Authors: Kate Richards
“
Tea bags?” Val retrieved a bottle of water and lit the burner, filling the pan and returning to his backpack again.
“No, kids.”
“Two. Girls. Cookies?” A box of tea bags and a zippered bag of some kind of bars appeared. The irony was not lost on her. Over thirty-five years since their last camping trip, he appeared out of nowhere and staged a tea party.
“If you ask how many lumps, I’m going to lose it.”
“I have one cup, give me yours. You have one, right.”
By the time she
fetched her pack and found her mug, the water had boiled and she soon held the warm, enamelware in her chilled fingers. Val offered the bag of cookies and she drew one out, their fingers brushing for a tingling moment.
She took a bite and sighed in pleasure. “These are your mother’s cookies.” A second bite
of the rich, dark chocolate and sweet bits of date, crunchy cashews…oats, honey. “So decadent.”
He grinned at her
, his eyes gleaming as though he wanted to take a bite out of her. “The single treat she didn’t try to sneak carob into. Or wheat germ. They were always my favorite.”
“She sent them almost every week, that summer.” The memory of taste swam through her. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the sun’s heat warming her shoulders, smell the coconut-scented sunscreen they’d both favored. The magical days before—
“It’s snowing.”
“What?” She blinked as a cold flake stuck on her lashes. “Crap. I don’t have a tent.” She had not planned on being so far up. But that didn’t make her feel any less stupid.
“No problem, I do.” Without waiting for a reply, Val dragged a pop-up tent from the boy-scout-prepared pack and flipped it out.
She gaped. It was a tent, all right, but not one she could sleep in next to him all night and not touch. She’d be cold outside, but her bag was rated to –
30 degrees below zero. Why did that never seem warm enough when alone?
Under her wary stare, he made preparations for the night, giving her a show no exotic dancer could as he bent and lifted, tugged and reached.
No crime in looking. He might be married but she wasn’t dead.
“Very athletic for an old man,” she quipped, trying not to think about what the bulge in the front of his jeans might imply.
He winked. “Not planning to check into the home anytime soon. Need anything else from your pack?”
“Hang on.”
She pulled her wool hat and a fresh pair of socks out and zipped it again then unhooked her camera gear and returned to observation mode. No matter what he did in life, Val stayed in shape. His pants outlined muscular thighs and an ass she’d like to get her hands on.
If he wasn’t married, of course.
A pair of bungee cords and a coil of rope later, he’d secured the two backpacks from a loop of cord in a tree—out of bear reach. The cookie stash was out of hers. A shame, but she didn’t care to explain to a black bear why he couldn’t have any. As Val tied off the rope, she decided the show was over. Ogling a married man like he was one of his mother’s cookies? For shame.
I’d like to be beneath him.
Shut up!
She bent to stretch her back and grabbed her sleeping bag to straighten it for the night. Her thoughts in a jumble of lust, longing, nostalgia and sadness, her only escape was sleep. Or at
least she could pretend to sleep. No matter how much exercise she got, her sleep patterns weren’t what they were at thirty, and having her teenage crush a few feet away with no chance to give herself relief wouldn’t help that. Why was he so much sexier now than then? How did men manage that while women just got older.
Anger at the unfairness of the aging process piled on top of her other problems.
Another few flakes drifted onto the ground beside her and she pulled her sleeping bag and ground mat deeper under the branches of the overhanging pine. No, between feeling the cold and being an emotional wreck—and fifty-four—she would not be sleeping tonight.
Val dropped to his knees and crawled into the tent. A light glowed through the walls.
Of course he has a lantern. Why wouldn’t he?
He rustled around a moment and stuck his hand out. “I need your ground cover.”
Michaela froze, one foot inside her bag. “Sorry, Scout.” Always prepared. The nickname still suited.” I need it out here in the chill. If you didn’t bring your own, you’ll have to figure out something else.”
Well, wasn’t this a change from the gallant boy of her youth. Would he take her mat and leave her on the cold ground in the snow?
His hand disappeared and his head poked out. “What are you talking about? I wanted to double up the layer between us and the cold.” He stared. “Mickie, you can’t be thinking of staying out there in the snow. I won’t attack you…unless you ask me to.”
“I don’t sleep with married men, sorry.”
She tucked the other foot into the bag and worked on the zipper—which stuck.
Dammit, wouldn’t you know!
The wind kicked up and a flurry of flakes blotted out her view of him for a moment then swirled away, leaving him with a ridiculous smile on his face.
“I can’t see why having standards is funny
,” she snapped.
She gave another tug on the zipper and fell back
on her ass in disgust. Fumbling for her wool cap, she dragged it over her hair and glared at him. Independent, yes. Observing the proprieties, fine.
One brow arched, Val watched her in silence. He knew. The bastard. She’d freeze to death out here. She had no choice but to accept his offer, and he’d probably saved her from at least frostbite with her malfunctioning sleeping bag.
Struggling free of the cord which always managed to get tangled around her arm, she gathered her bag and mat and thrust them toward him.
“Okay, since you offered so graciously and I don’t want to die tonight, I accept your hospitality. But you’ll have to keep your hands to yourself. Even if you don’t remember you’re married, I won’t forget.”
Michaela followed him inside on hands and knees, her tits brushing his groin in the narrow opening and she gasped. Time had been kind, if that hard ridge offered any indication.
His breath brushed her cheek. “Divorced.” And he moved to begin re-arranging the bedding inside.
Kneeling inside the doorway, she re-arranged her thoughts.
Oh my god.
