Snowflake Bay (24 page)

Ben hadn't seen Fiona in a week. They'd texted, talked on the phone, shared their days and bemoaned the long, lonely nights. Not that he knew what a long night not alone was like where she was concerned, but their little interlude in his kitchen had given him some definite ideas. Not to mention more than a few cold showers, and even a few hot, steamy ones.

The weather had decided to play nice, so the tree lots and the farm were virtual beehives, and though everything was running as smoothly as possible, that didn't mean he wasn't having to put out small fires on multiple fronts at all times to keep it that way.

The surprisingly moderate weather, combined with the holiday spirit, and the magazine spread, had also brought a boost in business down in Portsmouth, too. Far more than was typical this time of year, and more than he'd been expecting,
AE
exposure or no. So he'd also been on the phone seemingly every other hour with his manager and assistant manager trying to schedule times for him to speak with prospective new clients. He knew a certain percentage were looky-loos wanting their brush with pseudo-celebrity to give them something to tell their neighbors and associates, even though they had no intention of hiring him. Paul, his right hand, had taken over that unenviable task, weeding out the status seekers, while Stephanie, his other right hand, coordinated call times for him to speak to those who made it past Paul.

When he explained why his contact with potential new clients had to be over the phone for now, most were very understanding about his situation. The ones who weren't, or who had time frames that required more immediate attention, well, those weren't folks he was going to be able to satisfy anyway. As it was, he already had a backlog of clients he'd been contracted with prior to his parents' sudden move south, so they came before any of this latest spate. Fortunately, the work he'd contracted over the winter was mostly indoors, and that was mostly thanks to the latest indoor garden spa craze. He was thankful for it and the work. The new clients were mostly outdoor jobs that had to wait until spring anyway.

When he had time to take a breath, he was quite pleased with how everything was turning out. As long as he didn't think too far ahead and let himself feel flattened by the work load piling up in Portsmouth and all the decisions that still had to be made here in Snowflake Bay.

At the moment, he'd shoved all of that aside to focus on one very specific event, and to that end, he stepped into the kitchen at the house, closed the door behind him, and called Fiona.

She picked up on the third ring, sounding seriously out of breath.

“I've caught you at a bad time, apparently,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, then swore quite creatively under her breath, before adding, “you have no idea.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Other than rounding up every designer responsible for creating the horridness that are all bridesmaid dresses and forcing them into a too small dressing room to try on their own creations? Ah, nope.”

Ben chuckled.

“Oh sure,” she said, then there was a muffled sound, followed by more swearing. “Laugh it up, big guy,” she said, her voice suddenly clear and loud, though still seriously winded.

He held the phone away from his ear for a moment, then brought it back when it sounded like the wrestling match was over. “Did you pin it to the mat for the win?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Listen, I need to ask you something, but now is clearly not the time.”

“Is it about something that has nothing to do with weddings, dresses, hospitals, or my sister Kerry, who is dangerously close to losing a limb if she pinches my ass one more time—?” There was a pause, a burst of laughter, more muffled swearing, followed by a screech, then Fiona shouting, “HA! Now take your firm little fanny back to your own dressing cubicle from hell and leave me and my lovely, lush, curvaceous badonkadonk alone.”

“Paybacks are hell,” he said, laughing. “And tell her the only one who gets to put his hands on your badonkadonk is this guy.”

“Well, you might need a pair of hedge clippers or whatever tool you landscape guys use to cut through large swaths of foliage, because I am seriously stuck in a sea of green taffeta and lace here.”

“Sounds—”

“Horrifying. It's like a Godzilla version of my scarf. On crack. With pearls. Just to make sure I have no hair left on my head by the time I get done.”

“I have to say, I know nothing about wedding fashion, or any fashion really—I get to wear steel-toe boots and flannel to work every day—but that doesn't sound like something Hannah would choose.”

“I would pay her large sums to have a lumberjack wedding right now,” Fiona said. “And no, this is not something Hannah would choose. This is payback for the clever little party game I had them all play at Alex and Logan's wedding last summer.”

“The ‘bridesmaid dresses from hell' rehearsal, ah yes.”

“You know about that?”

“I've seen the wedding pictures.”

