Melt (9 page)

“Honestly, it’s not the songs at Christmas,” she said quietly, walking right into his personal space. “It’s not the food. It’s not even the presents—although don’t get me wrong, I love this.” She pressed the little carving to her chest. “I’m going to treasure it, I really am. But it’s not the
things
at Christmas that make Christmas for me.” She put her hand to his jaw. “It’s the people. Doesn’t have to be a whole huge family, either.” She’d never had that. “Even just one person.”

“I’m sorry you can’t be with her.”

“So am I. But I’m so pleased to be here with
you
.” She spread her fingers, caressing—he’d shaved before dinner, his skin hot and smooth. “Thank you for making Christmas for me. Even though I know you don’t do Christmas, you did it for me.”

“I didn’t want to see you so glum with your lower lip stuck out like that.”

He could downplay it as much as he wanted, but it still meant so much to her.

She smiled and whispered, “I was sticking it out in the hope you’d suck on it.”

He inhaled sharply. “This isn’t why I did that. I mean. I want this—you—but I didn’t do the Christmas thing because I thought it would help me gain points.”

“I know that. And if I didn’t want you to be here, I wouldn’t have invited you.” She ran fingertips down his chest. “Now do you want your present or not?”

“I would love my present,” he murmured hoarsely.

“Then follow me.”

She locked the door behind them.

“Are you sure?”

She put her hand over his mouth. “I know there are no promises. There’s only now. The present. This is your present…and mine.”

His smile was slow, his lips tickling the edge of her palm. And then his tongue came out to play, a lick against her skin.

“Are you going to unwrap your present?” she asked, removing her hand while she still had strength in her muscles.

“I always unwrap my presents very slowly, too, you know.” He ran light fingers down her arm. “To prolong the pleasure.”

She stilled, suddenly shy.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked as he kissed down her neck. “Do you have any idea that every single man here thinks you’re utter perfection? They all want to whisk you away.”

“They don’t.” Now he was over-egging it.

He nuzzled the side of her neck—almost kissing her but not quite. And while her knees were weakening, other muscles were just itching to get into action. Heat burst through her body.

“They do,” he murmured. “You’re this can-do goddess, so fragile-looking but so strong.”

She wasn’t as strong as she probably needed to be. She was vulnerable—to him. And she needed to believe in only his touch. That was all she could afford to need.

So she reached up, capturing his face between her hands and brought him down to kiss her—ending all conversation. It wasn’t words that communicated now.

He swiftly took the lead, understanding what she needed. Yes, he kissed her long and deep and slow—infusing her body with nothing but anticipation. She shivered as he stepped back to slip her T-shirt over her head. Breathing as hard as she, he looked down at her breasts—breasts so swollen they were spilling over her bra cups.

But he said nothing, just planted his wide hands on her waist and bent to trail kisses of fire across the lace edging.

His hands slid to her back, first up to unclasp her bra and then lower to undo the zip of her skirt. As the skirt fell to the floor, he fell to his knees—kissing down her sternum, her belly. But then he paused and looked at the odd shapes poking through her small briefs.

“Ah.” He smiled, tracing a finger around some of the shapes, making her shiver when he let that finger slide lower. “I think I’ve found some of my present.”

She smiled down at him. Was it wrong to feel such pleasure and power with having a fully clothed big man on his knees before her—all his passion barely leashed? Oh, she wanted it. She wanted all of it.

He hooked his fingers into the elastic at her hips and then tugged her knickers down. Her handfuls of condoms scattered to the floor.

“So
many
presents,” he murmured, sparing them a quick glance before leaning in to whisper against her upper thighs. “I can’t wait to play with them.”

But then he pressed his mouth to her most vulnerable flesh.

Groaning, she shamelessly spread her legs wider for him, yearning for more intimacy. Her body was on fire and so unbearably close so soon. Her hips rocked, her most sensitive spot desperate for his touch. She’d been desperate for this for too long already.

Without warning he lashed her with his tongue—again and again and on the third stroke it hit.

Shaking uncontrollably, her legs failed as ecstasy rippled through her.

“Hunter,” she moaned, doubling over—gripping his shoulders to keep balance as he lifted his hands and held her hips firmly so he could taste every orgasmic contraction shuddering through her.

His tongue worked yet more magic, kissing, savoring, inserting into her slick heat. She needed more.

“I need to lie down.” She needed all of him inside her.

“Not yet.”

She heard the pull of his zipper and he shucked his shirt in record time. As he stood, he left both his jeans and boxers at his feet. In his hand was one of his little square presents. He unwrapped and rolled it on. “Now I’m wrapped and ready for you.”

