Snow Angels Page 4

  She was almost as annoying as Jax.

  It didn’t help that Jax kept raving about how cute Sam was.

  Funny thing was, Lyssa wasn’t jealous of Sam because Jax thought she was a stone hottie floating around on the other side. She was jealous of Sam because Wade loved her.

  Which was stupid.

  Super stupid.

  Because she knew what Wade thought of her as well. She couldn’t help but know. She’d seen it.

  “So? What?” The bitterness curling through her probably accounted for the sharpness in her tone.

  “Do you see dead people?” He tried to make it a joke. She could tell by the lame lift of his lips. It wasn’t funny, but for some people, jokes were the only way they could handle things they didn’t understand.

  “No.”

  He nearly collapsed in his chair. Until she continued.

  “I hear them.” She winced at his expression, “I told you, I was weird.”

  “What do they say to you?”

  “Stuff.” She shrugged. “Usually stupid stuff.”

  “Like?”

  “Like when I was shopping for groceries yesterday, Jax told me to get two slabs of bacon.”

  “Jax?”

  She nodded. “My boyfriend.”

  “He’s…?”

  “Yeah. He’s…passed over.” Jax didn’t like the term ‘dead.’

  “What happened?”

  “Motorcycle. He loved to go fast.”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice caught on the words.

  “Me too.”

  “And because he told you to get two slabs of bacon…you did?” Wade was teasing again. She could hear it in the lilt of his voice. So, she teased back.

  “He really liked bacon.” A grin. “We would eat it all weekend when we came up here.”

  Wade stilled. “When you…came up here? You’ve been here before?”

  Lyssa tipped her head to the side and studied him, trying to interpret his tone. “All the time.”

  He frowned. “How…why…?”

  “Um, because Val invited us?”

  “You know my sister?”

  Incredulity? Really? “Why is that surprising? We’ve been friends for years.”

  “You…I…but…we’ve never met.”

  “You were always away.” She stood and picked up the plates, more for something to do—so she wouldn’t have to look at him—than for any burning desire to clean stuff. She never had a burning desire to clean stuff.

  “I didn’t realize. I thought….”

  “What?”

  He flushed. “Nothing.”

  She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “What did you think Wade?”

  He grumbled something beneath his breath.

  “Sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

  “I thought you were a stalker, okay?”

  She gaped at him.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “A stalker? Seriously?”

  “I thought you followed me up here to….”

  “Ravage you?” She couldn’t help the laugh. Or maybe it was a snort.

  “It’s happened before,” he mumbled.

  Well dear God. No wonder he’d treated her like she had the pox. “I came up here, on Val’s invitation, mind you, to….” She cut herself off. He didn’t need to know that. “I came up here on Val’s invitation.”

  “But she’d already loaned the cabin to me. She knew I was….” He paled. Then a red tide crept up his cheeks. “Oh shit.” He scrubbed his face with a palm.

  “What? Oh shit, what?”

  He fixed her with a cynical look. “She’s setting us up,” he said.

  Lyssa plopped into the chair. “What?”

  “Don’t you see?” he said with a grin. “She sent you up here, knowing I was here. Hiding from…well, hiding from women. This is her pathetic attempt to set us up.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear.” Now it was Lyssa’s turn to flush.

  Perhaps Val had noticed Lyssa drooling over her brother after all. She should be mortified, but she wasn’t. She was amused. Her lips twitched, his did as well, and then they both chuckled.

  For some reason, the shared exasperation at Val lightened the mood between them. Wade’s tense energy uncoiled, allowing Lyssa to relax as well.

  “I didn’t come here to snag a man and you…well…you came here to escape all that as well. So….”

  “So?”

  “We shall have to foil her evil plot.”

  He quirked a brow. “And how do we do that?”

  “Simple.” She stood and made her way to the sink, filling it with soapy water. “We become friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes.” She grinned at him. “Just friends.” She could handle that. She was sure she could.

  “Devious.” He grinned right back. He was a tempting piece of man flesh, when he was all surly and reserved. But when he smiled, genuinely smiled, he was irresistible.

  She did her best to resist, scouring the fry pan within an inch of its life helped.

  “Do you want me to dry?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin as his voice rumbled, right behind her. She whirled around, spattering him with soapy water. He glanced down at his shirt and chuckled.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, swiping at the stains.

  And hell. She shouldn’t have touched him.

  For one thing, it made the dampness worse and added some suds to boot.

  For another…he was warm and firm. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers. Awareness sizzled through her, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or painful. It was…nice.

  Their gazes tangled, clung. She swallowed. He had a powerful presence from across the room. This close, engulfed in his warmth, bathed in his breath, and ensnared by his piercing attention, he was stupefying.

  Her lips parted, as though she had something to say, and his focus snapped to her mouth. His eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, muscles tightened. He edged, infinitesimally closer, as though drawn by a string.

  His intent flashed through her.

  Holy Hannah. He was going to kiss her.

  Panic flickered.

  Sheer unadulterated panic…and maybe a hint of scorching anticipation.

  Jax sniggered in her ear and the moment shattered. Lyssa flinched as though a cold bucket of water had been dumped on her head. She said the first thing that came into her mind. “Dessert?”

