Thin Ice (51 page)

Gently she brushed them away, kissed his damp cheek. “Come on, let's go upstairs."

Eric looked down at Emily and wondered how he could leave her tonight, how he'd ever be able to leave her again. He needed her too damned much. She represented everything he'd lost, everything he longed to have again.

But he had nothing but upheaval to offer her in return.

Feeling raw inside, he scraped up the strength to release her. “No, I have to go."

"But it's stil early."

He slid his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her again.

“Yeah, but I'm not the best of company tonight."

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be alone.” She placed a palm against his cheek. “I want you to stay, Eric."

He eased away from her al-too-tempting touch. “I don't want your pity."

Her eyes flashed, but she spoke quietly. “I'm not offering pity. I'm offering a good night's sleep and a big breakfast. I'm offering a chance to be coddled by a woman who loves you to distraction. I'm offering the dubious honor of being pounced on at some unspeakably early hour by an eight-year-old boy who adores you.

I'm offering—"

"Okay, okay, I get it.” Eric smiled as he captured her hands against his heart to silence her.

"Then you'l stay?"

The words seemed to have a deeper meaning, but Eric was too tired to get into any more heavy stuff tonight. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I'l stay. But no coddling."

She grinned and bussed him on the mouth. “We'l just see about that."

that."

Eric awoke to the sound of Saturday morning cartoons, the aroma of hot bacon and coffee, and the soft, sweet comfort of Emily's peaches and cream bed. He thought he was dreaming, until he felt something light and sweet smeling tickle his nose. Slowly he opened his eyes, stared at the dainty white eyelet ruffle on the pilow beside him, and broke into a smile.

Closing his eyes again, he roled onto his back, stretched, and felt Emily's scent wrap him in its warm embrace. Heaven on earth, he thought. There was no other way to describe it. And no other place he wanted to wake up again.

She'd coddled the hel out of him last night, rubbed the tension from his neck with her magical hands and fed him popcorn while they finished watching Harry Potter with Patricia and Robbie. By the time it was over, he'd made a decision.

He heard a rustle and lifted a lazy eyelid. Emily leaned against the doorframe watching him, dressed in flour-smudged jeans and an old sweatshirt. Her soft, welcoming smile sealed his fate.

"About time you woke up. I was beginning to think I'd have to send Robbie in here after al.” She came to sit on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair from his forehead with fingers as gentle as dawn.

Coddling again. He liked it too much to protest.

Coddling again. He liked it too much to protest.

"What time is it?"

"Just past noon."

"You're kidding.” He checked the nightstand clock. “Why didn't you wake me?"

"You obviously needed the sleep.” Something uncertain flickered in her eyes, but before he could anchor the thought, she smiled and patted his chest. “But now it's time to get to work.” She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. “Come on, lazybones, rise and shine."

He caught her wrist as she rose. “Not until I get a proper good morning kiss."

"Sorry, bud. You missed morning. You'l have to catch me some other time."

"Like fun.” He tugged at her arm and she tumbled back onto the bed, where he brought her close for a long, deep, highly improper kiss. She melted against him, and tasted of coffee, cinnamon, and sunshine.

"I missed you last night,” he murmured against her lips.

Her eyes turned a dark, sultry green and her fingers curled into his chest hair as his palm caressed her backside. “I missed you, too."

"I stil think you cheated,” he said, nuzzling her nose, referring to the duly witnessed coin toss that had squelched his protests when she'd suggested their sleeping arrangements. She'd slept on the couch downstairs, and sent him to her much more comfortable room with a smug smile and a playful swat on the rear.

She kissed him again, a loud, wet smack. “You're right."

With a low rumble of laughter, he flipped them over so she lay beneath his chest, her legs draped over his hips. Capturing her hands on either side of her head, he proceeded to kiss her until they were both hot and breathless. When he lifted his head, her eyes were soft and dewy with love, and a surprising wistfulness.

"Emily?” Patricia caled from downstairs, “Where do you keep the bread basket? Oh! Never mind. I found it!"

