"Alcoholism doesn't go away, Addison. Not ever."
"Have you considered going to AA?" she asked.
"I've thought about it."
"What about counseling? I mean, for the post-traumatic stress disorder?"
"I see a guy, a psychiatrist, at the university in Boulder once a month. He's a Vietnam vet. He knows what it's like."
He forced a smile that felt brittle on his face. "Didn't know you were hooking up with a nutcase, did you?"
Randall jolted when she reached out and brushed' her fingertips along his cheek. "You may not believe in yourself," she said softly. "But I do."
He stared at her, wondering if she'd heard what he'd just told her, if the warning to stay away from him had registered in her brain. He wished she'd use her head and back off before his resistance caved.
"You've got some issues to deal with, Randall. But those issues do not change who you are. They don't change what kind of man you are. They don't change what's in your heart. And they certainly don't change the way I think of you."
Those were the last words he'd expected to hear. His chest tightened unexpectedly with the knowledge. that she still believed in him. "I drink too much," he said hoarsely. "I stay up for days at a time. I have a nasty temper. I have nightmares, goddammit."
"You're dealing with it. You're working through it."
"When things get tough, I get drunk, Addison. I'm not a good person when I'm drunk. You've seen it firsthand, for God's sake. How can you say that's working through it?"
"When things got tough the other night, you ended up saving my life."
He stared at her, incredulous. "That doesn't make me a hero. It doesn't even make me a good man."
"Courage is a trait I happen to admire, even in mere mortals like you." A small smile brushed the comers of her mouth. "I don't expect perfection."
This wasn't exactly the way he'd had this scene mapped out in his head. He hadn't expected her to accept his short-comings without question. He sure as hell hadn't expected her to look at him like he deserved anything even close to respect.
But in a small comer of his mind, he couldn't deny that he was secretly pleased. That it wouldn't have hurt if she'd turned away. "You don't want to get tangled up with me."
"You're so intent on trying to talk me out of being with you, I doubt you have the slightest idea what I want."
"We've been keeping close quarters," he said a little desperately. "I don't want things to get out of hand."
"Maybe they already have." Leaning close to him, she brushed her mouth against his.
The kiss hit him like the tail end of a tornado. The need, with all its reckless urgency, uncoiled inside him like a steel cable snapping under tension. Professional ethics went out the window along with every last shred of logic.
Without speaking, Randall rose, pulling her up with him. He saw shock in her eyes, but he didn't stop. Angling her face, he crushed his mouth to hers. He felt her breath on his face as it rushed out of her. He kissed her deeply, possessively; without the finesse she deserved. He parted her lips with his tongue and dug deep. A moan rose up inside him at the almost painful pleasure crashing through him.
Forgetting this was their first time together, knowing he was beyond the point of being gentle, he pulled her against him. He heard the quick intake of breath as he dropped his hands to her buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh, taking in the feel of her, amazed by the fact that he'd never wanted anyone so badly in his life.
Using the muscles in his arms, he held her tightly against him and ground his throbbing erection against her cleft.
"Goddammit, you make me want you," he growled.
"Stop fighting it."
His resolve to stay away from her shattered. He had to get inside her, or he would die of the need to feel her wrapped around him. Next to him, the fire popped and crackled, filling the air with the redolence of burning pine. Outside, the wind ripped around the cabin, tearing at the roof and driving the snow against the windows with the force of hailstones. In the midst of it all, Randall and Addison tended their own storm.
He moaned when her hands went to his chest to work at the buttons of his flannel shirt. Her fingers fumbled, teasing him and exciting him at once. He kissed her hungrily, but the taste of her only heightened his frustration. When his shirt opened Randall pulled away, worked it off his shoulders, and tossed it aside. Then her hands were on his bare chest, making him want her in a way that had him teetering on the thin edge between ecstasy and agony.
With shaking hands, he reached for her sweatshirt and dragged it over her head. Her hair fell in a thick blanket over her shoulders. The sight of her lacy pink bra against the velvety swell of her cleavage took his breath. "I've wanted you since the day you walked into my office," he murmured.