I was never enough for him.” There. It was said, and she didn’t feel mortified. If anything, she . . . yes, she felt a little angry—not a lot, because Adam didn’t really matter any longer. “He wanted to do exciting things, interesting things, and I was always too chicken.”
“These exciting things—what were they?”
“Not all that exciting. Snow skiing. Travel to Africa, South America. Parasailing, scuba diving. I know they don’t sound that dangerous, but it all made me so uneasy I just couldn’t do it.” She sighed.
“You didn’t trust him.”
“I—what?” Confused, she tilted her head back to look up at him, her brows knitted.
“I’ve done a lot of stuff, shit that can get you killed. It’s either desperation that gets you through because your life is in danger, or it’s trust in your team to have your back. You didn’t trust him to look after you the way you’d look after him. What was this shit’s name, anyway?”
“Adam.” She’d never thought of Adam as a shit. On the other hand, she’d also never looked at their relationship from the viewpoint of whether or not he’d have her back if she was in danger. If she’d gone scuba diving and something happened to her air tanks, would Adam have shared his air with her if he’d noticed she was having problems? The last was a big “if,” because he’d never been sensitive to her wants or needs, if she felt ill, if she was tired. She hoped he’d have shared his air, but that was a hope, not a certainty.
“Adam Gordon?”
“No, I took back my maiden name.” She could hear the water boiling in the pot, and got up to remove it from the fireplace, using the poker to drag it out. The next few minutes were taken up with making the hot chocolate, then settling back with the warm cups in their hands. As always, it was deeply satisfying to be drinking hot chocolate while the snow was falling, as if some primal need was being met. Sitting so close beside him, in front of the fire, satisfied another deep need. Sexual anticipation sizzled on the back burner, waiting to be brought to a full boil, but for now this slow approach suited her. As much as she wanted him, she also wanted to talk to him, learn the details of what made him unique.
“I’ve always felt like such a coward.” She sipped her hot chocolate and stared at the fire. “Some people charge at life, but I guess I’m a background sort of person.”
He snorted. “Yeah, the background sort of person who offered to sleep with me to get what she wanted, and who held off a group of men shooting at her.”
She was glad the firelight wouldn’t show her face getting red, but she kind of gave it away by hiding her face against his shoulder. The getting shot at—as she’d said, that was unreal, and already at a distance. Offering to sleep with him was much more immediate and personal.
He set his hot chocolate down and stroked his hand up and down her back. “About that. Make sure this is what you want, that you know I don’t look at it as a deal. We can still wait, but—damn it all to fucking hell and back, you got yourself shot at.” His tone turned savage. “You don’t ever do that again, you hear? I aged twenty years getting down that damn mountain.”
Something had to be wrong with her, because she didn’t think anyone had ever said anything sweeter to her. She cuddled closer. “I promise I’ll try to never get shot at again.”
He put his other hand on her throat, used his thumb to tilt her chin up, and pressed a warm kiss on her mouth. The kiss quickly turned hot and deep, his tongue moving against hers, his hand sliding from her throat back to clench in her hair. Her fingers slipped on the cup of hot chocolate and hastily she steadied the cup. With a low, rough chuckle he lifted his mouth. “Don’t spill it.”
“Then don’t kiss me.” She loved hearing him laugh; it wasn’t a real laugh, it was more a ragged sound in his throat, but it was accompanied by crinkling eyes and an upward curve of his mouth, so it counted. Every moment with him counted.
The hot chocolate was delicious, but it was in the way. Rather than waste it she quickly drained the cup and set it aside. “There. Problem