“Graham thought the CPR did something to you … like hitting a low after an adrenaline high.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Has that happened before? I mean, surely you’ve administered CPR before, either as ski patrol or for sure in your EMT training?”
“Yes. I have. But every time is different. I don’t know what happened. I’m just glad that I’m feeling better.”
I lied to the woman I loved. Maybe it was for the best that we didn’t say the actual words. Maybe I didn’t deserve to love her if I couldn’t let myself trust her with the truth.
Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light, lest shards of darkness shed upon thee.
The man at the lodge collapsed.
The familiar voice whispered to me.
I made a choice—a choice to be a hero or a coward.
Hero. I always chose hero.
With every compression, the ringing in my ears intensified.
The paramedics took over. I stood, breathless, watching them load the man into the back of the ambulance, watching them prepare to shock his heart again.
One, two, three …
I counted, waited for the ringing to stop or the pain to begin.
“Me too. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.” Evie kissed along my bare chest. “Is there anything I can do for you? Lunch? Want to watch a movie? The sun’s out. We could bundle up and sit on the porch for a little while, get some fresh air.”
I threaded my fingers through her hair without saying a word. Blue eyes made their way to me as her lips paused at my sternum. A look … that was it. Not a smile. Not a word. Not a flinch. She saw it in my eyes.
The need.
The desire.
The wavering edge of control.
Her long lashes brushed her cheeks with several slow blinks before she wedged her body between my legs and kissed her way down my abdomen, letting her tongue tease along my muscles to the waist of my jogging shorts.
Was it wrong of me to want this from her, given everything she had done for me?
I didn’t know. All I knew was she did it better than anyone, and I wanted it pretty fucking bad.
Her fingers curled into the material of my shorts, and she slid the front down just enough to release my cock. I drew in a slow breath and blew it out just as slowly as my lips parted—as her lips parted—taking me into her mouth.
Fuck …
Nothing felt quite like the slide of her tongue, the warmth of her mouth, the look in her eyes just before they closed—heavy and drunk.
Mine.
I’d suffer a million eternities of that unexplainable pain if it meant Evelyn Taylor would never look at another man … let her mouth do to another man what it did to me.
Mine.
Could she be mine if I didn’t give her all of myself?
Her hands inched up my abs, fingers digging into the hard muscles. She hummed with her eyes closed. I grimaced, biting my lower lip as I gently fisted her hair with my right hand while my left hand claimed a handful of the sheets, my control slipping as the need to rock my hips off the bed, sliding deeper into her mouth, warred with my instinct to not hurt her.
My instinct won. It always did with Evelyn … at least it did that day. But I wondered if there would come a day that my mind would lose control of my physical needs. Needs that weren’t really mine.
Would my feelings—my life—ever really be my own?
Evelyn
“Where are you going?” Ronin reached for my hand as I climbed out of bed, but he was too slow.
I glanced behind me. Naked, ratted hair, and thoroughly fucked.
The unapologetic slide of his gaze along my body as his hand slid beneath the sheets between his legs contradicted my assessment of thoroughly, at least on his part. There was no question about his stamina … he was ready to get back to work.
“If you get yourself off, I’m going to feel like a failure in bed.” I lifted a brow, plucking my clothes from the floor.
He grinned, dragging his gaze to meet mine. “Sorry.” His teeth scraped along his lower lip as he homed in on my abs. Ronin liked my navel ring. “I have an incurable desire for you.”
“I’m sure a baby in my belly someday and stretch marks marring my skin will cure it.”
On a laugh, he released himself and propped his head up on his bent arm. “Don’t count on that. But since you mentioned it … let’s set a date.”
“A date?” I called from the bathroom.
“A wedding date.”
“Maybe we should set a date for you to properly propose to me.” I smiled at myself in the mirror.
“Okay. Tonight.”
I shook my head, pulling on my jeans. “I need a manicure, and I’m not sure I can get one today.” Manicures didn’t matter. He liked talking about marriage (yes, I know I started it), but talk was just talk. Until he bended a knee and said something that brought me to tears, I refused to do anything more than play our little game.