“Be careful, it’s very slippery,” he said. “Wait and let me come around and help you.”
Grabbing her carry-on bag from the backseat, she reached for the door handle. “Don’t be silly, you’re talking to a Chicago girl,” she insisted. “I eat snow for breakfast.”
“Hopefully not the yellow kind,” he said with a grin.
A real one. A sexy, old-Rafe, genuine one.
Oh, God, the man she’d loved really was lurking inside there, just wrapped in a more serious, introspective package.
Opening the door, she stepped out into the night, the icy snowflakes hitting her face in a painful little barrage. She threw a hand up to ward them off, and suddenly lost her balance. Her feet skidded, her warm boots doing absolutely nothing to keep her steady, and she began to fall. Grasping for the car, she tried to stop her descent, but her gloved fingers grabbed only air.
Rafe must have leaped over the hood because he was there, catching her in his arms, before she hit the ground.
“Holy crap,” she whispered, shocked at how quickly it had all happened—within a matter of seconds.
“I’ve got you,” he said, holding her tightly against his body. He’d skidded onto his own knees when he grabbed her, landing hard, but protecting her from harm. There might be several inches of snow on the ground, but it wouldn’t have provided much of a cushion if she’d slammed down on his hip.
“Maybe you should have practiced walking in snow rather than eating it for breakfast,” he said, those sexy lips quirking with humor.
“Maybe. I can’t believe you caught me. You must have flown over the hood.”
“You should have waited.”
“I’m sorry. Thank you.”
Their eyes met, their stares holding, despite the snow and the wind and the crazy location. His body radiated heat through the thick layers of clothes. She was closer to him than she’d been in years, sharing his breath, seeing the steady pulse beating in his neck.
Unable to help herself, needing to taste him to get one last, final confirmation that he really was here, she tilted her head and brushed her lips against his, not sure of where she got the nerve but not questioning the impulse.
He resisted for no more than a second, then drew her even more tightly against his body. He opened his mouth, thrusting his tongue against hers in a deep, hungry exploration that both shocked and thrilled her. Ellie kissed him back with fervor, loving the familiar taste of him, that unique Rafe flavor that she’d never experienced with any other man she’d kissed.
The icy snow pelted them and the wind blew so hard her ears hurt, but they kissed and kissed, turning their heads to take things even deeper, urged on by the desperation of so many long, lonely years.
A horn beeped somewhere, long and low, the sound echoing across the thick night. Startled, Rafe pulled away. He stared at her, opened his mouth to say something. No words emerged. Their stares held. Finally, he merely sighed.
“Let’s go inside,” she said, knowing he was thinking that she was a cheating wife and blaming himself for doing something so dishonorable.
“I’m sorry. I should never have...”
“Please, Rafe, take me inside,” she insisted. “We’ve got some talking to do. You’re going to want to hear what I’m going to say.”
She only wondered what was going to happen once he found out she was not only unmarried...but single and completely available.
Not to mention willing.
4
RAFE HAD NO IDEA what Ellie planned to tell him. What could she say that would make him feel any worse than he already did?
He’d broken the guy’s code. Decent men didn’t go around kissing other men’s wives. Even wives who had carved out a piece of your heart and held it in their grasp for seven years.
It had been the heat of the moment, that was all. Adrenaline. She’d almost fallen, he’d saved her from a nasty spill, she’d wound up in his arms.
One kiss. No big deal in the scheme of things.
Even if, in his heart, he knew that kiss had been a huge deal, if only because it left him with a hunger for more.
Saying nothing, he rose to his feet, staying grounded with not only his own weight, but hers. He didn’t immediately put her down, not ready to let her risk another fall. Or not ready to let her out of his arms. Which one, he couldn’t say.
Walking carefully, hearing the crunch of his thick-soled boots in the snow, he carried her to the door of their room and then lowered her onto her own feet. Inserting the thick key into the stiff, icy lock, he kept one arm on her shoulder to be sure her feet didn’t slip out from under her. Although there was an awning that extended the length of the building, the snow had drifted and icy flakes attacked them.
“One more second,” he told her as he jiggled the key, which resisted within the lock. He finally got it to disengage, grabbed the handle and twisted. Finding utter blackness within, he reached around the corner, groping for a light switch. Finding it, he flipped it up and the room gained a sickly yellowish tinge.
“Yikes. Maybe you should have left the light off,” she said, eyeing the room dubiously as they walked inside and pushed the door shut behind them.
“Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s better than a stable, isn’t it?”
She snickered, continuing to study the room, which could only be described as roadside-no-tell-motel chic. The worn, shag carpeting was a faded orange color that had probably been cool and hip in the 1960s...when it was installed. The flimsy furniture consisted of a dresser with two sagging drawers, a table and two mismatched chairs.
But the bed. Oh, the bed.
It was huge—California king, he’d say. It was made up with a red velvet spread, and above it, attached to the ceiling...
“Oh. My. God.”
He whistled, mentally echoing Ellie’s exclamation.
Because the ceiling of this entire room was mirrored.
“I guess this is why it’s called the honeymoon suite,” she said, sounding as though she were forcing the words out of a very tight throat.
He understood the reaction. His own throat suddenly clenched, because all he could imagine was the two of them on that bed, all night long. With those mirrors above them, and the door closed to the storm...and the entire world.
“I’m pretty sure this room has been used in every episode of Supernatural,” she said, averting her gaze from the bed. As if she feared Rafe would think she was worrying about sleeping in it with him. Or that she wasn’t. “Sam and Dean always stay in one like it.”
“Even with only one bed and the mirrors?”
“Well, maybe not just like it.”
He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Still into that spooky stuff, huh?” he asked as he tossed his duffel onto the dresser. He had also grabbed her carry-on, which had landed in the snow, and now put it beside his things.
“The spookier the better. Still only like to read nonfiction?”
“I’ve expanded my tastes a little,” he admitted. “Believe it or not, one of the guys in my unit has a sister who sends him cases of romance novels every so often. They really make the rounds and are usually worn out from rereading.”
She burst into laughter. “A bunch of tough army rangers reading romance novels.”
Yeah, it sounded pretty strange.