But the moment he ripped his sweater over his head and she saw his bare chest and shoulders, pale red-gold hair shimmering against an expanse of tanned skin, muscles moving smoothly beneath, the rush of sexual heat seared her inhibitions. Once he put his mouth against her calf, kissed and nipped and then trailed it higher, she lost any last ability to resist.
With a moan, she parted her legs again, silk fisted in her hands at her sides, and begged him to…no, not kiss her there, not this time. This time, she wanted him inside her.
He must have been carrying condoms, because suddenly he was putting one on with shaking hands. Then he rose over her, blocking out the world. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders as he thrust, a long slide that stretched her in ways she’d forgotten, or never experienced, she didn’t know. She only knew that having him buried inside her was painful and exquisite, and she didn’t want him to leave, even to pull back. He smothered her protests with kisses and pulled away only to surge deep inside her again. And again and again, until her body convulsed in pleasure so intense she understood at last why this moment was called “the little death.”
She held Kevin as he moved a final time, as he groaned and she felt the ripples deep inside her. For a timeless moment, Melanie floated in a blissful sea of physical satisfaction, of tenderness, of love.
And then another pin pricked her hip, and this time she felt it, so sharp she knew it had drawn blood.
Just as she knew nothing had changed. She couldn’t let it—not for her sake, and not for Angie’s.
But for just a few more minutes she could revel in his weight on her, his warmth, the slam of his heartbeat, the way he murmured her name. For just a few more minutes she could pretend that this was the first time.
Not the only time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HIS CROSS-COUNTRY SKIS whispered on the snow. His rasp of breath was the only sound in a world cloaked in white. No, not entirely. To one side, a whirr made him turn his head in time to glimpse a flash of brilliant blue wings against the white and deep-green backdrop.
Scott had recommended this trail, a long easy rise to a ridge where, he promised, Kevin would see the valley and the town of Elk Springs spread out below him. Kevin had canceled his morning classes and counted on being alone.
His muscles ached pleasantly, his lungs expanded to take in deep drafts of cold air. Another sound, and he saw the brown rump of a deer bounding away at the sight of him. This was where he was happiest—alone, in the woods. His mother used to shake her head and swear he would have been one of those unshaven mountain men if he’d been born in another century. He’d thought she might be right. He had never needed other people in the way even Scott had.
The idea of “other people” skimmed Kevin’s mind, took form and face, a tumble of dark hair, passion-clouded eyes, soft mouth, breasts as white as snow. Kevin gritted his teeth and tried to wall her out. In this solitude he could unclutter his mind, understand what was most important to him.
Of course he instantly saw Melanie again, this time as she told him with quiet finality that no matter what had just happened, she still couldn’t marry him. She didn’t even know if it was a good idea to keep seeing him.
“It hurts,” she had said, in a small husky voice that cracked. “I’m so tempted to let myself love you and forget what it might mean. Maybe Ryan and I would have stayed happy if I hadn’t hated our life so much. Maybe I soured our marriage with my unhappiness. I won’t go through that again. I won’t, Kevin. Don’t ask me.”
Trying to leave the memory behind, he skied faster, planting the poles with vicious stabs, driving himself in a near sprint. He wanted to be angry, contemptuous of a woman who wouldn’t take risks. But how could he? They’d had great sex. Okay. Otherwise, all he was offering her was an open-ended future that must read to her like a rerun of her first marriage. He’d said it himself: Park Service housing was often pretty seedy. It was usually miles from the nearest town, making a long bus ride for schoolchildren. Friendships evaporated the moment you were reassigned.
It was the perfect life for a man who craved solitude, shunned commitment, cared more about the health of an acre of forest than why his neighbor suddenly looked hungover every morning and why only one car was now parked in their driveway.
It was the worst possible life for a woman who craved community, longed for ties of friendship and family, wanted neighbors who knew one another’s business.
They were what they were. Clearly not meant for each other.
Kevin was racing now, muscles burning, his breath near sobs. He was where he loved to be. This was all he needed. Anguish filled his chest. Slamming pulse, lungs frantically snatching at oxygen. Heart breaking.
He burst from the trees. A last steep crest covered with new-fallen snow lay before him, a sky as huge and achingly blue as any he’d ever seen arching above it. Making a crosshatch with his skis, leaving behind V prints, he climbed with scarcely broken stride. This was what he needed. All he needed. All he’d ever wanted.
With a harsh cry he topped the ridge and saw the spectacular sweep of country beyond. The high desert land, dusted with snow far below him, stretched as far as his eye could see, broken only by the meandering Deschutes River and the new—in geologic terms—lava cones that made the soil rust red.
And by the town sprawled below the forested foothills. Elk Springs.
His gaze didn’t hunt for the horizon or study the petite lava cones that looked like scoops of ice cream dumped on the flat landscape. He was too busy seeking out familiar landmarks. His gaze didn’t pause at the community-college grounds above town, the high school on the other side, the redbrick public-safety building where his brother’s wife was chief of police. There, that stretch of green, was where he and Melanie had walked along the river at night, where he had kissed her. He couldn’t make out individual houses, but he found her neighborhood, her street.