Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,31

with such care, such consideration. It chipped away at my hard-candy-shell exterior. He cupped my face as I was leaning over him, placing row after row of kisses along his prickly jawline, then down along his neck.

Landon groaned and raised his head off the blanket, looking at me with thirsty eyes. “Do you want to go inside?”

I shook my head and bit my lip. “Nope.”

I leaned back to admire the collage of pictures and words decorating his chest and arms. Landon really was beautiful, with the bleached tips of his hair standing on end, and his fingers grazing my skin, the cool metal of his rings sending a tickle up my back.

“Are you cold?” he whispered into my hair, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin just below my ear.

“A little.”

“I’ll warm you up.” His lips moved against my skin.

…

A few hours later I was in the kitchen, wrapped up in the very blanket we’d been tangled up in earlier. Somewhere during our interlude in front of the fire, I managed to misplace every article of my clothing. I stared at my bra, which was strewn on the back steps and appeared to have started frosting, and contemplated whether or not I wanted to risk the cold to retrieve it.

I giggled excitedly as I stared through the kitchen window at my frozen underwear. Landon loved me, and he’d shown me exactly how much. Twice. He was incredible. He wanted a future with me. He wanted to travel, try new foods, get a dog, and build a cabin in the woods with me. Well, I still needed to think the cabin thing over…

He also wanted me to meet his folks. That was important. Most guys avoided that step. But not Landon. He was close to his mom, and proud to be with me. Things were moving fast, but dear God, it all felt so good.

I heard something shift in the other room and peeked around the corner to see Landon asleep on the couch where I left him, the corner of a blanket barely covering him as he slumbered. I gazed at him, reading the words written in Gaelic across his shoulder blades, and my skin prickled at the sight of his smooth arms cradling the pillow the same way he’d held me just an hour before.

I crept over to the back door and opened it, stepping outside into the frosty mountain air.

“Shit,” I hissed, pulling the blanket tighter around my bare body as I tiptoed across the deck to retrieve my clothes. “Who has sex outside in the middle of February?”

I scooped up my clothes and darted for the house as soundlessly as possible. I shoved my hand into the pocket of my jeans and sighed in the darkness as soon as I found the cold, smooth plastic of my cell phone. I hadn’t checked for messages in hours. I pressed the button, illuminating it to see that I’d received an e-mail from none other than Gabe. The overexcited herd of pterodactyls in my gut returned, and I took flight right off the carpeted floor.

“Hey, Vi…

It’s probably too late, but I never did get to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day. Was just thinking about you. Hope you’re thinking about me.

Later, G.”

“Whatcha doing?” Landon’s deep voice rumbled from behind me.

“Oh, hi.” I whirled around right as he came into the room with nothing but his boxer briefs on. I fumbled to keep my blanket up as he approached.

Landon released a deep laugh that closed the space between us. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re shy now? You didn’t seem to need that blanket an hour ago.”

My face went scarlet, and Landon put his arms underneath the patchwork quilt. As soon as his face was buried in my shoulder, I dropped my BlackBerry onto a nearby chair and returned his embrace.

I didn’t want to think about Gabe again tonight….

Chapter Ten

November 12, 2003

The last few weeks have been the worst in my life. Gabe has stopped acknowledging my presence altogether. Nora came over to my house every day last week asking what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her. When I came down here to Utah, my mother reminded me that it was all for the best. But I don’t know if living with my dad and his idiot kids and crank wife is helping at all.

Flopping down on my bed the day after Valentine’s Day, I began to count the cracks in the ceiling spackle as I dialed