Snowy Mountain Nights (13 page)

“No. He's not going to drive us away from our meal.”

She glanced down at the scattered remnants of their dinner, two empty plates, the half-finished bowl of plantains, the bottle of wine that still had plenty left in it. Before Ian arrived, they had been sipping their wine, snacking on the last of the plantains and allowing the conversation to begin the slow process of digestion. It was nothing they could go back to.

Reyna squeezed his forearm. It was a steel rod beneath her fingers, firm and cold. She'd never imagined the cool and calm lawyer could even get this angry.

“We should go,” she said again.

Garrison watched her for a moment. Before her eyes, his face slowly settled into its usual impassive lines. He drew a breath. “All right.”

After he paid the check, Reyna slipped out of the restaurant at his side with the curious stares of the other restaurant patrons at their backs. In the cold evening, he took another deep breath. The steam from his sigh smoked the air.

“Let's go for a walk,” she said. “It'll clear your head.”

“My head is clear enough,” Garrison said gruffly, his voice not quite back to normal. But instead of heading to the car, he tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow and started down the busy sidewalk.

They walked in silence, footsteps ringing against the pavement, strolling past banks of dirty snow, brightly lit storefronts, men loitering on the cold street corners.

“I should apologize,” he finally said. “I don't usually let people get to me like that.”

“Yes, I can see how that could be a hazard at the negotiation table.”

Reyna was trying to ignore her own unease. Garrison had gotten upset out of proportion to what Ian said. Was that because her ex's accusations were true? Whatever the case, now didn't seem the best time to ask about it.

Their slow footsteps took them into a less-populated part of the neighborhood, fewer people, closed stores, a more residential area with the wash of lights from apartment buildings falling down on them from both sides of the street. The sound of a television came from a nearby window.

“Do you believe I've done what he said?”

She pressed her lips together. “It's not for me to believe—”

“Yes, it is. Your opinion matters to me. If you think I'd do something so...low and desperate, then that's a conversation we need to have.” He cursed, an unexpected and filthy exhalation in the cool night. “That's not even a conversation, that's—” He cursed again and turned to her. “I feel a bit out of my mind right now, and I don't even know why.”

She felt the strength in him, the trembling anger that simmered beneath the seemingly rational words. “Garrison.” She touched his chest through the thick wool coat. He pressed his gloved hand over hers.

“Reyna.” His voice grated with emotion.

He looked up at the skies as if to find guidance from some higher power, but in the silence of the evening, it was just the two of them, the streets empty of everything except their shadows. He put his arms around her and said her name again. “I don't want you to believe the worst of me.”

But I don't know you. Not really.
The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, but he kissed her and swallowed them. It was a hard and desperate kiss. A kiss that spoke of a deeper hunger than the flesh. Reyna gasped into his mouth, kissed him back, sparked by the desperation in his touch. He repeated her name as he kissed her. Sweetness. Heat. Desire. Then they weren't on the sidewalk anymore. An alley's wall was at her back, and he was pressing heated kisses to her throat, loosening the button at the top of her coat.

His lust frightened her. But she couldn't deny the spark of arousal between her thighs, the quickening of her breath that responded to the need in him. Her pulse swam desperately in her throat. He gripped her hips and moved against her, a hard and frantic heat. Even through their clothes, she could feel the thick proof of his desire. But she wanted more. Beyond shame, Reyna quickly unbuttoned his coat, touched him through his slacks. He groaned into her throat, pulled her hips into his, breath gasping. His gloved hands slid up her thighs, lifted her.

“Reyna...”

She was slick and hot for him, pulse thundering, her reason gone. He yanked a glove off with his teeth, slid a hand between her thighs, shoving her dress up and out of his way. She swallowed a gasp and whimpered when his long fingers stroked her, tested her readiness for him. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and clung to his shoulders. Her heart thundered as he adjusted his clothes, then hers. He plunged deep into her.

“Oh!”

He was still for a moment, breath gasping into her throat as they both got used to the hot fit of their bodies together. Then he began to move. Garrison was steadily building speed and heat, the perfect hammer of lust. She threw her head back against the wall as he claimed her, the long wings of his coat protecting her flesh from anyone's sight but his own.

He grunted softly with each movement of his body. She bit her lips together to stifle her moans, though the firm stroke of him inside her made her want to scream at the moon, howl at the stars.

The pleasure crawled up inside Reyna, twisting savagely in her belly. She clawed at his back through the coat, moving with him, as desperate for satisfaction as he was. He groaned as he achieved his peak, shuddering and whispering her name. Garrison threw his head back, panting breaths misting the air. She squirmed, her pleasure still unfulfilled. Reyna whimpered with loss when Garrison pulled his body from hers. But he put a hand between them, sliding his fingers over the firm seed of her passion, into her wetness. His fingers teased, circled, blazing up her banked fires.

Her palms slapped the wall. Her hips moved, blindly seeking. Her breath grew labored.

“Oh, God!”

Cold air washed over her stockinged legs, between her thighs where his fingers were merciless, twisting the pleasure inside her. She writhed against the wall, caught between the cold brick and the relentless press and caress of his fingers, the wet pleasure of it. His face was intent and hard, a fierce beauty blazing in him as he plunged between her legs again and again with his fingers. She exploded with bliss.

Reyna flung her back off the wall, crying out his name and panting into the night. She gasped and sagged into him, desperately clutching him as the last tremors took her body. He held her to him, his hot breath searing her throat.

“I'm sorry.” He panted. “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

But what held more weight was the fulfilled promise of his desire for her, the satisfaction that was warm and pulsing at the top of her thighs and low in her belly. It felt sinful and wild. She'd never done anything like this before, made love in public, abandoned caution and allowed her body's wants to rule her. She couldn't quite obey her common sense that told her to pull away, pull her skirt down and go home.

