"Cecil Wolfe. He owns the Sea Wolfe. With an e."
"Tell me you're kidding."
She shook her head, the trace of a very faint smile lighting her face. It was as rapidly gone, and she turned again to the truck.
"Wy, wait." Again he caught her arm.
"What, Liam?" she said, and this time the weariness was in her voice. "What more do you want?"
"This," he said, goaded, and reached for her.
Her lips were soft and cool, her face and hair damp from the rain. At first she braced her arms against his hold, murmuring a protest, and in the next instant she was clinging fiercely, returning kiss for kiss, caress for caress.
An exultant thrill raced up his spine when he realized she was just as hungry, just as needy as he was. Her skin… he'd never been able to get enough of that smooth, warm skin. He bit the pulse at the base of her throat. She opened her legs and slid her hands down over his ass, arching up to rub against him. Her head fell back and a purr rippled out, a sound that seemed to trigger the animal in both of them. They stumbled against her truck, parked just outside the circle of pale illumination cast by the light mounted on the terminal wall. It was the only light, the low-lying rain clouds blocking the setting sun. The deepthroated rumble of a pickup could be heard, but it stopped before it got too close. The last plane had taken off an hour before, and the airport was shut down for what remained of the night. The twilight of an Arctic spring evening closed in around them, and all sense of time and place was lost.
He shoved a rough hand beneath her shirt; her legs came up to wrap around his hips. Somehow she fumbled the door open and they fell onto the bench seat. Liam hit his elbow on the dash, Wy her head on the steering wheel, and neither of them noticed. "Hurry," she whispered frantically, "hurry, hurry, hurry." He felt her hands at his fly and reached for her zipper, opening it and stripping her of jeans, underwear, shoes, and socks in one sweep. The smell of her was so strong and so tantalizing that he would have buried his face in it if she hadn't pulled him up by his hair. He reached for her braid and freed it, burying his face in the resulting curls with an inarticulate murmur. He had never forgotten her smell, intrinsic to her, rich, spicy, infinitely arousing.
Her legs encircled him again and she wrapped a hand around his cock and he almost came then and there. "No! Don't you dare!" She guided him to her and he almost came again when he felt how wet she was. He hung over her, drenched with sweat, trembling with need, waiting, and she dug her nails into the base of his spine and arched up. With one thrust he buried himself inside her, and it was all he remembered, all he had dreamed of, all he had ever wanted. Thirty-one months of wanting and not having had built to this, and he couldn't wait, not one minute, not one second more. "I'm sorry, Wy," he muttered, "I'm sorry," and he thrust, once, twice, three times and that was all it took, it boiled up out of him in a scalding flood and into her, and dimly he felt her nails dig deeper into his back, her legs tighten around his ass, her back arch so powerfully it raised them both off the seat, heard her voice cry out his name, and knew with a dim rush of pride and pleasure that she had come with him, that he had not been cast up on the beach alone.
It was a long, long journey back, and when he made it, he became slowly aware of the separate sensations of the now slack embrace of her legs, the rise and fall of her breast beneath his, the tickle of her breath against his ear, the seep of fluid out of her and over him. He wanted to reach down and rub that fluid into her skin, marking her with the smell and taste and touch of him. The need to put his brand on her became too powerful to resist, and he turned his head to nuzzle beneath the hair on her neck. He bit her, at first softly, and then harder, knowing a fierce and proprietary joy at once again being able to stake a claim. He had Wyanet Chouinard in his arms again, and never had his world seemed so rich with promise. He wanted to shout for joy. He wanted to weep with relief. He wanted to shake his fist to the sky and curse God for taking her away. He wanted to get down on his knees and thank Him for bringing her back. He wanted nothing more and nothing less than to lie in this woman's arms for the rest of his life.
It wasn't long before he noticed that these feelings of joy unconfined might not be returned. She was trembling, and when he raised his head he saw tears sliding fast and hot down her face. "What?" he said with quick dismay. "Don't," he said, when she tried to shove him off. "Wy, don't."
"Please," she said, and he had no defense against that. His legs offered no guarantee they were going to hold him up, but he managed, staggering a little. He got his jeans back on all right, though it took his shaking hands two tries to get his fly fastened.
She put herself to rights more swiftly, and was in the cab of the truck once more, reaching to close the door. He smacked his palm against the edge just in time. "Don't do this, Wy. Don't walk away from this. Not again. I don't think I can live through it a second time."
In that moment he would have gone down on his knees, and something in his voice told her so. Her hand slid from the keys. Her head drooped forward, to rest against the steering wheel. Her hair, that glorious mane, fell forward to hide her face, and her voice was so muffled he had to strain to hear. "I can't do this, Liam."
"Yes you can," he said, terrified now. "You have to. I need you. I need you, Wy." His voice deepened. "And you need me, too. Hell," he said, with a gesture that included the bench seat, "you may even need me more."
She was silent for a moment, before raising her head and brushing the hair back from her face so she could look at him. In the single floodlight of the terminal building, her face looked bloodless. "It's been almost three years-"
"It's been nothing. It was yesterday." He took a deep breath, fighting for control, fighting for his life now. "It was this morning, goddammit."
She was silent again. He waited. At last she said, her voice low, "Liam, my life has changed. I have-"
"What? What have you got that you can't fit me in around, us in around? What?"
She met his anger with her own, and it was kind of a relief to be fighting again. "I didn't lay down and die when I left, Liam. I moved on, and along the way, I acquired-" She hesitated, and then said firmly, "I acquired some new obligations."
"Obligations? What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, and then added cruelly, "If what just happened in the cab of this truck means anything, it sure as hell doesn't mean another man." She shook her head, and he grabbed her arm. "You were with me every step of the way. You haven't been with anyone else either, have you?" She didn't answer, and he gave her a rough shake. "Have you!"
She slid out of the cab and gave him enough of a shove so that he fell back a step. "No I haven't! So what! It doesn't mean I'm ready to fall at your feet!"
"I didn't ask you to fall at my feet! Share my home, yes! Sleep in my bed, yes! Live with me for the rest of my life, yes!"
She drew herself up to her full height and looked him straight in the eye. "How's Jennifer?"
The breath caught in his throat. When he could speak he said, with difficulty, "Low blow, Wy."
She knew it was, too. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across her face, and it was an obvious struggle before she could settle on sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Liam. When I heard, I almost-but there was nothing I could say that would help then, either." She swallowed hard. "Your boy, Charlie. I know how much you loved him."
"Yes." Liam leaned up against the truck and closed his eyes. Rain fell on his face, cool, clean, oddly comforting. Charlie had loved the rain, laughing out loud as his little wobbly baby legs, unsteady but determined, would stamp through puddles, his tiny baby's grasp hanging on to Liam's for support. Those first few horrible weeks after Charlie's death, Liam had run from the pain of such memories. Now, he welcomed them. For eighteen precious months, Charlie had been a part of him, and beyond that, a part of his life's blood, his promise of immortality.