Eric glanced at the open doorway, startled by the reminder they weren't alone in the house. “Is that breakfast I smel?” he asked, corraling his hormones. Obviously the wistfulness in her eyes was because Emily hadn't forgotten her houseguest.

"Brunch. We've got ham, bacon, eggs, home fries, fresh fruit, cinnamon-apple muffins fresh from the oven—"

Eric's stomach gurgled. “Honey, you've got to stop spoiling me."

"We're not spoiling you. We're bribing you. You won't feel spoiled after you've spent a few hours lugging furniture from one end of the after you've spent a few hours lugging furniture from one end of the house to the other.” Her smile was lofty. “Because while we were on our second cup of coffee, and you were snoozing the day away, Patricia and I decided to start with Robbie's room. They picked out the paint and carpeting while I made the muffins. The carpet wil be delivered on Tuesday."

Eric's stomach muscles tightened. He hadn't expected them to start so soon. “You're not wasting any time, are you?"

"Not when I've got a warm, breezy day, a whole weekend off and three extra pairs of hands at my disposal.” She hesitated, suddenly looking uncertain. “Unless you have other plans?"

He smiled and told her with his eyes there was nowhere he'd rather be. “My hands are yours.” He kissed her nose. “Just tel me where you want them first."

They consumed a huge brunch, then got down to business. Emily and Robbie sorted through Robbie's things for Goodwil, while Eric hauled boxes and furniture out of the room and replaced it with tarps, ladders and paint supplies. Rock tunes from CDs “Aunt Lise” had burned for Robbie blasted from his boom box as Patricia taped baseboards, window frames and light sockets, and Robbie peeled his posters and Saints hockey memorabilia from the wals.

Emily had them al painting, and directed Robbie's somewhat sloppy efforts with patience and an unshakable sense of humor that endeared her to Eric al the more. By dusk, they'd listened to endeared her to Eric al the more. By dusk, they'd listened to Robbie's CDs until the beat echoed in their brains, their backs and shoulders ached, and their arms felt like they were ready to fal off

... but the room was done.

Ravenous, they devoured two large, fuly-loaded pizzas Emily had sent out for. After dinner, Robbie scooted off to watch TV, Eric cleared the table, and Emily and Patricia huddled over the walpaper and paint samples like field-tested generals, plotting the transformation of their next target—the dining room.

As he ran hot water into the sink and added a squirt of detergent, Eric decided he had no complaints. Between the playoffs and painting, every muscle in his body ached, but spending the day with Emily, working side by side, had filed him with a sense of completeness he'd never thought he'd find.

His only regret was tonight he'd go back to his apartment alone. No way he'd let Emily sleep on the couch again after the day she'd put in, and with Robbie's bed stashed in Emily's room until his carpet came, the chances of joining her there tonight were nil.

He slid their dirty dishes into the soapy water, then glanced at the table to see if he'd missed anything—and found Emily watching him.

Again. Several times during the afternoon he'd caught her doing the same, as if she were storing pictures of him in her memory. The feeling had unsettled him then, and it did now.

Patricia asked her a question and she turned to answer, leaving Eric feeling more on edge than he had al day. Now that the evening was feeling more on edge than he had al day. Now that the evening was winding down, he wanted to be alone with Emily. He wanted to sort out their future ... before this redecorating business got out of hand.

He didn't want her to spend a lot of time and money on the house if they weren't staying in Minneapolis. He thought of her soft, peaches and cream bed again, and felt a slow ache unfurl inside him.

Damn it. He didn't want to go back to his apartment. He wanted to start their life together now. Tonight.

He plunged his hands into the hot water and vented his frustration on the flatware. He had to be patient. Patricia needed Emily right now. Once Patricia was re-settled, there would be plenty of time for him and Emily.

Or would there? What if news of the sale of the Saints broke first?

Suddenly Emily slipped her arms around him from behind and pressed her slender body against his back. Eric looked over his shoulder in surprise and saw they were alone.