“Right. I guess you have. So, while that was funny and at least gave those dresses a more meaningful reason for existing, forcing me to try on and model every horrifying dress Kerry can find in the immediate Pelican Bay area—and there are so many more than you'd think—I feel is unfair.”

“And yet, there you are, awash in a sea of bridesmaid foliage.”

“The things we do for family.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Would it help if I said I'd happily cut that dress off of your lovely badonkadonk and all the rest of your luscious, curvy self with my teeth, if it meant I got to have you all to myself to do with as I pleased when I was done?”

“Only if you're in your truck and on the way to Birdy's Bridal Boutique, the best little bridal boutique in Bangor, or so Birdy proclaims.”

“Birdy, huh? Uh, no, I'm afraid and admittedly very disappointed to say that I'm not.”

“Well then, I have no use for you.”

“More's the pity for me. And for you, too, because I can be really, really creative with . . . uh . . . foliage.”

She sighed then. “Just my luck.”

“You want to call me back later when you're done being bridesmaid dress shamed?”

“You say that like you think I'll actually survive this.”

“I have every faith in you.”

“Okay, so maybe I do have a use for you. You're very good for my crushed-tulle and tattered-taffeta ego.”

“That's why I'm here, ma'am.”

“What was it you called about?” she asked, and he could hear the affection in her voice, despite the dress disgruntlement. It made him smile.

“Uh, well, I called to ask you to a party. But don't worry, no tattered taffeta or tulle required.”

“A party? Where?”

“I throw a holiday party for my employees and their families, along with some of our more loyal customers, every year.”

“I'm surprised you've had time to organize anything, I'm impressed.”

“Well, don't be. It was mostly Paul and Stephanie who did the planning and organizing this year.”

Fiona knew who both of them were from their daily chats. “You're going to owe them a very, very big bonus this year. If you give bonuses. And if you don't, something in a tasteful all-inclusive resort stay would probably look fabulous on both of them.” He could hear her smile as she added, “One size fits all, and you can order it online.”

“How much do you charge for your interior design work?” he asked. “Because you're a very generous boss.”

“Oh, I didn't say I gave that kind of fabulousness to my minions, but I don't work them into the ground like you do your people, Ebenezer”

“Hey, I resent the Scrooge implication. I'm a great boss. My minions adore me. I hear there's talk of a parade. Maybe even a statue in the town square.”

“You say parade, I say staging a coup. Semantics, I guess.”

He laughed and he heard her chuckle, too, then gasp. “What's wrong?”

“This is a no laughing bridesmaid dress. Breathing, just barely, and only in shallow gasps, but laughter could result in the immediate crushing of ones vital organs.”

“Who knew wedding gear was so lethal?”

“Right? As soon as I gnaw myself free, I'm going to pay Hannah a very large sum of money, even if I have to hock my newly purchased store, to convince her and Calder to elope.”

“Wise move. I'll toss in an elf hat and a free Christmas tree if that will help.”

“You give and you give.”

“I'm a giver,” he agreed. A rap on the kitchen door behind him had him jerking away from the counter. Conversations with Fiona were never dull, never took the standard
How was your day?
path, and he couldn't imagine wanting anyone's voice in his ear more than hers. Grinning, he motioned to Kearney that he'd be right out, then turned back to finish the conversation. “The party is this weekend, in Portsmouth, of course. I planned to head down Friday night, back on Sunday.”

“You're driving? All night?”

“Training.”

“Ooh, I love train rides. Someone else does all the steering and I get to catch up on a year's worth of one of the many magazines I subscribe to but never have time to read.”

“Well, yes, that does sound like a lovely way to pass the time, but I have a sleeper car so we don't have to sit up all night and—”

“What time do we leave?” Fiona demanded, making him laugh all over again.

“Well, now that I've twisted your arm—”

“Only because I know you would never take advantage of someone who you used to call mean, spiteful names can I share with you my longest held fantasy ever.”

“And it has to do with a sleeper car on a train?” He grinned. “I think I can get it in one guess.”

“Oh, I'm so hoping you're going to do a lot more than guess.”

“Wow. Well then. Good to know. Although, I admit, I'm feeling a little performance anxiety already.”

“The last man I got naked with didn't know there were spots in a woman's body with letters assigned to them, much less where to look for said spots. I'm pretty sure that just by showing up, not only will you stick the landing, but the Russian judge will give you a perfect ten.”

