Dizzy, yet free, she fell to the ground. She couldn’t remember laughing like this in, oh God, forever.
“Snow angel,” she called, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her parka, then working her arms and legs. Dying to see, she jumped to her feet to view her work, brushing the flakes from the seat of her pants and her legs, shaking it from her sleeves where it had crept in, and digging it out where it had worked inside her collar. “That’s the best damn snow angel I’ve ever made.” Snow melted in her hair and on her cheeks. She laughed again, then nudged Witt to a clear patch of snow. “Your turn.”
“You’re kidding.” He wore the strangest smile, almost bewildered, bemused, in another world with only her.
She pushed him. “You have to. Then we compare sizes.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like a guy thing.”
“Dirty mind,” she snapped with delight. “Now get down there and make me an angel.”
His eyes glittered. “Anything milady orders.” Then he flopped down in the snow on his back.
“Move over so you don’t muss mine.”
He scooted over, then began the motion without tucking his hands in his sleeves the way she had. Max laughed at him, nudging her hands up opposite sleeves for warmth. She sniffed when her nose ran from the cold. “Okay, okay, let me see.”
She grabbed his hand, pulled, which with his help, popped him to his feet. Witt at her side, covered with snow and not bothering to shake it off, Max stared, dazzled by the sight before them.
Crushed blades of grass the yellow-brown of dead winter broke through the beaten snow in spots. The heels of his boots had scratched a sweeping path into the near-frozen ground. The sheer size of the angel’s sleeves and skirt put hers to shame.
“It’s the biggest snow angel I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Reverence slipped into her voice. “I think it must be an archangel.”
“Max.” Witt grabbed her hand, grip almost punishing, and turned her to him. His eyes were the bluest blue, she’d never seen such blue, like the blue of the sky over the ocean, the blue of a Christmas bauble on the tree, an intense all-seeing blue that burrowed beneath her skin. His gaze searched her face, wandered over her hair and her cheeks, down to her mouth. Lips parted, his breath puffed out in little clouds. “Jesus, Max, kiss me.”
She closed her eyes, puckered her lips.
“You kiss me.”
Grabbing him by the lapels of his heavy down jacket, flakes of white falling all around her as if it had begun to snow again, she kissed him, light, teasing, pulled back to grin at him. The laughter died in her throat.
“Do it again, Max”—his voice a rasp across the blanket of snow on the field—“do it like you mean it.”
It was like that dream she’d had a month ago. Images danced before her eyes. His need written on his lips. Pristine snow marred only by his footprints. His warm hands on her arms, his rough voice vibrating against her cheek, asking for that one piece of herself given freely. She’d failed him in the dream, watched his retreating steps, his back stiff, proud, and pained. Leaving her alone again. In all the times they’d been together, even last night with him buried in her mouth, she’d failed to give him what he wanted, failed to even understand what he needed.
She wouldn’t fail him this time.
She touched him first with her mouth, then her tongue along the seam of his lips. He tasted of wet snow and snapping air. His icy nose grazed her cheek. Reaching between them, she unzipped his jacket, then hers, and pulled his hands onto her hips. Sliding her hands up the flannel, over his chest, she rose on her toes to wind her arms around his neck. His hair thick beneath her fingertips, she teased his mouth open with her tongue. He spread his legs for balance, raised his hands over her ribs, rested them by her chest, his thumbs at the sides of her breasts. She was warm, warm all over, snug inside his coat and hers. She nipped at him, chased him, murmured soft sighs into his mouth. Not usually a passive man, he let her lead. She reached once more beneath her coat, tugging his arms around her waist, and only then did he crush her to him. His lips were firm, hot instead of cold, his cheeks smooth from a fresh shave. He sighed into her mouth. She tasted his tongue, begged him to taste her, opened for him, pressed into him.
And she took them to their knees in the center of his archangel.
“Lie on top of me,” she whispered, seducing him with the words, pulling him down into the snow so chilling against the heat he’d sparked inside her.
He held her face in his hands, amazingly hot hands, elbows on each side, the rest of his body held above her, remaining that way a fraction of second. He didn’t ask if this was what she really wanted, didn’t give her a chance to change her mind.