  Wade blinked, as though he too had surfaced from the dark depths of longing. “I…. What?”

  “Do you want dessert?”

  He looked at her as though she was speaking in a provincial dialect of Klingon. “What…” He cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind?” His voice lowered an octave sending arousal licking through her.

  She stepped away, so her brain could function, and pretended to be fascinated by the contents of a cupboard. Thank God he didn’t notice it was a cupboard full of coffee mugs and not dessert options. “I dunno. You have some oatmeal. I could make some cookies.” She glanced at him. She shouldn’t have. His attention was fixed on her, and it simmered. His aura crackled and spat in a myriad of colors.

  “Do you really want cookies?”

  “No.” She swallowed. She couldn’t say what she really wanted.

  Despite his rising interest…what she thought might be interest, she knew how he felt about her. She was an annoyance. A nuisance his sister had foisted upon him. He’d assumed she was a stalker, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t possibly be thinking what she imagined.

  Indeed, her interpretation of his expression was probably just a reflection of her own desires.

  She did that sometimes. Assumed knowledge and got it wrong.

  As sensitive as she was and as privy to the secrets of the universe as she could be, when it came to her own relationships and her own desires, everything got fuzzy. She usually got it wrong.

  She turned away and opened the freezer, staring inside at nothing. “Wh
at do you want?”

  He remained silent until she met his gaze. “What I would really like….”

  “Yes?” She swallowed a lump in her throat. Could he…? Would he…?

  He rubbed his neck and nodded toward the living room. “What I would really like is another massage.”

  “A…massage?” Well crap. She wasn’t sure how to take that.

  “My muscles are starting to cramp up.”

  Lyssa narrowed her eyes and scanned his aura more carefully. There were a few rough spots, but nothing indicating he was in pain—certainly not like before.

  He grimaced. “I feel…a migraine coming on.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Damn. He did want her to touch him. Just not the way she’d envisioned. The prospect of doing so again muddled her brain. She grabbed a towel and wiped down the table, and put away the leftovers from dinner. Then arranged the dishes on the drying rack in a slightly more satisfying array. She glanced around for more tasks, and found none. She peeped at him. He hadn’t moved and was watching her somberly.

  “Could we do it now?” he asked. The tenor of his voice shook her. She couldn’t see it, but he sounded like he was hurting.

  “Um. Sure.” She waved toward the fireplace. “Go ahead and lie down on your stomach. I’ll be right in.” She needed a minute. To prepare. To steel herself. The thought of touching him again sent up a flare of anticipation…and fear.

  In a normal situation, giving a man a massage was par for the course. She did it often as part of her work. But none of those men were…Wade.

  She stood in the middle of the kitchen, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep, cleansing breath before pulling down a cloak of healing energy.

  “I’m ready,” he called.

  She wasn’t. She wasn’t nearly ready enough. Then again, she’d never really be ready for prolonged physical contact with him.

  As though great weights were attached to her feet, she plodded into the living room. Wade lay on the floor facing the fire with his head cradled in his arms. He still wore his T-shirt, which was a relief.

  The best healing massage was done skin to skin, but she didn’t think she could handle that. Not right now.

  She knelt beside him. “Where does it hurt?” she asked.

  “Mostly around my neck.” She nodded, tightened her aura, and started to work.

  Chapter Five

  Oh. God.

  A shiver walked through him, an exquisite ripple from his neck down his spine as Lyssa touched him. She was very careful to massage his neck through the fabric of his shirt, but it was still delicious beyond imagination.

  Almost as soon as she made contact, the nagging pain began to recede. She continued to work, digging deep into the tight muscles of his shoulder and back, and pleasure, a blissful release from the constant ache rose. His sigh was ragged.

  She stopped. “Are you…okay?”

  “Yes.” A moan. “Don’t stop. Please.” Unless…. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You are okay? Aren’t you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She continued, working down one flank and then the other, pushing hard at times to press past his thick skin to the muscles beneath. Wade shut his eyes and let the incredible sensations waft over him. As she had before when working on this thigh, she seemed to know where the tightness nested, seemed to know how to coax it out. With exactly the right amount of pressure, she would work a muscle group, and then soothe it, leaving it limber and loose.

  By the time she reached his hips, he was a limp noodle floating on a cloud. That was probably why he didn’t stop her. That was probably why he forgot.

  Her fingers found, and lingered, on the worst of the scars. It scored him from his lower back to his knee. Even now, two years later, the skin was mottled and raised. As she traced it, he realized she’d felt it. Even through his shirt.

  “What is this?” she asked, lifting the cotton.

  He rolled over—barely in time—and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”

  She pulled away and lifted his shirt with her free hand. “Is that a scar?”

  “Don’t.” Too late. She’d seen it. It was clear in her eyes, the revulsion.

  Little did she know, that was the least of it.

  “Oh, Wade.”

  He sat up and yanked down his shirt, annoyed that the peace had flown. “It’s nothing.”

  She saw the lie in his words, but didn’t challenge it. “Does it still hurt?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.” Sometimes the scar tissue would pull tight and ache. But it was the ache inside that fractured him more.

