invading the personal boundaries she suddenly felt an intense need for. “Honey, I know how to fix just about anything. A computer. A car. Even a pissed-off woman. How much you want to bet I can sweeten you up?”

  “I think that’s a bet I’ll definitely win.” Without thought her gaze swept down his front to the softening flesh revealed by his open fly.

  His eyes widened as he finally grasped the elephant hiding in the room. But instead of retreating or brushing off her disdain with some macho disregard, his hands returned to the hem of her nightshirt and swept it up over her head. Her last sight before she was engulfed in gray cotton was the light of challenge narrowing his eyes.

  * * *

  Damon didn’t give Miss Priss a chance to protest. He stripped the shirt upwards and managed to detangle her flailing arms enough to separate her from it. Those pale blue eyes shot fire, and she made a grab for the material, which only served to give him an awesome view of high, bouncing breasts with dark rose tips. The stirring at his groin was both welcome and expected.

  Apparently the little princess thought he’d taken his own pleasure and planned to leave her to her own devices. One reason Damon had always gone for the nondelicate types was because one round just didn’t cut it. He wasn’t boasting when he said he could go all night long, but he wasn’t interested in journeying alone.

  “Ah, Tori, your distrust wounds me.”

  An unladylike snort echoed in the room. “I doubt it.”

  “But it does,” he said. Circling around her now frozen form, he used the wadded up shirt to wipe the small of her back clean, lingering over the cute little tattoo. “I may have come, but I’m nowhere near done.” He leaned his now semi-stiff cock back into the same snug channel it had enjoyed just moments before. His voice lowered to a rumbling growl. “Not anywhere near done.”

  The shiver tempering her stiff stance gratified his male ego but also made him even more determined to make this good for her. Those proper southern manners kept her from openly criticizing his performance or asking for what she needed. He’d see to it that she received everything she should have asked for.

  Finished with cleanup, he tossed the gown aside. Tori’s delicate shoulders were straight with perfect posture and indignation, the lines of her body narrowing to a tiny waist normally hidden by those little sweater sets. Creamy skin covered the flare of her hips, the heart shape echoing the tattoo nestled between the dimples on her back. Her legs were surprisingly long for such a petite woman, and firmly muscled, as if she worked out regularly. Of course, the stairs at the bookstore were probably a workout in and of themselves.

  He had a brief vision of taking her there, her knees resting on the po
lished oak risers, hands gripping the black iron railings while he pounded into her from behind. The approval that raced out from his groin had him gritting his teeth for control.

  Wouldn’t do to lose it again and really piss her off.

  With sure movements he swept her into his arms and strode across the room toward that big, beautiful mahogany bed. After a startled gasp her hands clamped onto his biceps, but she didn’t protest. Jesus, he could drown in those wide baby blues.

  Feeling the situation had gotten way too serious, he paused beside the bed before launching her into the air. Her squeal echoed around the room as she landed and bounced, the fluffy blankets jumping under the impact. Now that made for some interesting shimmies. He couldn’t help but grin as she burst into laughter. Then his eyes narrowed on the now empty expanse around her.

  Empty except for one thing.

  “What’s this?”

  Her look was confused until she saw the direction of his gaze. With a cry she reached across for the nearest blanket and jerked it toward her, probably to cover it up, but— Too late. He’d already seen it.

  “Since when does a pretty princess like you need a vibrator?”

  Hand fishing under the blanket, he pulled out a soft gel vibrator. Pink, of course.

  “Give me that,” she said, grabbing for the toy, only to come up with empty air.

  Damon held it higher, the transparent soft gel allowing him to see the candle on the dresser through its pink surface. A silver, cylindrical motor provided a hard core. “Very nice, Princess.”

  “Please, please give it back.”

  He turned his gaze from the little toy to the woman who was giving him more surprises than a night out with his army buddies. “Why? I think you’ll have more fun if I’m at the wheel.”

  For once Miss Priss had nothing to say. No pithy comeback, no sarcastic put-down, no prim comments. Simply a gaping mouth and wide eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard come out of his mouth. So he set out to prove himself right.