In the Clear Page 11

  “I’m exactly the same.”

  “You never got mad before.”

  Yes, he did. He got angry all the time, but like the unsure boy he’d always been, the anger had been self-directed, coursing inward with so much strength it tied him up in knots, silenced his tongue, buried his longings. This was simply the first time he’d let it out.

  And it felt good.

  He let his gaze flick downward then, taking in the sight of Lexie standing cold, shivering, completely bare. She was everything and nothing like he’d imagined. She seemed so tiny compared to him, her small height augmented by the slender lines of the rest of her body. But everything he’d ever imagined about her had been composed of brief, stolen memories stored where they could do the least damage.

  Now he was seeing all of her at once. The sweet swell of breasts lifting at each soft pink tip. The taper of her waist, which curved out to gently flaring hips. Those twin moles repeated on the side of her thigh. All of it was a sensory overload, and he wasn’t sure he was equipped to handle it.

  One more imbalance between them. He couldn’t compete with this. There was nothing he could ever do or say or be that would equal even a tenth of her perfection. And it. Wasn’t. Fucking. Fair.

  He grabbed Lexie’s wrist and pulled her into the spray with him. It was equal parts a need to touch her and a desire to pull her out of his line of vision. The tiny mewl of protest that escaped her lips only fed his sudden lapse into barbarism, and he continued holding her firm while he brought his lips to hers.

  Although Fletcher didn’t have a ton of experience, he’d always been a patient lover, a soft lover. He enjoyed the quiet moments of intimacy shared after sex almost as much as the act itself, the way two people could feel connected and at ease, if only for a few minutes while pulses slowed and breath returned.

  But there was nothing patient about this kiss. He didn’t wait for Lexie to soften toward him, or for her to part her lips in an invitation. He took what he wanted—and he wanted her.

  His tongue swept inside her mouth, startling them both with the sudden need to possess. The urgency of the kiss, when combined with the water cascading down on them, made it almost feel as though he was drowning in her, that any breath they had left would be shared between them.

  Lexie pulled away first, gasping for air. “Fletcher Patrick Owens!”

  The sharpness of her tone as she invoked the use of his full name almost made him loosen his hold and fall into the natural apology that hung from his lips. But then he remembered that she had done this. She’d stood there watching as he stroked himself. She’d taken off her clothes. She’d gotten into the shower with him.

  He used his free hand to grab her other wrist, holding them aloft above her head. This was one thing he’d never imagined before—that his towering height, normally such a curse, gave him a decided advantage in terms of controlling her movements.

  Barbarism, a tiny, niggling voice insisted. This isn’t you. This is the beast.

  The beast nodded its scraggly head.

  “You think I could use a softer touch?” he asked, refusing to let her go. “Well, you’re wrong—you’re wrong about so many things. And if you want me to stop, you better say so right now. Because the second I kiss you again, there’s no telling . . . ”

  “Kiss me again,” she interrupted, her breath still coming short and fast. Panting. She was panting. “Please, Fletcher. Kiss me like that again.”

  As if there’s any other way.

  Drowning wasn’t as much of a possibility this time, since he used his grip on both her wrists to pin her against the shower wall, out of the way of the cascade. She sucked in a sharp breath as her body hit the cool tiles, but he swallowed the sound with another long kiss.

  He didn’t allow her to adjust the severity of the embrace, even as she wriggled and gasped against him. Using his knee, he nudged her legs apart and pushed her up against the wall even harder, so that she slid higher up until he was bracing all of her weight.

  She was so light, so soft, so slippery and pliable that it was impossible to consider her weight a burden. And as her legs wrapped naturally around his hips, anchoring her body to his, he realized that he was about to take the love of his life up against a bathroom wall without a single regard for her comfort.

  The beast roared its approval.

  Fletcher’s erection hadn’t abated in the slightest. He dropped Lexie’s wrists, transferring his hold to her hips as he prepared to enter her. This was it—his chance to draw back, the one moment when he could maintain his admittedly loose grip on sanity. But the slick moisture between Lexie’s legs had nothing at all to do with the water and everything to do with him.

  With a single, unyielding thrust, he was inside her. Lexie’s cry was loud enough to drop him to his knees, but he remained standing, waiting just a second for her body to adjust before lifting her hips and bringing her flush against him. Again. And again.

  The agony of each angry stroke wrought by his own hands was nothing compared to this. Because this time, he was punishing Lexie as much as he was punishing himself. He was determined to break them both down, to make them feel the shame of losing so much control. And even though each movement wrested pleasure from his body, even though Lexie’s shattered scream filled the air, he begrudged every second of his euphoric release.

  She slid through his hands and landed on wobbling legs. With a flick of his wrist, Fletcher turned the nozzle on the shower, and the silence that filled the room carried with it a thousand recriminations.

  “Holy shit, Fletcher.”

  There was that recrimination, too.

  “I’m sorry.” He blew out a long breath as he helped her out of the tub. Once again, he resorted to averting his eyes and not gazing longingly at the curve of her back, where twin dimples led to her perfectly rounded bottom. Or he tried to, anyway. “That was . . . ”

  Uncalled for? Irresponsible? Possibly the biggest mistake of his life? A man couldn’t erase an encounter like that no matter how hard he might try.

