Gone Too Deep (32 page)

Raising her head, she attempted to resume the kiss, but George wasn't focused on her mouth anymore. His gaze was fixed lower, where her bra—her pretty, stupidly expensive bra she'd just bought with George in mind—was the only thing covering her above the waist. He stared at her so long that she started to feel self-conscious.

“You've already seen everything there is to see,” she teased, tilting his head so their eyes met. “Aren't you getting bored of looking at me?”

“Never.” Although she was smiling, he remained serious, and the single word came out like a vow. Her breath caught as they stared at each other. She wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly their lips met again, and everything faded away except for George.

As they kissed, her bare stomach pressed against his hair-roughened skin. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she fought to get closer. If she could have climbed inside him, she would have. His hands brushed lightly over her sides, making her shudder and cling even harder.

When his lips left hers, she made a protesting sound. He ignored her squirms as she tried to get his mouth to return. Instead, he laid a trail of featherlight kisses over her jaw and across her throat. She arched, giving him better access. Every so often, his tongue would touch her skin, raising goose bumps that radiated from the spot until they covered her entire body.

His mouth followed the line of her breastbone, skipped over the center of her bra, and landed on the sensitive flesh of her belly. She sucked in a breath, her stomach curving away from his touch in a reflexive flinch, but he followed, tracing a line to her belly button. When his tongue darted into the indentation, she couldn't hold back a ticklish giggle.

Turning his head, he rested his bearded cheek against her stomach. She reached down with both hands to burrow her fingers into his hair, and she felt his breath brushing her bare skin with each of his exhales. She'd been almost frantically aroused just seconds before, but there was an alluring peace to the moment, to the weight of his head lifting with her breath, to the slip of his hair through her fingers. To her surprise, Ellie realized that she was just as happy to lie there peacefully as she would've been to continue kissing him.

It was George. Whenever she was with him, no matter what they were doing, she was content.

“I love how you smell,” he said. Although his words were quiet, she still jumped a little. “Even if I never saw you again after today, I'd always remember how you smelled.”

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “You won't need to remember. Even after we find Baxter—
if
we find Baxter—we'll be together. We'll figure it out.”

He nodded, his beard rough against her belly.

“Good.” Her fingers began moving through his hair again, scratching at his scalp and making him sigh across her skin. “I've got you now. You're not escaping that easily, buster.”

She could feel his face move as he smiled. The sensation turned up the corners of her own mouth, as well.

“Good,” she said again.

The floor beneath her back was beginning to distract her from the serenity of the moment. One shoulder blade was on a rug, but the other was pressing directly against the tile floor. It wasn't cold, but it was hard…very hard. With a regretful sigh, she withdrew her hands from his head so she could prop her elbows on the floor and push into a half-seated position.

“Mind if we move this to a softer surface?” she asked, and he nodded against her stomach again, making her laugh. “Yes, we can move, or yes, you mind?”

He rolled to sitting and then to his feet in a smooth movement. “We can move,” he said, reaching down a hand. She accepted it, and he helped her stand with such enthusiasm that she was almost pulled off the floor.

“Thanks,” she said dryly, but he just smiled. As they moved toward the bedroom door, Ellie frowned at the tile beneath her socked feet. “Why isn't your floor cold?”

“Radiant heat.” At her puzzled frown, he elaborated. “Hot water runs in pipes beneath the tile.”

“Oh.” She crouched so she could flatten her palms against it, and he almost tripped over her, catching his balance just before they both went flying. “I like it.”

With an amused snort, he bent and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Except for an unladylike grunt, she was quiet as he carried her into the bedroom. George's playfulness was rare and precious, and she didn't want to do anything to discourage it. When he carefully set her back on her feet, his expression was concerned.

She grinned at him, and relief spread across his face. “I'm fine. I should be used to you hauling me around.”

His gaze dipped below her neck, his expression heating again, and she was reminded of her shirtless state. He reached for her just as there was a pounding knock on the door.