Maybe it was mean to enjoy the shock in her eyes. But he’d been enjoying every moment of their time together so far. Like the old days. Well, not quite. Mickie wasn’t a virginal teenager anymore and he wasn’t an insecure kid. Marriage and divorce, riding high on a successful career that no longer satisfied him, changed a man. In ways he didn’t fully understand yet. With the sudden drive to be the best in his career behind him—he’d had nothing left to prove—the challenge had faded. He found himself in a job he didn’t like all that much, dealing with a bunch of money-hungry fat cats who wanted him to help fatten their wallets. Hell, not to help. They wanted him to do it without bothering them at the country club or while they passed afternoons fucking their mistresses. How times had changed.
He struggled with the zipper on her bag. “How old is this thing anyway? You know, if you’re going to wander the backcountry all alone, you need to be able to rely on your equipment.”
She made a grab for it but he held the ratty thing firm.
“Give it to me.”
Face flushed, she got hold of the edge and he took advantage and used the fabric to drag her against him. Her boobs smacked into his chest, stealing his breath but worth it. God! How could they be as perky so many years later?
“It’s not that old, twenty years or so?”
Not nearly as long as they’d been apart. She released her grip.
“Thanks.”
He clutched the bag to keep from grabbing her tits and squeezing.
Patience! She wanted me once….
But did she still?
“You’re welcome. Not.”
Her hat had fallen off in the wrestling and her hair shone all shades of red and streaks of paleness in the lantern’s dim glow. But messy, as if she’d just made love. The idea further hardened his cock and froze his heart. Who else had seen her look like this? He didn’t kid himself she’d waited all these years for him. The thought of her with another man made his stomach flip in an unpleasant way. Did she feel the same about him?
They might not have more than one night together. He’d revealed his divorced status, but he had no idea of her relationship status. Would a married woman be out here all alone? His attention flicked to the small duffel-sized bag she had brought in with her.
“You don’t have any makeup or toothpaste or anything else smelly that might attract bears in there, do you?”
Sex toys
were too much to hope for. He decided to make them one bed without asking permission. Without a zipper, she’d be cold even in the tent. And body heat in these climes was always welcome.
It would be damn difficult to keep his dick under control, but he’d have to find a way to manage.
Or convince her otherwise.
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hike these mountains all the time. Do you see any evidence of bear bites on me?”
“Well, there’s not much of you showing.” He let his gaze feast on her curves. “I’d have to do a more thorough examination.”
Not deigning to reply to his half-serious comment, Mickie opened the bag she held and revealed…camera equipment. “I know better.” She cast him a hopeful glance. “You didn’t accidentally leave any cookies out?”
He chuckled. “No, sorry. So, cameras. Amateur or professional?”
“I am a photographer, with a small gallery in town. Gives me the opportunity to wander the mountains at will and make a living at it.”
How typical of her. “Sounds like a great job.”
“It is. I sell work to magazines and prints in the gallery
and online. Not lucrative, at least not until recently…”
He waited for her to continue, but no more was forthcoming.
She zipped the bag closed and tucked it in a corner of the tent then worked on changing her socks. “Ow, ow!”
His concern arose. “What’s wrong? Are your toes okay?” Frostbite was no joke in the high altitudes.
“Oh, I think so. I should have done this before I got into the sack the first time. I know better.”
She rubbed at her bare feet and he pushed her hands away, taking her chilly toes into his hands, warming them in his palms.
Her toenails were painted a bright red, a girly touch that reminded him of her nipples and made him want to get to them that much more.
“You don’t have to do that,
” she insisted. “They’ll be fine.” She winced, then relaxed. “There’s no frostbite there, it feels too good. Ohhh, yeah, good.”
Smiling to himself, he turned his first aid into massage. “Then let’s go with that.” With the immediate frostbite concern gone,
he focused on bringing her pleasure. On seduction. “You said your business has become successful?”
Mickie lay back on their piled bags, her head pillowed on his jacket while he did his best to take the aches of a day on the trail from her arches and heels.
He thought of sucking a toe into his mouth.
No, maybe later.
“I don’t remember you being good at this once upon a time.”
Her relaxed posture encouraged him to continue. The low lighting cast shadows over her torso, but gave enough of a glow to follow the line of her body until it disappeared into the bulky sweatshirt she wore.
Thirty-five years would have changed her. It had certainly changed him. But to his eyes, she was beautiful. None of his fantasies over the years had prepared him for how time had refined her. The rounded cheeks of a teenager who hadn’t quite lost her baby fat had become the high cheekbones of an older fashion model. Every line on her face told of good times, pleas
ant nature, and a latent sensuality that dried his mouth.
“Yes.
Very successful.” Her low response offered no encouragement, but a twinkle in her eyes led him on.
“And…why? What changed?”
It could be she’d caught on, her work becoming popular with time but she looked too mischievous for him to believe that. His fingers finished with her feet and slipped up onto her ankles. He thanked god for the patience he’d gained over the years. And felt it slipping away, more turned on than ever with her silken skin under his touch.
She giggled and the years fell away, dragging him back to the last time he’d found himself on a mountainside with Mickie. A few weeks after she’d made him that offer and she
still remained as pure as the driven snow. She’d been laid out on sleeping bags then, too, but under the starry sky. Topless. Her small, rounded breasts bathed in moonlight.
Val massaged his way up her calves, the soft skin under his fingers like a roadmap to where his surging cock sought. Shaking his head, he fought to regain focus. A lot of time had passed since then.
“Okay, Mickie, tell me. What naughty thing did you do?”
“I started adding men to the landscape. Beautiful
young men. Hot men. Firemen and Marines, forest ranger, cops and other types that women dream of. Naked or nearly so.”