He backed her up against the small ladder that led to the top bunk and lifted her so one foot was on the lowest rung, lifting her other leg to wrap around his waist.

“I’ve had fantasies about these bunks,” he groaned.

“I can tell.” She gasped for breath, stunned at his strength.

“Emma.”

She met his eyes—his glittering, deep eyes.

Growling through clenched teeth, he gripped her hard as his flesh parted hers. His breath hissed, and his fingers tightened to the point of pain.

But she was in too much ecstasy to care. Her head thrown back, she half gasped, half groaned, almost cried as so slowly he filled her. So good. So deliciously slow and full and fabulous and almost everything she’d ever wanted.

Wholly sheathed inside her, he held still. Emma hovered unbearably on the edge. Their rapid, harsh breathing mingled. She couldn’t believe it could be this good. That she could feel this hot.

“Please. Please move.” She couldn’t, trapped between the bunk and him, her hands clasped tightly over his shoulders. All she could move were the muscles deep inside her—tight and lax, tight and lax—again and again.

His response was to kiss her—thoroughly—while he held torturously still.

“Hard,” she mumbled breathlessly beneath his plundering mouth. “I want it hard.” She wanted it bad. And she wanted it now.

But he wouldn’t be rushed. He lifted his head back to watch her face as he pulled out again—almost all the way, before slowly pressing back deep inside.

“Please.” She shook her head side to side in desperation as she went one notch nearer oblivion. “Please.”

He moved one hand, fingers slipping to the front, between them, and tormented her. She rocked—any which way she could—trying to flex her hips to make him ravish her. His hand lifted, palming her breast with a sure caress before grasping her butt with one hand again in a strong, possessive hold, the other grasping the edge of the top bunk rail for leverage, and then he moved, grinding closer. She gasped as he deepened his actions, then finally, thankfully, he quickened them.

“Hunter.” She curled her arms around him, pressing her mouth to his damp shoulder as he took almost all her weight. “I knew…but I didn’t know.”

She didn’t know it could ever be as good as this.

His head tipped back as he thrust harder. “I know.”

Words ceased, just heavy breathing and harsh moans as their bodies reveled in the pleasure. They pushed, frantic need driving their rhythm.

His skin was slick. All over she too was damp as he made her body work. She pressed forward, panting, rubbing her breasts against his chest. The pleasure was too intense. Higher and higher he pushed her, as harder and harder he drove into her. Faster. His kisses deepened to rough and hungry to match the movement of his hips. The pressure he put on her from his ministrations was so immense—she had to shatter.

Her whole body, mind, spirit locked for an infinite moment of eternity. Frozen in shock, she gazed at him in that split second before the ecstasy he’d wreaked broke over her. The intensity wrought a scream from deep within that tore through her throat.

His mouth crashed down, his lips crushing hers, muffling her shriek. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, compulsively contracting as wave upon wave of unutterable delight slammed through her.

He demanded more—still surging powerfully against her until with a fierce, quick movement, he arched back, pulling all of her weight onto him, as his release blasted out.

She gasped for long minutes. Unable to get her breath back or slow her heart. So close to fainting. He cradled her, demonstrating his immense strength again as he lifted her onto the bunk and then came to curl around her.

“Wow,” Emma said, simply unable to think of another word.

He chuckled and swept his hand across her breast. “So tell me what you want me to do now.”

“Now?” she repeated. “Already?”

“Uh huh.” He knelt above her, stroking her limbs with light, tormenting fingers. “Can’t you think of anything?” he teased.

No, she couldn’t. Not when he did
that
.

His tongue kept moving, encouraging her with movements not words. Relentless movements that she couldn’t hold out against—and she didn’t want to. She writhed beneath his touches, her mouth spilling the hot secrets he’d wanted to hear.

What she wanted, how she wanted, when she wanted.

His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling and stroking her nipples as his hot mouth sucked on her sex. She curled her thighs around him, feeling his hot jaw press against her smooth skin. Arching up, she opened completely, throwing herself over the edge, shaking as she tumbled into his embrace.

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling, unashamedly admiring her curves.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma teased, breathing out and embracing the bright white night. “I’m ready for more.”

Hunter jumped to the floor, scooped up a handful of those twenty thousand condoms and climbed back in bed to take her every way they could think of.

CHAPTER SIX

CHRISTMAS DAY on the base was a holiday for pretty much everyone. Neither Emma nor Hunter had to work. Neither moved from her bunkroom. Not for hours and hours.

In truth, Hunter never wanted to move again. He’d never felt so at peace, never so relaxed as he was now, lying curved against this strong, petite woman.