“My chance to go for the gold. Or something that starts with G anyway.”

She sighed. “This dress is going to be so much harder to get out of now that it's all damp and moist.”

“Really, I have tried to talk you into phone sex and even sent you sexts that made me blush, and now, when I have a guy pressing his nose against the kitchen window and you're wrapped in a dress they had to kill I don't know how many taffetas to make, you want to talk dirty?”

She was laughing, cursing, then gasping through more laughter. “I'm so perverse like that. Are you sure you want me on that train with you?”

“With me, on me, under me . . . oh, absolutely.” He heard her sigh and he already knew he was going to have to put a tray of ice down his pants before he could face any of his guys, much less the customers. How was it she managed to do that to him every time, no matter what they talked about? “Go get your very fine badonkadonk out of that dress. We'll sort out all the details tonight.”

“Easy for you to say, lumberjack guy. Call me when you're done for the day. And if you can spare a guy with a chain saw, I'd be forever grateful.”

“You're so high-maintenance.”

“Yes, it's one of my more adorable traits.” She was wheeze-laughing as she hung up.

And that was pretty much the moment when Ben knew he was no longer just sliding down that slippery slope. Oh no, he was smack, splat, flat-on-his-face in love with Fiona Mary Margaret McCrae. “Now all you have to do is convince her to take that slide with you.” He was whistling as he reached for the freezer door.

“Here, let me help you up,” Ben said, giving her a hand from the station platform to the bottom step of the train.

“Yes, these fireplug legs don't have a lot of extension,” she said, tossing him a dry smile over her shoulder as she hoisted herself and her overnight bag up onto the corrugated metal riser.

He met her smile with one that was a bit on the overly sweet side. “May I just say that, as a means of payback, you've made an excellent choice? How long, would you say, that this penance of mine will be lasting?”

She pretended to think about it. “Well, we met when I was, what, three? Four? I'm now thirty-two, so, do the subtraction, carry the one . . .” She beamed at him. “Yeah, you're pretty much screwed until you're about ready to collect Social Security.”

He hoisted himself up behind her with remarkable speed and grace, so she had no time to adjust, which meant the front of his body was pressed oh so very intimately against every inch of the back of hers. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “If that means you'll still be around, driving me crazy, for the next thirty years, well . . . then it's time I'm willing to do.”

A hot pulse of lust raced straight down her back as his lips traced along the shell of her ear, before nipping lightly on her lobe.

She might have gasped, and she was pretty sure the soft moan was hers, too.

“You might want to move inside the car. We're holding up the line.”

She blinked her eyes open and tried to get her now wobbly knees to cooperate. “Line. Car. Right.” She turned and stumbled on the next step, forgetting it was there, and would have face-planted if not for Ben smoothly sliding his arm around her middle and all but carrying her up the rest of the way like just another piece of carry-on luggage.

“Put me down,” she hissed as he kept walking down the aisle with her still banded to his chest, feet dangling, clasping her bag close to keep from hitting already seated passengers in the head. When he didn't respond, much less put her down, she leaned her head back and looked up at the underside of his chin. “I've got on really heavy shoes, what with the snow and all. You might recall that I was on a state championship soccer team all through middle and high school.” She knocked the heel of one booted foot against his calf. “So I have really, really good aim.”

And, suddenly, she was standing on her own two feet again. She made a show of arranging her bag, smoothing her curls, then primly said, “Thank you.” And promptly tripped over her scarf, which had somehow managed to unwind itself from her neck. Something it otherwise would have taken a team of highly skilled surgeons to do, but naturally, in her moment of triumph, just magically snaked its way to the floor.

“Whoa there, tiger,” he said, grabbing the back of her coat before she could do a belly flop onto her carry-on. “I know you said you wanted us to try some new positions, but why not wait until we get to our sleeper car, hmm?”

She'd have turned her look of outrage on him, but she was presently wedged between him and her now sideways luggage, which meant she also couldn't swing it at his head. So she did the next best thing. She looked over her shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Now, honey, you know the doctor said that those pills can't perform miracles.” She glanced at the now avidly interested passengers, most of whom weren't even pretending to be checking their cell phones or reading a magazine at this point. “He's in denial,” she whispered, and shook her head in mock pity.

