Bedding Down, A Collection of Winter Erotica (24 page)

pers and a few nice pieces of furniture. But some of the more

modern stuff looked like it might be collectible and she’d been combing eBay and other auction sites, looking for information.

Good God, that wind was terrible. She swore it wasn’t just

rattling the windows, but penetrating the stone walls.

Then she looked out the window.

Damn.

The world was a solid wall of white.

She went to open the front door. It opened a crack and then

stopped. Too much snow piled in front of it.

Double damn.

“I think we’re stuck.”

Sean’s voice made her jump. He’d sneaked into the room;

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when she turned, she saw he was in his stocking feet, as if he’d left wet, snowy boots in the kitchen. Snow clung to his pant

legs, all the way to his thighs.

Normally the idea of snow on the irreplaceable and already

worn peacock rug would trigger her anal-retentive tendencies,

but it was hard to get into full preservationist mode while staring at Sean’s thighs—the snow was almost up to his crotch. The

carpet had survived several generations of Adirondack winters,

when various Frogmortons had presumably tracked in snow on

a regular basis. It could handle a little more.

“You can get out through the kitchen door,” he added, “but

the snow’s knee-deep—or worse—already. We could dig my

Jeep out, but we’re not going to get far. Even if they’re keeping up with the main roads, no one’s touched Frog Hollow.”

She picked up the house phone. “I’ll call the plow guy. Maybe

he can push us up on the schedule. Assuming his cell phone’s

working.” Frog Hollow Road was private, more like a long

driveway than an actual road, and they had arrangements with a

neighbor with his own plow to keep them dug out.

The plow guy answered his cell, all right—from the hospital,

where his wife was in labor. (“Great timing, eh? I can already see this kid’s gonna be trouble.”) He had backup, but she had a day job to get home from and her own plowing clients to hit. “Best

make some coffee and get . . .”

A loud crackle made Brenda jump and hold the phone out

from her ear as if it were a live mouse.

When she moved it gingerly back to her ear, it was dead.

Well, wasn’t this interesting? Snowed in
and
incommunicado.

On one hand, poor Mort was stuck home alone—she just

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hoped he’d have the courtesy to do his business on the tiled

bathroom floor when he got desperate. (Or better yet, that the

next-door neighbor who’d walked Mort for her when she was

working late would be clever enough to notice she hadn’t made

it home and come to the poor dog’s rescue.)

On the other hand, she’d daydreamed about spending the

night in the romantic old mansion. Spending the night in the

romantic old mansion with a devilishly handsome man was an

even better idea.

Especially a devilishly handsome man who’d already kissed

her once and showed every sign of wanting to kiss her again.

And more.

Oh yeah, especially more.

The next gust of wind was so hard she half expected the

stained-glass window sporting the Frogmorton utterly ridicu-

lous faux coat of arms (which included, perhaps unsurprisingly, a frog salient, or leaping) to blow in. Which would be a shame.

Fundamentally tacky it might be, but it was part of the house’s history.

“It’s warmer in the kitchen,” Sean suggested. “And that’s

where the coffee pot is.”

“And the food. We might as well use the microwave before

the power goes out. Because face it, the power
is
going to go out.”

Sean took her hand. “
Oooh,
I’m scared of the dark. Will you protect me?”

“Jerk.” She smacked him playfully on his ass (his very fine

ass). But she didn’t let go of his hand while she did it.

And when he took advantage of that fact to reel her in for an-

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other kiss, she decided that inconvenience and potential carpet-cleaning and all, being snowed in was just fine with her.

His lips were warm, but his cheeks were cold from his foray

outside, a contrast that made Brenda shiver with delight.

The first kiss had been tentative. Questioning. This one

started that way, too, with featherlight brushes and tiny flicks of his tongue against her lips like snowflakes against bare skin, only hot.

Brenda was more than happy to encourage him to the next

level.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, which was damp from

the snow, and boldly deepened the kiss, meeting his tongue

with hers and then dipping farther, between his lips, to find the sweetness beyond.

A sharp intake of breath. His body tensed. Then he leaned

in, his fingers massaging the muscles just inside her shoulder

blades as he pulled her closer.

This version of the kiss sent tingles right down to her toes

and back up to where they mattered the most.

The lights flickered again, actually going out for enough time

to plunge them into darkness, where the only thing that existed was the feel of him touching her, mouth to mouth, chest to

chest, thigh to thigh, and a delicious hardness of his pressing against the softness of her lower belly.

Power restored itself, with no promises of how long it would

remain, or whether the next time would be The Big One. It

took all of Brenda’s willpower to pull away from Sean enough

to say, “
Um.
We’d better get something to eat while we still have electricity.”

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Sean’s grin was fiendish, and they were halfway to the kitchen

when it occurred to her that he’d interpreted “something to eat”

in an entirely different way from how she’d intended it.

It was her turn to grin. Oh, she liked the way his mind

worked.

When Jeremy whined, “It’s
co-old,
” for the third time, it was all Clyde could do not to undo one of his snowshoes and smack it

into his friend’s kisser.

“It’s not that bad,” he said for the third time. “I heard once

that when it’s really cold, it can’t snow. All this snow means it’s not really cold.”

“I don’t get it,” Jeremy said. “It snows in winter, and it’s cold in winter. Snow is cold.”

Clyde didn’t understand it, either, but he’d lived in the Ad-

irondacks for all twenty years and three months of his life, and he’d noticed that sometimes it was colder when it wasn’t snowing, so cold the hair in his nose froze up.

