A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River 4)

Trouble was, he didn’t know if he could go back to his old, silent, anonymous ways. And yet, he didn’t have anything else. The reality was, he had this cabin and about a couple thousand dollars that would have to last all winter. There was no hidden bank account, no benefit checks, no retirement. He could put the property up for sale, but there probably wouldn’t be a buyer, maybe for years. He didn’t have things to sell or barter.

He could beg her to stay, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to even build her an indoor bathroom. He’d let himself get down to practically nothing, enjoying the deprivation on some screwed-up level. Then Marcie showed up and suddenly he felt like a rich man.

Just when he felt ready to open his mouth to say something like, No, Marcie—it was you who made it perfect, he heard a soft snore come from her side of the room. It made him shake his head and chuckle silently. She slept well on that lumpy sofa; she was at peace here when she should be annoyed by all the inconveniences.

They were alike in that way, he realized. She was as able to make do as he was, yet in Marcie’s life there was so much more—family, work, friends, real living.

Quietly he traded his jeans for sweats and got down on his pallet in front of the fire. But sleep was far away. All he could think about was how real his life had suddenly become, how vast and full of possibilities when just two weeks ago an unending sameness had stretched out in front of him. Forever. It had been so long since he’d even thought about what might come next for him, and sometimes it seemed there never would be a next.

Old habits die hard—he thought this might be a good time to ignore her, reject her, hope that he’d get beyond this emotion real fast. But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. No. He would allow this to happen to him for a little while. She’d fill him up with goodness before she left; he’d tackle what to do with all those feelings later. Ian decided he could think of her as a Christmas gift. A beautiful little glimpse of what life could have been.

It was a long while before he slept. Not long after he nodded off, he felt something and opened his eyes. She was beside him on the floor by the stove, wrapped in her sleeping bag, red hair all crazy from sleep. “I got cold, even with the sleeping bag,” she said.

“I’ll feed the fire,” Ian replied, sitting up and slipping a couple of logs into the stove. Then he lay back down, giving her room on the pallet beside him and, pulling her close, said, “Come here, little girl. Let me get you warm.”

“Hmm. That’s what I need.”

“And what I need,” he said, giving her a kiss against her temple.

“Can I tell you something?”

He laughed. “Marcie, aren’t you tired of talking yet?”

She completely ignored him. “It’s about that whole wedding thing,” she said. “You know, with Shelly?”

“I’m not thinking about that right now,” he said, pulling her closer against him.

“I know, but I just wanted to say—I’ve been in four weddings, including my own. Brides—all of them, at one point or another—have that moment, that meltdown, when it’s all about them and their wedding. It’s easy to forget it’s about the marriage, but not about the wedding. But reality sets in real quick.” She yawned. “Some brides are worse than others, but Shelly probably didn’t mean what she said.”

He was quiet for a moment, not even able to conjure a memory or image of Shelly. He asked, “Four?”

“Hmm?”

“Four weddings?”

“Uh-huh. And a godmother twice, and I’m going to be one again in March—my friend Mable is having a boy, her first.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “You have a friend named Mable?”

“Uh-huh. She thinks it was her mother’s revenge for making her sick during pregnancy. We all call her Maybe. She’s married to William, who we call Will. They’re Maybe Will to everyone.”

“You’re connected to a lot of people. That makes me happy, knowing that,” he said.

She snuggled closer. “And now I’m connected to you, too. That makes me happy.” She yawned again. “But here’s what I wanted to tell you, Ian. That thing with Shelly? I think maybe you dodged a bullet there.”

He laughed softly, pulled her closer still. Oh yeah, he thought. He wasn’t meant to end up with Shelly.

“I’ll be quiet now,” she said.

“Good.”

When Ian had allowed himself to think about Marcie, his vision had been one of loneliness and despair. That’s because he didn’t know her as Abigail Adams, the sassy, indefatigable, positive woman she was; because he’d never let himself know.

He couldn’t see as far from the top of his mountain as he thought he could.

Thirteen

M arcie felt something on her hair and woke to look into Ian’s rich brown eyes. Dawn was barely lighting the cabin and he was running his big hand over her curls. “Morning,” she said sleepily.

He didn’t say anything. He just lowered his lips to hers and touched them gently, sweetly. She felt the brush of his beard, the soft flesh of his lips and let her eyes drop closed. He moved over her mouth for a moment. She moaned and slipped an arm around his neck, holding him there.

He pulled back just a little and whispered, “We’re snowed in, honey.”

“Good.”

“I was jealous of Bobby, you know,” Ian said, petting her hair back along her temple, moving it over her ear.

“Be careful, Ian—you’re talking about ‘it.’”

“I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know. We were all a little jealous of Bobby. He had something real special with you. You sent him panties.”

Her cheeks warmed in spite of herself. Her eyes got very round. “He showed you?”

Ian chuckled. “He showed everyone. Very skimpy panties. I think they were lime-green with black lace or something.”