Slowly, he released her to the ground on unsteady feet. He pulled her close, still not speaking. Which was fine with her because she had no idea what to say. His anger was gone. In its place was a resolute silence that oddly comforted her. At his car, he opened the door for her, then he got in. They drove out of the small neighborhood. She didn't realize until a long while later that they were traveling across the Brooklyn Bridge toward Manhattan.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my place. I hope you don't mind. I thought it would be better instead of just dropping you off at home, after...” He didn't need to say after what.

Reyna blushed and turned from him to look out the window. She was still tingling, still deliciously aware of everything she'd done with him. And she didn't have a single regret.

Garrison lived in an apartment near Central Park. They swept past a doorman who greeted them with a respectful nod before going back to his business with the weekend newspaper. An elevator carried them swiftly to the twenty-second floor.

Inside, the curtains were pulled open to let in the lights of the city and a view of the park, covered in darkness. Garrison pressed a button, and the recessed lighting flickered on, emphasizing the large living room's intimate darkness rather than pushing it away.

The apartment was massive and high-ceilinged, affording a corner view of the city and park through wide floor-to-ceiling windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, and heavy wooden furniture sat in an inviting arrangement. The overall effect was very masculine, very refined. Somber. But nothing she didn't expect.

Garrison took Reyna's coat and tucked it along with his own in the hall closet. He jerked off his tie and flung it over a nearby chair then gestured for her to have a seat on the leather couch. After a slight hesitation, he shed his suit jacket, too.

“Would you like a drink?”

She sank down into the dark brown couch that smelled pleasantly of leather and oak, the fabric pressing into her skin with a momentary coolness then a full-body comfort, a sumptuous invitation to release any tension and worry. It was very much like Garrison's embrace. “Red wine, if you have it.”

“I do.”

He poured her a glass of something full-bodied and expensive then presented the wine to her with a sort of bow, but did not sit with her on the couch. Instead, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and walked to the window. Garrison stared out into the night while he drank from the glass, obviously distracted.

Reyna took those seconds to admire him, the way the dress shirt and vest fit his wide shoulders and showed off his trim waist, the slim fit of the slacks over his rear—here, she lingered for an indecently long time—his muscular thighs and the oddly erotic bend of his knee. The night sky beyond the window framed him like a work of art. A work of art she wanted to drag to bed.

Two weeks before, she'd found him sexy and thought there was nothing beautiful about him except for his naked body. But she realized now that
all
of him
was
beautiful; his was an austere splendor that caught the viewer unawares, made them, made
her
, lose her breath, even as a hunger grew to see more of him.

She gripped the stem of her wineglass as she realized what that meant.

Well, damn.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Garrison stirred by the window. His face was actually calmer, as if he'd made peace with part of himself, even made some sort of decision while staring out at the city. “Things didn't quite work out the way I planned, Reyna.”

“What had you planned, exactly?” She put her wineglass on the table, unwilling to look too closely at the realization that just slapped her neatly in the face.

He turned to her, the whiskey glass held loosely in his hand. “I had romance in mind for our date, not...not what actually happened. This date was to prove to you that we can have more than great sex together.” The corner of his mouth tilted up in a humorless smile. “Can we start the night over?”

Start over?
She didn't think there was anything to start over from. They had a great time in the mountains, and now he wanted to bring that magic into the real world. It wouldn't work; it could only be that animalistic craving they had shared in the alley, a different kind of magic. Raw and so intense that it hurt.

It didn't matter that she now found him beautiful, and a piece of her heart was no longer hers.

To make time to gather her thoughts, Reyna twirled the red wine in her glass and watched the legs drip down the sides of the expensive crystal. She pursed her lips.

“Let's not pretend this is more than it is.” She couldn't look at him. “The sex is great, but there's no way this can end well. We should just cut this short now. That way, nobody will get hurt.”
Or I won't get hurt.

She heard the faint tap of crystal on wood and looked up to see that he had put his glass on the bar and now walked to her with a purposeful glint in his eyes. He took the glass from her hand and tugged her to her feet.

“It's not fair of you to kill this before it even gets a chance to start.” His hands were warm and big around hers. “I want to get to know more than just how you sound when we're making love. I know you want me. Give it a chance for there to be even more between us.”

His breath, spiced from the whiskey, brushed her cheek. A shiver of lust shook her belly.
This is not the time,
she told herself. But his closeness was playing havoc with her senses. She wanted to move closer to him. The kisses they'd already shared haunted her. She was very aware that all she had to do was step a few inches closer, and those kisses would be hers again. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder, glancing toward the darkened hallway and where she assumed his bedroom was.
Damn.
Reyna stepped back.

“I think I'm way over my head here,” she said.

He released her hands but stayed within touching distance. “Swim through it,” he murmured, his sweepingly long lashes and ascetic face kissed with sensual decadence. “It's not so overwhelming once you allow yourself to enjoy it.”

He was clearly over whatever crisis of conscience had overtaken him after their lustful encounter in the alley. She wondered at that, how it was possible to process something so quickly and get past it. Her issues had a much stronger grip.

“Garrison, things aren't that—”

Just then a cell phone rang, an urgent chiming that was too loud to ignore. Garrison gave her a look of apology and pulled the phone from his pocket. He frowned at the display. “Damn. I've got to take this. I'll be right back. If you need to freshen up, the guest bedroom and bath are down that hallway.” He pointed where she had glanced before then headed toward the hallway on the other side of the living room, lifting the phone to his ear. His voice switched from the intimate tones she was used to, became harder and businesslike. “Tell me something I want to hear,” he said.

His deep voice rumbled, gradually becoming indecipherable sounds as he disappeared down the hallway and through a nearby door.