It wasn’t that cold right now, a fact for which he was quite

grateful.

The snow fluffed and fluttered around them and poofed up

beneath their snowshoes. Their breath lingered in the cold air

like pot smoke in the shed behind the high school.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t dress warmly,” he snapped, fi-

nally giving in to his exasperation. He regretted it almost im-

mediately when he saw Jeremy’s face fall.

Still, he couldn’t keep from adding “Like I told you to.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be this
far,
” Jeremy protested.

Apparently Jeremy had thought they’d be driving to Frog-

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morton House, as if they were going to make a triumphant en-

trance and demand the property that was rightfully Clyde’s.

Clyde didn’t think that would go over well with the people

who worked there.

“It’s no farther than the deer blind on the other side of Cas-

cade,” he pointed out.

Jeremy heaved a sigh. “But we have beer stashed there.”

“I will buy you a case of Pabst when we get back, I swear,”

Clyde said.

A smile crossed Jeremy’s wind-red face. “Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Clyde said.

Mollified, Jeremy started off again. Really, the long un-

derwear top and down vest and jeans should keep him warm

enough while they were moving. Clyde felt almost too hot in

his own layers, which included a checked red-and-black hunt-

ing shirt and thermal socks his grandmother had given him last

Christmas.

God rest her soul.

Then again, it was all his grandmother’s fault he and Jeremy

were out in the middle of the woods right now.

She may have gifted him with thermal socks, but she’d denied

him his birthright, and as God was his witness, he was going to claim what was rightfully his.

Before or after he pitched the whining Jeremy into a ravine.

Sean put on a pot of coffee to brew while Brenda explored the

fridge and cabinets for something resembling a light supper. The rich aroma made her mouth water as she set out her findings.

Bagels and cream cheese left over from a Chamber of Com-

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merce breakfast. A frozen pizza stashed by Sean in case of a dire lunch emergency. Energy bars and green tea drinks. A handful

of ketchup packets—not at all useful right now. A tin of instant hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows. (Possibly dessert.)

Best of all, far back in a cupboard, a dusty bottle of decent

champagne left over from some long-past benefit. Brenda tucked

that into the fridge for later.

She’d always believed in thinking positively, and positive

thinking right now included the idea that by the end of the

evening, they’d have something to celebrate.

From the pantry she dug out a pair of the nothing-special-but-

looked-properly-historic heavy silver candelabra they used for

parties. Soon candles were flickering over on the counter, making the kitchen both cozy and romantic. She hadn’t intended that.

Okay, maybe she had. Just a wee tiny bit.

Sean had his flashlight at the ready, too. But when the power

went out for good, they didn’t reach for the flashlight. They

reached for each other.

The candle flame sent Sean’s cheekbones into sharp relief,

made his eyes just that much more deep before he pulled her in

for another kiss.

First little nibbles on her lower lip that made her shiver with delight, but set a fire deep inside her. Shivering but hot. Nice.

Her lips parted, and his tongue brushed the inside of her

mouth, exploring the surfaces, sparking more delicious sensa-

tions.

Once again, she laced her fingers in his hair, holding him as if he might escape. Not that he was showing any sign of wanting

to escape.

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Sean kissed away from her mouth to her ear (which made her

giggle, even though it tickled in a very, very sexy way), to her throat, until his lips were brushing against the handmade lace

ruffle just at the base of her throat.

Sean found an extra sensitive spot on the side of her neck,

half hidden by lace. When she moaned, he seemed to decide that

lace and a little bit of wool were tasty enough as long as he could reach her through them.

More shivers. More fire. Throbbing nipples and a pussy that

pulsed in time with her heart.

Pure need.

Damn, why wasn’t she wearing her ball gown? Sure, she’d

have been freezing with her arms and cleavage bare, but it would give him so much more skin to touch and kiss. She pressed

herself against him, trying desperately to feel more of his body.

It wasn’t easy through layers of skirt and petticoat—she’d gone for the layered effect because it was both authentic and warm,

but damn, right now she was regretting it. As much as she was

regretting her authentically high neckline.

Her hands slid down his broad back to his ass, cupping and

gripping it, pushing him closer so she could push herself against the hard bulge in his crotch.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

He slipped a leg between hers and still it wasn’t enough

contact.

It wasn’t just the fabric in the way, although that was a prob-

lem. She wanted to feel his skin. No, she wanted him inside her skin—inside her, yes, but under her skin too, and she under

his.

At the very least, she wanted to start unbuttoning his crisp

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uniform jacket—but she’d have to pull away to give herself

room to work, and that would mean less delicious contact.

Decisions, decisions.

“Too many damn clothes,” Sean said, barely lifting his mouth

from her skin. “I love the way you look in the Victorian outfits, but they get in the way.”

“They do come off, you know.”

He pulled back enough that Brenda could see his face. His

grin was even more wicked by candlelight. “A little at a time,

though. We’ve got all night, and I’m getting off on seducing

the lady of the mansion . . . who quite likes slumming it with a policeman.”

She resisted the urge to note that in the Victorian era, “slum-

ming” referred to counterfeiting.

Resisting had less to do with actual thought than with the

way Sean’s big hands slipped her velvet coat off her shoulders

and then went to work on the tiny buttons on her bodice.

He paused to run his fingertips lightly over the top of her

breasts, where they swelled over the corset. She gave up on

thinking altogether and just felt.