"Do you have any idea what watching you do dishes does to me?” She nipped at his paint-speckled T-shirt and ran her hands suggestively up his chest.

Eric grinned and reached for a towel to dry his hands, carrying her with him as he leaned forward. He turned to take her in his arms and braced his hips against the sink. “Not a clue. Why don't you tel me?"

She moved closer, into the welcoming cradle of his thighs. “I'd rather show you, but for now I'l just say it makes me want to drag you off to somewhere private and have my wicked way with you."

"I'l have to do dishes more often."

"As often as you like. So whaddaya say? Wanna go upstairs and indulge in a few fantasies? Maybe share a shower?"

He swalowed his surprise. “What about Robbie and Patricia?"

She traced a finger along the shel of his ear. “Robbie's asleep on the couch. Tucked in as snug as a bug in a rug.” Her smile became satisfied as she felt his response swel against her bely. “And Patricia went up to bed five minutes ago, claiming complete exhaustion. So it's just you and me, cowboy. And suddenly I'm wide awake and lonely."

They showered by barely-there candlelight. Emily surprised again him by suggesting they make love in silence, communicating only with their bodies. The idea made sense, with Robbie and Patricia in the house, but Eric soon discovered sense had nothing to do with it.

The experience of relying on touch alone to bring Emily pleasure was unbelievably erotic.

He immersed himself in the moment and reveled in the magic of her hands as she drew the day's tension from him with slow, sensual abandon. As they slid across his soap-slick skin, soothing, claiming abandon. As they slid across his soap-slick skin, soothing, claiming and demanding, he discovered erogenous zones he'd never dreamed existed. Her touch nearly drove him wild, but he deliberately held back and honored their agreement, until Emily's kisses and caresses took on a strange edge of what almost felt like desperation.

"Honey?"

"Just kiss me, Eric. Please."

He recaled the disquiet he'd sensed in her earlier and reached for her, determined to make her forget anything but him. Steam filed the room as he tasted, tested, nipped and nuzzled. By the time he'd explored al there was to explore of her twice over, she was as soft as water beneath his hands and he was rock hard.

He wrapped his arms around her, brought her flush against him and kissed her deeply, meeting her need with his own. Beneath the hot, pummeling spray he grasped her thighs and puled her onto him.

Swalowing her sharp cry of relief, he pressed her back against the tile and drove into her, feeding on her now almost desperate hunger.

Her legs locked around his waist like a vise, binding him to her in a way both primal and eternal. He felt her muscles convulse around him and with a low growl of possession gave a final thrust and exploded into her.

Afterward, she clung to him in silence, her face buried in his neck.

He reached behind him to kil the steamy spray. The air was so He reached behind him to kil the steamy spray. The air was so thick with humidity he could barely breathe. For a long moment he held her, his heart thudding hard. When he had his pulse rate and breathing under control again, he slid the shower door open and lifted her into his arms.

She remained silent as he gently toweled her dry, then dried himself.

Wrapping another towel around her to protect her from the blast of cold air that would hit them when they opened the bathroom door, he decided she was simply too wrung out from her day to speak.

His own legs felt as weak as a baby's.

Her peaches and cream bed was a cinch to find in the moonlight that streamed through the bedroom window. Within seconds he had them settled in, an arm curved around Emily's shoulders while she lay with her cheek against his chest. He kissed her temple, closed his eyes and smiled against her stil damp hair. She wasn't wide-awake or lonely any more.

He was just about to drift off when the first hot tear hit his cooling skin. He stiled and hoped he'd imagined it. Then the second tear scalded him, folowed by a third.

"Emily?” She stiffened beside him, and he realized she must have thought he'd falen asleep. “Honey, what's wrong?” On the heels of his question came a terrifying thought. “Did I hurt you?"

"No. Not at al.” She sniffed and puled back a little. He rose on one elbow to study her tearstained face, completely at a loss. He thought of the odd desperation he'd sensed in her earlier. The way thought of the odd desperation he'd sensed in her earlier. The way she'd clung to him after they'd climaxed. Her unusual silence as he'd dried her off.