"Fair enough. As long as you're sure. You're absolutely certain your feet are okay?" He jerked her to a stop, not much effort required on that one. As he leaned forward, his parka hood nearly met hers, sealing off the snowy world. "No faking for my benefit?"
"Damn it, Josh, I am not faking." She stomped her numb feet. "Do you hear me? Why in the world would
I fake anything?"
"You tell me."
The silent heat of his words combined with the somber laser of his eyes stilled her. Trees rustled overhead in the silence. Snowflakes trickled through the tree cover to dot their forest-green extreme-weather gear.
He couldn't actually be accusing her of... Oh, God, he was. He was insinuating she faked during sex.
And damn him, he was right. "What did you just say?"
Josh stifled the urge to let loose a string of curses, all directed at himself for being a dumb ass and spilling the one thing he'd vowed never to say to her. He'd been tempted to mention it—in the beginning when his ego stung like hell. But he'd kept his yap zipped, certain that with time he could work through whatever was holding her back.
Time had run out. He pivoted away. "Nothing. I didn't say one damned thing."
"Oh, no, hotshot." She grabbed his shoulder, thumping until he turned to face her again. "I heard you." "Then why are you asking me?" "I want you to be clear."
"I didn't say shit," he snapped, his words like one of those frozen boughs after enough hellish weather and life for one day. Week. Year. "Just three words to make sure your toes aren't about to fall off."
"Not buying that for even a second, Rosen." She thrust her mittened hand against his chest in what he imagined was a pointed-finger jab. "Your eyes said a lot more than three words and none of it had a thing to do with my toes."
As if he wanted to think about her toes right now. Cute pink toes that were probably as waxy as her face. "So your toes are fine. Then let's keep moving."
He levered away and charged ahead. The last thing they needed was a sex discussion where he confirmed that yes, he knew she faked the big finish.
She enjoyed the hell out of foreplay. He wasn't so dense he missed that. But near the end of the actual act, that woman could talk herself out of an orgasm faster than the emergency barrier could stop a plane on a short runway.
Not that she was actually speaking out loud during those moments. Yet he could hear the gears turning in her head until the door clanged shut on any hope of a screaming finish. Sure, she continued to go through the motions. Acrobatic motions, incredibly sensual motions.
But only half there.
Every time he'd thought about confronting her on the subject—gently, of course, he wasn't a totally clueless male— her defensive expression afterward left him with no doubts. If he brought up the topic, this prideful woman would bolt.
So he'd tried his best, read anything on the subject he could find, and worked on strengthening his relationship with a wife he couldn't come close to understanding. He'd had hopes for their leave time together in their new home, romancing her in front of the fireplace with spiced wine and presents.
Only to have her bolt before they could unpack the wineglasses or untie the first bow.
Okay, so he'd walked. Technicality. But she'd made it clear she wanted him gone.
His senses heightened back in the moment. No footsteps crunched behind him. His feet slowed, halted.
Not a man who believed much in retreating, still he appreciated the wisdom in battle prep and choosing his ground wisely. This was not it.
Staring ahead while too aware of her behind him, he forced low, controlled words through his teeth.
"Now is not the time or place. Walk, damn it."
"Why did you marry me if you thought the sex sucked?"
Ah, hell. The very reason he did not want to discuss this with her. Logic wouldn't win him squat. "I did not say that."
"Your eyes implied it."
God, it killed him inside to hear the hurt under her defensiveness. So what if they froze? Damned well looked like that might happen, anyway.
Besides, logic also told him one's mental state contributed to survival, which offered the excuse he needed to delay walking farther just yet.