Ellie jumped, her arms crossing over her chest as if whoever was at the entrance could see into George's bedroom.

“Stay,” he ordered, wearing a ferocious scowl as he left the room.

Diving for her suitcase, Ellie pulled on a long-sleeve top and then a hoodie for good measure. As she zipped the front, she headed for the door. Even though she knew that Anderson King most likely would not be knocking, she still found her heart beating quickly as she crossed the kitchen. When she heard a male voice in the entry, tension left her muscles, leaving her shaky with relief. That voice was not Anderson's.

Poking her head into the entry, she saw Deputy Chris Jennings talking to an unhappy-looking George. Both men looked at her—Chris with a smile and George with a deepening frown. Ellie shrugged off George's reaction. He couldn't expect her always to obey.

“Hi, Chris,” she said, stepping into the entry. George reached out and caught her hand, tugging her until she butted up against his side. “What's going on?” Now that the relief that Chris was not Anderson had faded a little, a new curl of anxiety rose inside her.

“Nothing bad,” Chris soothed, apparently having heard the worry in her voice. “The guy who plows the city streets in Simpson is down with pneumonia, so Rob sent me to stay here with you while George rode to the rescue.”

George's hand tightened around hers as she looked at his face. She couldn't tell if he was just frustrated by the evening's change in plans or if he was reluctant to leave her with the deputy. She did remember that plowing was his main winter job, and she didn't want her issues to keep George from working.

Forcing a smile, she said, “You'd better get going then. The citizens of Simpson are depending on you to dig them out so they can get food and supplies and stuff.”

With an amused cough, Chris said, “More likely they're wanting to get to the bar.”

“So you'll be saving them from hunger or boredom,” she amended. “Either way, you'll be their hero.”

George didn't look impressed by that idea. Curling an arm around her, he squeezed her against his side.

“I know,” she sighed, feeling the same reluctance to be separated. “But the sooner you leave, the sooner you'll be back, and the sooner we can…” With a sideways look at a grinning Chris, she trailed off. The small twitch of George's mouth told her he'd followed her unfinished thought just fine.

“I'm just going to grab…uh, something from my squad.”

As soon as the door closed behind a smirking Chris, George had her pressed against the wall. He kissed her thoroughly, with a slight edge of desperation that just added to the hotness. Ellie melted against him, clutching handfuls of his shirt to keep him close. As always, she lost herself in him, forgetting everything except George and the wonderful way he made her feel. In the back of her mind, she knew she had to stop, that he had to leave, but then he'd find that sensitive spot on her neck, and she'd lose track of time again.

“Okay! So I guess I'm going to grab something
else
now.”

Ellie barely heard the deputy's words or the bang of the door closing again. She was too caught up in George—the feel of his body flattening her against the wall, the way his mouth was starting to know hers, the path his huge yet gentle hands were taking along her sides. Too soon, he was pulling away.

She sighed, forcing her hands to let him go. “Drive carefully.”

“I will.”

Unable to resist leaning in for a final quick kiss, she said against his lips, “Those Simpsonites are lucky I'm willing to share you.”

She felt his chuckle rumble through his chest and against her mouth. “See you soon,” Ellie added.

It was his turn to give her a short, hard kiss. “Be careful. Stay inside.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Reluctantly, he released her and started pulling on his outerwear. Ellie watched, keeping her hands away from her mouth with extreme effort. Jamming his hat on his head, he bent for a final,
final
kiss and yanked open the door. Chris, standing just outside, looked startled.

“I figured I'd just wait out here until you were…uh, finished,” the deputy explained, waiting until George had stomped through the doorway before stepping into the entry. “I'll stay until you get back.”

George fixed him with a hard look. “Protect her.”

The cheerful deputy looked suddenly serious. “I will.”

After another few seconds, George gave a short nod and headed for the pole barn. Ellie moved to the doorway and watched him walk away until his form was swallowed by the swirling snow.