  “I know,” was all she said.

  Great. He’d reduced Lexie into a state of catatonic reticence. He never thought he’d see the day when she was at a loss for words.

  He handed her a towel as he wrapped one around his lower half. They needed to have some sort of barrier—he refused to face her in the nude. Heck, if he could get away with it, he’d refuse to face her ever again.

  Clearly, she didn’t share his chagrin, because she got on tiptoes and dropped a soft graze of a kiss on his cheek. “You said a hot shower first, then food second, right?” Without waiting for a reply—which was good, as it might be hours before he found the ability to form actual sentences in her presence—she added, “I’ll see what I can rustle up. Don’t climb out the bathroom window before we have a chance to talk, okay?”

  He cast an anxious look at the window as she paused only long enough to gather up her clothes. Even if he could fit through that tiny square, which he seriously doubted, he was cold and wet and more exhausted than he’d been in a very long time. He’d have been much more likely to slink out the door when her back was turned.

  He was really good at that.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a good thing Fletcher’s kitchen was so well-stocked, because there was no way Lexie could have done much more than pour a bag of chips in a bowl and open a jar of salsa. Her legs barely worked, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and she stopped every five seconds or so to replay scenes of Fletcher ramming her against the shower wall. After which time her legs only got weaker and the warm liquidity between her legs started up all over again.

  Holy monkey balls, Fletcher had been good at that.

  If she’d ever allowed herself to imagine what Fletcher was like in bed before, it had only been fleeting, half-formed images that took on a decidedly pinkish hue. He’d always existed in her head as the sort to spend hours with foreplay, cautiously exploring a woman’s body in hopes of finding the perfect
combination of actions to enhance pleasure. For all she’d known, he jotted down notes as he went, written in his painstakingly neat hand and typed up later for posterity.

  Her hands shook harder as she placed the food on the table and began boiling water for hot chocolate. Whatever had possessed Fletcher in the shower, it wasn’t something textbook or clean. It wasn’t something safe. They’d taken no precautions, hadn’t given a thought to protection. That sex had been impulsive and angry and so incredibly hot Lexie needed to sit down for a minute.

  “Kettle’s boiling.” Fletcher came to stand in the kitchen doorway, looking about as relaxed as she felt—which was to say, not at all. He was also still damp from the shower, his hair hanging in one eye, a snug T-shirt highlighting the lean torso that was strong enough to perform heroic feats and amazing sex acts all within the same day.

  “I was making us hot chocolate,” she offered, but didn’t get up to attend to the screaming appliance.

  “Let me.” Fletcher didn’t wait for a reply, simply moved into the kitchen at his regular pace, gathering the mugs and spoons and showing Lexie his backside as he worked. Now that she’d seen it firsthand, felt the muscles clench and unclench as he plowed mercilessly into her, that backside took on a new and toe-tingling meaning. That backside admitted to loving her. That backside also seemed to hate her right now.

  She was still struggling to tear her gaze from Fletcher’s ass, rapt in her contemplation of its various merits, when her cell phone rang. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered, searching for it in the pocket of her coat, which she’d hung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs in her haste to follow Fletcher. She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to go into his bathroom and confront him like that, but at the time, she’d been imagining him crying into the shower curtain or slitting his wrists in the tub. Not . . . jacking off. Not that fierce, almost painful movement of his hand over his gloriously straight cock. As though touching himself was a curse. As if by trying hard enough, he could pump her out of his system.

  “I’m guessing it’s either Sean or my parents,” she apologized, finally hitting the pink plastic phone cover. “They’re probably frantic with worry.”

  Fletcher turned sharply. “You didn’t tell them where you were?”

  “How could I?” Sean’s number popped up on the screen. “I didn’t get cell reception up on the mountain.”

  Before Fletcher could chastise her for being thoughtless, she clicked the answer button and forced a bright, cheerful note into her voice. “Hey, Sean. What’s up?”

  “What’s up? You’re asking me what’s up right now? Where the hell are you?”

  A surge of annoyance rose up in her throat. Yes, it had been thoughtless of her not to find a way to contact her family. It was six o’clock on Christmas Eve, a time they normally all sat around the fire, dressed up in the ugliest holiday sweaters they could find and growing tipsy on eggnog. But he didn’t even wait for her explanation before he started yelling.

  “Calm down,” she said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone but probably sounded more like she wanted to snap his nose off. Which she did. “I’m at Fletcher’s.”

  “Fletcher’s? You’re at Fletcher’s?”

  “Are you just going to repeat everything I say in that incredulous voice?”

  “You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. Mom and Dad are worried sick . . . ” His voice trailed off, and she could hear the low murmur of their parents’ voices in the background. “Well, you should be worried sick. I know she’s a grown woman, but she can’t just . . . ” There was a little more murmuring before he directed his conversation back to her. “Mom and Dad say to bring Fletcher along when you come. They say to promise we’re not having turkey tomorrow, if that helps. How come everybody knows about this turkey thing except me?”

  Lexie couldn’t help but laugh. See? Sean didn’t know everything about Fletcher. He didn’t have sole rights to a relationship with him.