But the second he admitted that to himself, the blade of guilt swept in. There was no future between them, but he didn’t want this to end with her tears. He wanted her to understand why it was he made no promises. He wanted her to know more about him. Hell, he wanted her to
like
him—to leave here and think of him with a smile.

Most of all, he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d given him the best Christmas of his life and the least he could do was explain why that was enough.

“Christmas at our place was always pretty weird,” he murmured hoarsely and then coughed to clear his throat. Hell, did he really want to go into this?

“Why was that?” she asked, her voice soft in the quiet room.

It was almost dark and cozily warm the way they had to lie so close in the narrow bunk. She was on her side with her back to him, and it was somehow easier for him to tell her it all without seeing the sympathy he knew would rise in her eyes. He rested his head on her shoulder and tightened his hold around her waist so she couldn’t turn to face him. Her skin was soft and smooth and welcoming. So he whispered old, painful secrets.

“My parents are both workaholics. They’re photojournalists.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they spent their careers going all over the world photographing everything from royal weddings to wars.”

“Did you go with them?”

“I was in boarding school.” For his entire childhood. “I used to travel with them during the holidays sometimes. But we never spent Christmas together. One or the other or both were always working. Half the time I celebrated Christmas at school. So when I was twelve, I nagged and nagged and nagged them to have a real Christmas—all of us together. I hadn’t realized that they were living increasingly separate lives, doing assignments in different parts of the world. I hadn’t realized the problems they both had.” The way his father drank, the way both parents sought attention and physical relief from others. “So they finally said yes. I was excited about having them both home. A real family Christmas with neither of them working.”

He could feel the tension in her body now as she asked, “What happened?”

“We got through the present opening, but they’d opened the bottles as well. And over the damn bowls of potatoes and peas they had a massive fight. Worse than massive. An hour of screaming and their marriage was over.” All in that one day.

“Your father left?” Despite his grip, she rolled to face him, her green eyes troubled and sweet.

Hunter closed his. “My mother threw him out.” He packed a bag and never came back. He drew in a breath. “For once, I thought we were going to have it—a merry Christmas. But he got so drunk and she was so bitter. They fought about work, about money, about me. About the affairs they’d both had. It was just vicious. Of all the things I’ve witnessed, that one just ripped.” Right there at the dinner table—the place where a family was supposed to eat and laugh and love.

“What did you do?” She put those soft fingers to his face and gently traced his cheek.

“There wasn’t anything I could do. I just watched and wished I’d never suggested it. I’ve never felt the same about Christmas.” Stupid as it was, he hadn’t eaten a traditional Christmas dinner since.

“Hunter, I’m so sorry.”

He managed a chuckle. “I know, it’s pathetic, and it was a long time ago. But it taints it, you know?”

“My mother left me just after Christmas,” she whispered.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He tightened his arm around her, fingers smoothing the skin covering her spine.

“My father was never on the scene, and Mum wasn’t in touch with any of her family,” Emma said. “When I was eight, she decided to go to Australia. She said she’d go first and find some work and send for me. Six months later she was killed in a car crash over there.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Thing is, she was never going to send for me. She’d left me already.”

“Left you with Bea?”

“I went to Bea when I was fourteen and had been through every foster family they had on the books.”

He was silent a moment. “No wonder she’s so important to you.”

Emma nodded.

“That’s why you want to go back and stay near her, right?”

She nodded again. “I owe her. She was a short-term emergency caregiver, didn’t want long-term placements. So most kids were only with her a week or so, usually less while they found them someplace else to stay. But when there wasn’t anywhere else I could go, she let me stay. She’s the nearest thing I’ve ever had to real family.”

His embrace tightened. She’d been through so much.

“How do you cope with the stress of your job?” she asked.

“I’m not there for the initial rescue and recovery phase. Those search guys see some…” He trailed off. “I’m there for the next part.”

Where people were homeless and desperate, living in extremely hard conditions and when rebuilding was taking forever and people were worn down by the day-to-day grind. She just looked at him and waited.

…

“Don’t look so sad. My life isn’t all awful sights.” He smiled. “I run. I run and run and then I read books.”

“What kind of books?”

“Any kind, really, anything I can get. Paperbacks when the battery runs out on my e-reader and I can’t recharge it.”

“You enjoy the work?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “It’s my life.”

It was so impressive that he was involved in disaster response and reconstruction, but it hurt her to think that while he swept in to help other people reconstruct their homes, he had no real home himself. He’d never had one.

At least Emma, for all the hardship in her early years, had found a home with Bea. She understood what it meant. She wasn’t sure that Hunter did.

“It’s a very generous thing you do.” She traced his jaw with the back of her fingers.

“Not really,” he confessed. “It’s also convenient. Never staying in one place for more than a year or so means I don’t have long-term relationships—romantic ones, I mean.”