“So,” Chris said, “do you know how to play poker?”

* * *

Ellie slapped down her final card. “Speed!”

With a groan, Chris let the last four of his cards flop out of his hands. “This is a dumb game. Are you sure you don't want to learn to play poker?”

“You only think it's dumb because you suck so very hard at it.” Gathering up the deck, Ellie started to shuffle, trying to keep her eyes off the window. It wouldn't show her anything anyway, just a dimming rectangle dusted with snow.

“I do,” Chris readily agreed, leaning back in his chair and stretching. A chirp from the portable radio on his belt made Ellie jump. He pulled it free of the holder, frowning. “Low battery. Shit. I just charged it, too. This one must be going bad.”

As he stood, Ellie felt a flutter of panic. “Where are you going?”

“Just out to the squad.” Chris moved to the entry. “I have an extra battery stashed in the car.”

Following him to the door, Ellie tried to quiet her screaming nerves. Chris would be right outside. It wasn't like he was going back to town or anything. Despite her mental reassurances, she felt very alone when the door closed behind Chris, shutting her in the empty cabin.

When she realized she was staring at the door, waiting for him to return, she moved back to the kitchen table and picked up the cards. Unenthusiastically, she started a game of solitaire, figuring that it would occupy her hands, at least.

She couldn't keep her attention on the game, however. The wind was muffled, but it made the cabin give small creaks and rattles, and Ellie twitched nervously at every sound. The storm blocked most of the early evening sunlight, darkening the kitchen and making it hard to see the cards.

Pushing to her feet, she made her way over to the light switch. As she reached to turn on the overhead light, she paused. The light would illuminate the kitchen and, with the window uncovered, leave her exposed to the gaze of anyone outside.

“It's just Chris out there, silly,” she scolded herself, but her hand still dropped away from the switch. It was too easy to imagine vengeful eyes watching her. Ellie decided to wait until the deputy returned to the kitchen before she turned on any lights.

Returning to her chair, she tried to pick up her game, but she couldn't concentrate. The seconds ticked past, making her wonder what was delaying Chris. He was just going to grab a battery from his car. How long could that take?

Something caught her attention, and she raised her head, listening. She'd thought it sounded like a car engine, but the wind battered against the cabin, making it hard to hear anything. Dismissing it as her imagination—which currently seemed to be operating on overdrive—Ellie forced herself to focus on her game. In between gusts of wind, the kitchen clock ticked loudly, as if reminding her of how very long Chris had been gone.

The knock on the door startled her into giving a small shriek. Her arm jerked, scattering the cards as she jumped to her feet. A second later, she realized it was just Chris, who didn't know the welcome-sign trick.

Hurrying to the door, she opened it. “Did you lock—oh!”

It wasn't Chris.

It was Joseph.

“Hey, Ellie.” He smiled, taking a step forward as if to enter the house. She moved so that her body blocked him, keeping him outside. “How's it going?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, skipping any niceties as she peered through the snow, trying to see Chris or his squad car. Neither was in sight.

“I'm here to see Holloway.” His smile was strange, too wide and forced looking. “He around?”

Ellie didn't want to share any information with Joseph, but he was George's search and rescue team leader. Plus, Chris would be back inside the house any minute—at least, she hoped he would. “He's plowing.”

With a frown, Joseph shook his head. “In Simpson? He wrapped things up over an hour ago. He should've gotten home by now.”

Fear instantly filled Ellie. “Are you sure?”

“I saw him on his way out of town,” Joseph confirmed. “He was in his pickup, so he'd already dropped the plow truck off at the city maintenance building. There's no way I could've beat him here unless…”

“Unless what?” Her voice sounded too high.

“Well, the roads are pretty slick.”

Ellie stared at him, her stomach twisting into a knot. “Do you think he had an accident? Wait. Wouldn't you have seen his truck on your way here if he had?”