“Remind me not to play your little reindeer games in public,” he said, borrowing one of Logan's favorite phrases and sharing a patently false smile with their fellow passengers.

She smiled a little private smile. “Thanks, Blitzen,” she said. “Now show your little red-nosed Rudolph to our car, won't you? It's almost time for your medication.”

An older woman stopped their forward progress several rows later by reaching out and putting her hand on Ben's arm. “My husband had . . . you know . . . issues.” She leaned forward. “Try watching a little porno online before bed.” She lifted a shoulder. “Cheap, fast, and leaves the little woman not having to do all the work, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks,” Ben managed to choke out. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Fiona made it all the way to the platform between cars before she burst out laughing.

Ben all but march-stepped her through the next three cars, and she giggled the whole way.

“We're here,” he said, stopping their progress at the end of the fifth car, then opening a corner door and bundling them and their luggage inside the small compartment.

“Cozy,” she said, turning, poised to remind him he'd been the one to start it, but the words died in her throat when she caught his expression. Which was anything but annoyed or put-out.

“So,” he said, relieving her of her bag and tossing it, and his, on the bench seat behind him. He crowded her back against the double bunks that lined the opposite wall. “What, exactly, does your train fantasy involve?”

“I can't remember,” she breathed, all hope of linear thinking gone as she got caught up in the heat and the promise in those dark green eyes of his. “But I'm pretty sure you're going to exceed every part of it.”

His grin was fierce, bordering on feral. And it made her want to bite his chin. And do equally primal things to other parts of his anatomy. Right after he slaked all that animal lust on every part of her.

“Ben—”

He stepped closer, until she was caught between the bunk and the length of his long, hard—so very hard—body. “Are you about to tell me you've changed your mind? About us finally getting to do what several weeks of verbal foreplay has gotten us well past the point of wanting to do?”

She shook her head, unable to look away from his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that. It was thrilling. Empowering. And not for even a whisper of a second did she doubt that her desire for him was based 100 percent on the man presently standing in front of her. He'd long since exceeded any adolescent fantasies she might have harbored about him. She had a feeling he was about to exceed every adult fantasy she'd had about him, too. It had only been a few weeks, but already she couldn't remember what it felt like not to need him like she needed her next breath.

“Thank God,” he said, then cupped the back of her neck and lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were warm, firm, and when he slid his tongue into her mouth, he tasted like the chocolate and peppermint candy they'd sampled in the truck on the drive over. She'd never think of chocolate and peppermint the same way again. He took, he coaxed, and she responded by giving, and taking some of her own. Her moans mixed with his growls, and then he was flipping open the leather straps on her coat like they were simple snaps.

“I thought we'd have a nice meal in the dining car, some wine,” he said, his voice rough, his breathing heavy. “A little conversation.” He threw her coat behind him, not bothering to look where it landed. His coat followed. “Share a really decadent dessert.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. “While I seduce you into telling me every train fantasy you've ever had.”

She unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pushed it down over his shoulders, then jerked his Henley and T-shirt up far enough so she could undo the button of his jeans. “I vote we opt for a late dinner, just the two of us in the club car, talking about how all of my train fantasies will now be about this.” She unzipped his jeans.

“As backup plans go,” he said, punctuating the words with kisses along the side of her neck as he made short work of the buttons on her shirt, “I can live with that.” He opened the shirt and lowered his face to nuzzle the cleavage that required no pushup bra, while rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. “Mmm,” he said, the sound muffled as he tugged at the lace-trimmed silk with his teeth. “I like the red silk almost as much as the green.”

“Merry Christmas,” she gasped and arched as he laughed against her skin, then tugged the red silk cups down under the plump weight of her breasts and replaced his thumbs with his tongue. She cried out as he suckled her, the intense pleasure arrowing straight down from those sensitive points to her other most sensitive point, making her squeeze her thighs together in aching, needy want. She sank her fingers into his hair, keeping him right where he was as she writhed beneath his continued onslaught, certain he was going to make her come just from that attention alone.