“I cannot believe he showed you!”

“He was proud of them. He kept them tucked in his inside pocket like a good-luck charm.”

“They were perfectly clean, I’ll have you know.”

“Aw, that almost comes as a disappointment,” Ian said, chuckling. “They should have had your scent on them.”

“They had Tide and Downy on them!”

“And you sent him that picture—on the motorcycle.”

She put her hands over her face. In muffled tones she muttered, “I’m mortified.” He pulled her hands away and lightly kissed her again. “So the night I almost froze to death was actually the second time you’ve seen me in my underwear.”

“Technically, I’ve seen your underwear a ton of times. I came home a couple of times to see your cute little rump sticking out of the covers, not to mention all that underwear on my tub, drying out,” he said. “And I’d trade my life to see you in your underwear again.”

Her eyes got round for a minute, but then she smiled slightly and a little laugh escaped her. “I’ve heard some interesting come-ons in my limited experience, but that’s a new one. Tell me, do I have to shoot you after you peek?”

“What if I told you, you might have to shoot me to stop me? Would that scare you?”

“You don’t scare me, Ian. I know you’d protect me from anything. Even yourself.”

He pressed kisses all over her face and she held his face in her hands while he did so. His breathing came faster, rougher. “I want you to know something,” he said in a whisper. “Something like this happening with us—it didn’t cross my mind until—”

She waited. Finally she said, “Until?”

“Until you came back. This doesn’t have to happen, Marcie. Tell me if you don’t want to—”

“Oh, Ian.” She laughed. “You talk too much!”

The gold flecks in his eyes gleamed and he came down on her mouth harder, slipping an arm under her while he kissed her with heat, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her other arm went around him, pulling him against her and, with a will of its own, her body arched against his, hungry. Not just starved in general, but for Ian, to whom she’d bonded herself in so many ways.

Without breaking their kiss, his hands began to rove over her breasts, hips, thighs. He slipped a big hand under her sweater to touch her breast and sighed against her lips as he did so. Then he helped her out of her sweater and his big hands were on the snap of her jeans, slipping them down over her hips, her knees, until finally they were off. He tugged his T-shirt over his head, leaving him in just those soft sweats, and he stared down at her small body. “God above,” he said in a reverent whisper.

“Is this how you looked at me when you were saving my life? When you got me out of my clothes and warmed me?”

He shook his head, a naughty smile on his lips. “There was no funny business. This time, there’s definitely going to be funny business.”

“Good,” she said, letting her eyes drift closed again. “Good.”

He kissed her around her neck, shoulders, chest, biceps, tummy. All the while he ran a thumb under the elastic of a very small panty. “How do you feel about me chewing off your underwear?” he asked.

She sucked in a breath, shuddered. “I can always get new underwear…”

It made him laugh deep in his throat. This was what he loved best—her playfulness. Or maybe it was her small body, appearing fragile, but not. Or was it the fire on her head and the flashing green eyes? It might be quicker to list the things he didn’t love, if he could think of any at all.

He made the bra disappear first, finding her nipples with his tongue, loving the sounds she made as he pampered her. Then he dropped his head to her belly and taking the elastic of her panties in his teeth, he dragged them down over her hips. He pulled them the rest of the way with a trembling hand and had his lips against hers again. He kissed her deeply, filling his hands with her hips, her smooth butt. “A natural redhead…”

“Ah, how could you doubt me?” she asked breathlessly. “Especially after a couple of weeks in the woods…”

“Marcie, baby, I gotta have a taste. I have to.”

She arched slightly. “Oh, my,” she said. “Well, if you have to, you have to…” And her legs came apart slightly, making him growl.

He went down, parting her legs, burying his face in those red curls until he felt her fingers lock into his hair, felt her lunge against him and heard her panting cries. He rose somewhat reluctantly to capture her mouth again. “Honey, you’re ready for anything…”

“You,” she whispered. “You’re what I’m ready for.”

With one hand and a kick of his long legs, he was free of his sweats, planting himself between her legs. He tried to take it easy, finding her and entering slowly. But Marcie was in a hurry and lurched against him, pushing back. For a moment, when they were locked together, everything went still. With their eyes upon one another, their lips barely touching, they were quiet, motionless, just the breathing and the hot gaze between them, savoring their moment of joining. Then her eyes slowly drifted closed and her hips moved beneath him.

Ian covered her mouth in a hot, deep kiss and pumped his hips, holding on, waiting, moving gently, then fiercely, until he felt it all happen at once—her fingers on his shoulders, digging in, her pelvis thrust against him, her insides pulsing in a fabulous joy that left him drenched in hot liquid. And he made the moment count, letting it all go, being with her through the ecstasy.

He held her for a long, quiet time, his lips on her neck, her lips on his shoulder, their bodies rising and falling with rapid breathing, moist with perspiration, calming down, recovering. Finally she whispered in his ear, “What were you thinking while that happened, Ian?”