Yeah, she could see how it totally enabled him to avoid emotional intimacy and commitment.

“I’m a little too much like my parents,” he continued, seeming determined to explain this to her. “Workaholic, driven by wanderlust. It’s not fair to a partner to drag her around through that. It’s certainly not fair to bring kids into that lifestyle. Family isn’t a fit for me.”

She met his eyes and understood what he was telling her. “What drew you to it?” she asked, to get them onto a sidetrack. “The traveling like your parents?”

He nodded. “It didn’t seem right to just take a picture and walk away. To leave and do nothing.”

“But they didn’t do nothing.” Emma propped herself up and looked at him. “With those pictures, the rest of the world sees, the rest of the world responds. It’s because of pictures that those charities get donations and stuff. That’s helping, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “It’s not the same. It’s not enough. Not for me.”

“Do you see either of them much?”

“No. Dad’s retired from the travel side and takes sports pictures for his local rag. Mom’s retired and lives with a new guy in Chicago.”

“And you’re saving the world one corner at a time.”

“Hardly saving, only trying.”

“Do you find it difficult to say good-bye to people when each project ends?” She cringed inside, conscious of that wistful note in her voice.

“No,” he answered—too quickly, too firmly. “It’s normal for me.”

Really? She didn’t believe he was that cold-blooded. But she understood that having survived a childhood effectively spent in institutions, together with absent parents who’d had a bitter breakup, he’d have some strong defenses in place.

Emma made love to him then. She pushed him back on the narrow bunk and kissed him, let her hair brush his skin—knowing he loved the tickling torment of it. She ran her hands all over him—letting herself care, not letting him take over but making him lie back and accept it from her. One sentence—a threat—was all it took to secure his laughing acquiescence.

Then she carefully straddled him, her thighs wide, utterly open to him, slowly easing down his hard shaft, until her buttocks hit his thighs and he was as deep inside her as he could ever get. Heavy-lidded, he looked from her breasts to her face. She smiled at him.

“You’re a witch,” he murmured.

She rode him slowly to start, watching his reaction as she altered the pace, the angle, the tightness of her grip. Only then her own desire outstripped her control, twisting in pleasure but becoming weaker with it—her movements slowing unbearably. So he helped—holding her hips firmly in his hands, sliding her up and down his erection while he pumped as well. The effect was devastating. She bit her lip, holding back the noise building in her chest. Letting out just a hint of it in a low groan as the orgasm hit her.

Braced with her hands on either side of his head, she gazed straight into his eyes, mesmerized and focused only on him as her first orgasm went straight into the second. It was so exquisite she almost couldn’t bear it. She drowned in the rush of feeling for him as he gritted his teeth, groaning his adoration for the pleasure they shared.

She tumbled toward him, resting her forehead on his shoulder, his arms reaching around her, pulling her closer still as they recovered together. She could feel each of his ragged breaths, could taste the film of sweat on his skin, could hear the way he muttered her name over and over. And she came with him again and again.

…

All too soon it was over—that endless night seamlessly became day. The feeling of dread deepened in her belly—a cold, sick lump in her stomach.

Her plane had arrived. Avoiding his eyes, she’d packed all her gear. Now her big pack was already at the airstrip. She pulled on her subzero safety gear and was glad it hid the way her limbs were trembling—not with cold but silly heartbroken sorrow. Clinging to her daypack with freezing fingers, she finally turned to him—the last person on base she had to say good-bye to.

“You could come and visit me?” She hated herself for asking, yet she couldn’t not.

“That wouldn’t be wise,” he answered. Now he avoided meeting her eyes.

“You can put your body into dangerous places,” she said quietly. “But not your heart.”

He shook his head. “You deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

How could he presume to know what she did or didn’t deserve? How could he know what she’d ever been given?

“Now there’s a line.” She backpedaled to tease mode, pride dictating she not show how much his rejection of any possibility of future contact hurt her. She hated good-byes.

“No, it’s the truth,” he said somberly. “You’re a really wonderful—”

He broke off when she put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t start feeding me that stuff now,” she said. “Let’s just…say good-bye.”

But he didn’t. And nor did she.

He didn’t smile, didn’t tickle the palm of her hand with his tongue. He just stood utterly still.

And Emma turned and walked blindly out to the shuttle waiting to take her to the airstrip. The Hercules was ready to return her to the real world. She managed the safety strap onboard all by herself this time, which was quite a feat considering her fingers were numb.

She closed her eyes as the engines roared, wishing her heart had remained frozen while she’d been down here.

The people in her life left. The people in her life didn’t need or want her for long. Would she
never
learn that?