Then he slid one hand down her stomach and cupped her between her legs, nudging them apart so he could press and rub his fingers along the seam of her pants as his tongue continued its wicked dance, brushing the tips of her nipples. She cried out again as she went ripping over the edge, clutching at him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocketed to and from every bundle of nerve endings that he continued to toy with. The pleasure was so intense, her cries became growls, then breathless gasps as she finally pushed at him, certain she couldn't take any more and it would move past pleasure into discomfort.

He wasted no time proving that wrong, as he sank to his knees, unbuttoned her pants, jerked pants and panties down in one yank, then buried his tongue where he'd been rubbing against her, and sliding those clever fingers back up to play with her nipples through the now-damp silk.

“I can't—”

“You can,” he murmured, kissing her, licking her, then sliding his tongue inside of her, making her cry out again as yet another wave washed over her.

She didn't think she could stand upright as the pleasure cascaded all down through her again, making her vibrate with the force of it. “Ben—” Her knees buckled and he pulled her down, only so he could push her back onto the bottom bunk, splayed out before him in a tangle of half-removed clothing. Boots, pants, undies were all pushed off in a blink, and then he started his way up the inside of her ankle . . . with his tongue. And his teeth.

She was torn between grabbing hold of the bunk posts and letting him do whatever he wanted to do, perfectly willing to expire from an overload of orgasmic pleasure . . . and wanting to join the party in a more substantial, giving kind of way. Taking was good—oh, so very, very good—but she was a giver, too. “Come here,” she said, or rasped, as her throat had gone dry from all the gasping and moaning. She reached down and tugged at any part of him she could grab hold of. His shirt, his hair. Whatever it took to get all of him on top of all of her, as soon as humanly possible. “And you have way too many clothes on,” she said, tugging on his layers of shirts. “Fair's fair.”

“I'm all about equality,” he said, and made short work of those, too.

Then she wasn't in as much of a hurry to pull him back down, because she wouldn't be able to ogle him properly. And dear Lord, there was a lot to ogle.

But then he was sliding his hands up her thighs, over her stomach, and cupping her breasts as he crawled on top of her and, well, there would be plenty of time to ogle him later. She also forgot about that whole giving part for the next ten minutes or so. Maybe it was twenty. She was too busy coming.

She was still shuddering, hips arching, all but jerking off the bed as he did things with his tongue and fingers that—“Oh!” she cried out, when he finally slid up on top of her, and pushed into her with one, long, perfect thrust. “
Yes!
”

He pulled her thighs up and she was already wrapping her legs around his hips. The bunk space was tight, keeping him low over her body as he drove into her, filling her, taking her. He took her mouth the same way, plunging, taking, taunting. “Fi,” he rasped, pressing hot kisses along her neck, their pace increasing as she began to climb all over again.

“Ben, please.”

He slowed, lifted his head to look at her. “Too much?”

She shook her head, pulled his mouth down to hers. “Too good,” she said, and kissed him as everything shattered once more. “You,” she panted when she could find words. “You.” She was still buzzing, her body still humming, and she wanted him to feel what she was feeling. She dug her heels into his back, lifted, and took him in deeper, tighter.

“Yes,” he growled, words punctuating his thrusts. “Dear, sweet—” And that was as far as he got. The rest was one, long, deep, guttural groan that vibrated straight down through every inch of her body. Her utterly, completely, and totally spent body.

He slumped down on top of her for a long moment, still breathing hard, his weight taking the wind from her, before finally being able to prop himself on one arm so she could breathe. She smiled into the curve of his shoulder, thinking breathing was highly overrated. She liked that he'd felt the same fierce onslaught of pleasure she had, that he hadn't been able to control it or himself, either. She also liked that the proximity of the bunk overhead kept him curved tightly over her. She felt nestled in an intimate cocoon, and thought she could stay happily right where she was for the foreseeable future.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl.

He chuckled and pressed his lips against her hair. “I assume that's a yes to dinner?”

She nestled in closer and he shifted to his side, tucking her into the narrow space between the wall and his big, warm body. “Only if they'll serve it to us right here.”

He wedged his legs into the space, which was shorter than he was tall, and pulled her closer. “I'm liking your train fantasy.”

She laughed and kissed his chest. “You are my train fantasy.”

She could feel him grinning, as he tucked her under his chin.

She was tracing her fingers down along the very impressive vein that edged his biceps, when she said, “I've decided that I'm over being called Fireplug Fi.”