Letting Go
Sarah McCarty
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The car pulled up in front of the dark cabin. The white glow of the moon reflecting off newly fallen snow highlighted the isolation of the log home set at the foot of the mountain. It was perfect. Remote. Comfortable. And it was theirs for the weekend. No work. No pets. Nothing to distract them from each other.
The uncharacteristic shyness that had been plaguing her the entire four-hour trip came back in spades as Marc switched off the car’s engine. Which was absolutely ridiculous. They’d planned this weekend for a month. Nothing was going to happen here that either of them hadn’t eagerly anticipated, but now that it was time for the planning to give birth to fantasy, she was shy to the point of blushing. She, the woman who never blushed, never embarrassed. Never lost control.
Becky pretended an interest in the scenery as the driver’s side door opened. Marc’s gaze slid over her like a touch, poking at her insecurities, asking silent questions she didn’t want to answer. Anticipation and nerves fluttered in her stomach in a queasy combination. She made her expression blank to hide her discomfort.
Marc sighed. The door creaked open. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
She kept her voice just as balanced as her expression. “Yes, we do.” Because she was so sick of not being who she wanted to be with him.
“Then why the cold shoulder?”
That got her looking at him. He thought she was brushing him off? She took a subtle steadying breath, inhaling the scent of the outdoors…and Marc. Both were clean, crisp and intangibly tied together in her mind, maybe because they’d met on a weekend kayak excursion, but more than likely because the man was as elemental as the forest around them.
She unclenched fists she didn’t know she’d been clenching. Good grief! No wonder he was asking questions. She looked more ready to go into battle than indulge in a romantic weekend. Becky shook her head at her own idiocy, her hair swishing around her shoulders with the movement. She brushed a strand away from her mouth. “Believe it or not, I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
He didn’t try to make eye contact again, which was good. If she’d looked at him, pride would have demanded she lie. “Because I’m afraid I might not live up to your expectations.”
The back of his fingers brushed down the side of her cheek. His low chuckle still sent a shiver down her spine the way it had the first time she’d heard it. Not for the first time she wondered what attracted him to her. He was as sexy and as uninhibited as a man could get, and she had more inhibitions than…well, than anyone needed.
“Baby, we’ve been married for two years — do you really think I don’t know what you’re capable of?”
She looked at him then, taking in the amusement and understanding in his gaze. He was so sure this wasn’t going to be a disaster. “Neither of us knows that.”
His smile was a slow, sexy stretch of the lips she’d seen many times before. Masculine. Knowing. And confident. He was always so confident. “I know.”
She clung to that confidence as his hand skimmed her neck, her shoulder, then her thigh. A pat on her knee followed by a quick squeeze and then he was out of the car, leaving her alone with her hopes, fears, and that borrowed bravado. Crisp night air swept in on his exit and she jumped as the door thudded shut.
She shook her head at her own cowardice. They’d devoted this weekend to obliterating the inhibitions between them. Inhibitions neither wanted. Becky slung her purse over her shoulder, watching in the rear view mirror as Marc walked around the back, a tall muscular silhouette cast in moonlight. Cowering in the car wasn’t an impressive start on her side.
She yanked the latch and shoved the door open. Snow crunched beneath her feet as she stood and stretched. The night sky expanded before her, a satiny carpet of black speckled with shining stars and dotted with glowing planets. She took a deep breath of the frigid air, shivering as it bit into her lungs.
A cloud wafted across the moonlit sky. She released her breath, watching the frozen vapor rise until it seemed to meld with that wispy traveler, becoming more than what it was, and yet still less than it would be. For a minute more, she watched the cloud skate along, free and unfettered, and then smiled as, with absolute certainty, she knew everything was going to be all right. There was nothing she and he couldn’t do. Nothing they couldn’t accomplish. Not together. Together, they were like that cloud. More than what they had been before, yet ever growing with boundless potential. She just had to stop being afraid to let go.
Anticipation skittered through her veins as she walked around the back of the car. The view here was as interesting as the night sky, seeing as Marc was stretched forward, retrieving a suitcase. The man had the body of a runner, roped with lean, hard muscle. She slid her hands up the side of his thighs, smiling as taut muscle flexed under her touch, gliding them up over his narrow hips, under his jacket, around his waist.
He jumped at the chill of her hands and then relaxed into her hug, settling his palms over hers, pressing them into his abdomen. As always, he communicated so much with a touch, his thoughts as clear as if he’d spoken. She pressed her cheek against the smooth leather of his jacket.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. And because she couldn’t resist, added, “And I swear, I’m not going to be like this all weekend.”
“Sweetheart, a few nerves aren’t going to send me running scared.”
“Even if I babble occasionally?”
He turned in her arms, his hands dropping to the hollow of her spine. “I’ve never seen you babble. Might be cute to witness.”
She tilted her head. With a foot difference in their heights, she had to lean back a bit before she could see his expression. “Trust me, it’s not a pretty picture.”
That half amused, half indulgent smile was still on his face. His head bent. Just before his mouth met hers, he whispered, “I’ll chance it.”
If there was ever proof that the man got her, it was right there in his kiss. He didn’t just take what he wanted like she expected, but rather he seduced, his mouth rubbing against hers in a subtle coaxing that sapped the anxiety right out of her and replaced it with a warm willingness. Willingness to trust him, to do what he wanted, to be what he wanted. What she wanted.
She opened her mouth and stretched up on her toes, accepting the thrust of his tongue, the natural dominance in his hold, tilting her head to give him more, letting him lead her past the point where caution said stop. Spreading her legs for the insertion of his thigh between, she checked her impulse to control the need to rub against him, following her instinct and his lead rather than her head. With her next breath she inhaled his groan of satisfaction.
“That’s it. Just let it happen.”
His grip moved to her hips, lifting her up against the thrust of his cock, pressing down as she worked her hips in an effort to get closer, to his heat, his cock, to him….
Too soon he was sliding her down his body, setting her feet on the ground, separating their lips.
“Hold that thought.”
She didn’t want to hold anything but him. The press of his thumb at the corner of her mouth sent a shock wave of need through her. Everything she ever dreaded seeing in a man’s eyes was there in Marc’s: amusement, satisfaction and, worst of all, a complacent grin that said he knew exactly how weak she was when it came to him. But her inward flinch never got a running start because there was no malice in that grin, just a bone deep satisfaction that was as arousing as it was comforting because it said more than anything else that at least one of them knew what they were doing. And it was completely natural that it was him.
His jacket whispered a protest as she slid her arms free. His hand cupped her cheek in one of those easy touches that reached all the way to her soul, catching her before she could