  “Let me massage it.”

  He pulled away. He couldn’t do that. To really work those muscles, he’d have to bare himself to her and he couldn’t. “Not tonight. I’m…tired.” And it hit him, suddenly. He was tired. So very tired of all of it. Of the pain. Of the loneliness. Of the need to hide.

  And physically, he was exhausted.

  Though they’d done little today but eat and make that fruitless trek halfway to her car, it had been grueling for him. Combined with the fact that he hadn’t slept much last night, and the effort of pretending to ignore the inexorable pull he felt toward her, he was wiped out.

  He yawned. Hugely. And it wasn’t a pretense.

  She studied him for a moment and then nodded, shielding her expression beneath veiled lashes. “Yeah. I’m tired too.”

  He nodded. “We should probably turn in.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  They would probably have sat there all night saying “Yeah” and staring at each other if a white blur of fur hadn’t streaked between them. Biby rounded the couch and parcoured off the coffee table up onto the mantel. Bo, hard on the cat’s tail, but lacking those razor-sharp feline reflexes, skidded in the turn on the hardwood floor and plowed into Wade, knocking him over.

  He snorted a laugh that became a howl when the dog used him as leverage to bolt after the cat once more. His rear claws gouged into Wade’s groin. Which was not pleasant.

  Wincing, he hefted himself to his feet and followed the shepherd, now perched on his hind legs, his front leg braced against the stone fireplace, barking and howling at the hissing bundle of fur. Biby swatted him, and Bo yelped.

  Wade grabbed his collar and pulled him down. “Serves you right,” he muttered, lurching as the dog lunged again. He shot an apologetic glance at Lyssa who was nibbling her lip. The vision stalled his breath. God, she was beautiful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Bo is usually very well behaved.”

  “Mmm.” She quit trying to hide her smile. “I can see that.”

  “He is. Really. I….”

  “Why don’t you both go to bed?” she said softly.

  “Aren’t you? Going to bed?” He didn’t intend that the way it sounded. Plaintive. She wasn’t going to bed with him for God’s sake.

  “In a bit.” She pulled the cat from the mantel and settled in the armchair. “I want to watch the fire for a while.”

  He didn’t know where the ripple of longing came from. He didn’t know why, all of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to sit with her and watch the fire. The arousal, he understood. He’d felt it, this prickling awareness of her since he’d set eyes on her. And it had only grown. When she’d been massaging him, the pain had ebbed. He’d drifted on a cloud of peace, which had manifested in an erection full enough to make him uncomfortable. He’d ignored it and pushed it away. They had agreed to be friends after all.

  And feeling desire didn’t change the fact he didn’t deserve it.

  Nothing could change that.

  So the annoying arousal had been easy to ignore.

  But this? This desire for contact. Closeness…companionship? Not so much.

  Another man wouldn’t think twice about flopping down next to her and watching the fire. Another man would probably pull her into his arms and kiss her as well.

  But Wade wasn’t another man.

  He steeled his spine, towed his recalcitrant dog
into the bedroom, and shut the door. He brushed his teeth and got into his sweats and crawled into bed…. And laid there. Staring at the flickering slice of light beneath his door.

  Wishing.

  Wishing he could be another man and wishing he didn’t have to sleep alone.

  If only for a night.

  ***

  He woke up in the dead of night, with a shiver of trepidation. The little cabin was cloaked in a hush, but his instincts screamed.

  Something was wrong.

  Senses alert, he leaned up on his elbows and scanned the room. His door was open. A small shadow huddled in the frame, shrouded in a thick blanket.

  “Lyssa?”

  “The power’s out.” A small voice. “The heat’s off, and I’m cold.”

  Yeah. It was like an icebox.

  Without thinking, he lifted his duvet. She padded across the room, cuddling her cat in the crook of her arm. She handed him her blanket, and then slipped into the bed beside him, facing away. He arranged the extra layer over them both and then edged into her warmth.

  She sighed.

  “Better?” His voice cracked. He couldn’t help it. She smelled terrific, like powder and flowers and woman.

  “Mmm.” She nestled into the pillow. Wiggled around. Her bottom brushed against his groin and it was all he could do to hold in a hiss. It was one thing wanting her from across the room, or lying in his lonely bed aching for her. It was another entirely having her within reach, soaked in her heat and besieged by her scent.

  He thought about leaping from the bed and going to sleep on the sofa, but his nose, which was poking out from the nest of blankets, was a frosty nub. He couldn’t imagine foregoing this cozy nest for a frigid couch. With Lyssa on one side of him and Bo on the other, he was a toasty sandwich.

  So he gritted his teeth, clenched his fist—so it wouldn’t creep over and snake around her waist as it wanted to do—screwed his eyes shut, and pretended he was asleep. But he didn’t sleep.

  Not for a long, long while.

  His raging cock wouldn’t let him.

  ***

  What a delicious dream.

  Lyssa fought off wakefulness and snuggled deeper into the blankets, enjoying the warmth baking her. In her dream, a heavy arm draped down her flank. Long fingers reflexively caressed her hip, and fragrant breath skated over her cheek. Soft murmurs and burbles of sleep, rumbled in her ear.