  She glanced across the kitchen to where the man in question stood. He’d turned to watch her conversation, the quiet look on his face reminding her that there was every possibility he’d never want to cross her family’s threshold again. If he thought for one second that she was only reacting to him because of the intensity of the past thirty-six hours, or that her feelings sprang from his hero status rather than the incredible, staunchly loyal man who resided under the surface, she knew he’d never let her get that close again.

  That serious face. The firm lines of his stance. The bleakness in his eyes that seemed only to soften as he looked at her, not blinking, not judging. Just waiting.

  Lexie bit back a sob.

  She wanted to get that close. She wanted to get so close he couldn’t ever hide himself away again.

  Without tearing herself away from his gaze, which locked her in place, she did her best to manage her brother. “Tell Mom and Dad we’ll be there first thing in the morning. And no opening presents until we arrive. Not even stockings.”

  Sean’s sudden silence was trumped only by the angry outburst that followed. “Goddammit, Lexie—tell me you’re only there for a chat and that you’re headed straight home. You better not be taking advantage of him. You better not be over there breaking his heart.”

  “I’m not,” she cried, unable to suppress her outrage in the face of such an accusation. She did a lot of things she wasn’t proud of, but she’d never break Fletcher’s heart on purpose. Not while she had breath left in her. “I was out helping him with a rescue and we just got back and we’re tired and hungry and you have no right to yell at me. He’s my friend, too. I love him just as much as you do.”

  Fletcher gave a queer start at the sound of the l-word, but she refused to back down now that it was out there. Maybe it wasn’t quite the kind of love a man and a woman could build a life on, but it was close. And if Fletcher gave her a chance, she was sure they could get there. She couldn’t imagine getting there with anyone else.

  “I love him as a friend and a lover and maybe even more,” she repeated, her words gaining momentum, though she found it difficult to maintain eye contact with Fletcher at that middle part. “And I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but you’re going to have to learn to share. I helped save a woman’s life today, Sean—did you know that? Me. Little Lexie, always in the way. And you know how I did it without screwing up? By being me. By knowing that Fletcher believed in me enough to let me try.”

  She could have kept going for hours, screaming at Sean until he was stunned into silence for once in his smug, twin brother life, but Fletcher took two steps forward and gently lifted the phone from her hand. She didn’t even have an opportunity to take offense at it, because he used his free hand to pull her tightly against his chest.

  It felt good there. Warm and solid and so comfortable she wondered how she’d been able to go twenty-six years without it.

  “Hey, Sean,” she heard Fletcher say. There was wariness in his tone, but there was also something more. Determination. “I’m sorry we worried you, but we didn’t have great cell phone reception at the rescue site and it was kind of an urgent case. Apologize to your parents for me, will you?”

  She thought that was it, that he wasn’t going to say anything more, but as he’d been doing continually for the past few days, Fletcher surprised her.

  “And I’m sorry if you don’t like the idea of me and Lexie being together, but she’s a grown woman capable of making her own choices. And I’m a grown man capable of handling them. Whatever we decide to do is between us and always will be. I hope you can accept that.”

  Lexie buried her face more firmly in Fletcher’s chest, suddenly realizing that she was nestled right up next to one of those tiny man nipples that seemed to form her every waking thought. Unable to help herself, she opened her mouth and bit down on the little protrusion of flesh—gently and through the fabric, just enough to give Fletcher a jolt.

  He jumped but didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on her tightened. She wriggled clos
er, wrapping her own arms around his waist and gripping for dear life.

  “I know,” Fletcher said, still talking to Sean, though he paused long enough to drop a kiss to Lexie’s hairline. Emboldened, she slipped a hand under his shirt, moving upward along soft fabric and warm flesh. “But if you look outside, you’ll see it’s snowing again. My SAR team told me there’s going to be a big winter advisory out soon. We’re better off waiting until daylight to see if the roads clear.”

  Lexie gasped—a sound only partially made because of Fletcher’s bald-faced lie. Most of it came from the fact that she had both arms under his shirt now, and the hard ridge of his erection was making itself known against her. In addition to ferocity, he had quite a bit of stamina in the sex department, too. Who knew?

  “Yeah. We’ll call tomorrow before we head out.” Fletcher paused. “And don’t worry. I’ll keep her safe.”

  He chucked the phone aside, his glance pained. “Lexie, what are you trying to do to me?”

  She frowned. “I thought you liked it.”

  “I do like it. I love it.” He groaned and raked a hand through his hair. “But I’m not . . . I can’t . . . ”

  He was and he could. And she’d wait as long as it took for him to realize that.

  “Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asked, mere seconds later. Maybe it wouldn’t take him as long as she thought. “About loving me?”

  “I did,” she said, more serious than she’d ever been in her life. She knew that her future—that their future together—hinged on her ability to get this part right. But she also knew that if she pulled a Lexie and screwed it up, the first person to come to her defense would be the one staring tenderly down at her. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier, but I was just so shocked. Not because of the picture in the compass or because that was how I had to find out how you felt about me, but because I think that was the moment I finally realized I felt the exact same way.”