"Not bossy. I just like things to get done the way I want and direct others to follow them out," I said, defending myself.
"Yeah, that doesn't sound bossy," she teased, rolling her eyes. "Have you always 'not bossed' people around?" she added.
"Liked things my way? Probably. When I was younger and it was just my mom and me, I felt the pressure of being the man of the house. My mom always seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders, so I wanted to help relieve some of the pressure for her. By the time I was thirteen, I'd taken over all the maintenance of the trailer we lived in. I became an expert at fixing leaky faucets, reattaching loose paneling and making sure our roof didn't leak during rainy season. Home Depot became my playground on weekends, as I took every workshop they offered. Seeing my interests, I think my mom had the idea that I would grow up to be an architect or a contractor. I think she was disappointed when I told her I wanted to be a journalist."
"Why would she be disappointed?"
"I think she was under the impression that a journalist was a fluff job that I wouldn't make any money doing. She wanted me to have security and money for a rainy day. Years of living week to week had jaded her and she put little stock into dreams. She eventually got over her aversion of my job choice, but didn't live long enough to see it amount to anything."
"I'm sorry. I bet she'd be proud of your successes if she saw you now," Ashton said earnestly.
"I'm not entirely sure she would. I think she'd be disappointed in some of the decisions I've made."
"I think everyone feels that way."
"Do you?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.
"Of course, but we can't please everyone. All we can hope is that we learn from the decisions we've made and anyone we've hurt along the way will forgive us someday."
"So, you believe that if someone betrays you, they deserve a second chance?" I asked.
"I would hope I'd get a second chance, so yes, I'd give someone another chance," she said with an intensity that matched my own.
"Fair enough," I said, getting the answer I was hoping for. I didn't know if that applied to me, but I had to hope so. I kept delaying telling her the truth, but I knew the clock was ticking, and I would have to tell her soon.
"Besides being a handyman, what else were you like when you were younger?" she asked as we trampled through the snow.
"Aren't you bored hearing me talk?" I inquired.
"No way. I like hearing your stories. Plus, I'm not going to lie, you could read the dictionary and your sexy-as-sin voice would make it appealing."
"I've heard women say that about my voice before. What about it makes it so appealing, so I can home in on it?" I teased.
"Believe me, you don't have to try any harder. If it got any sexier, you'd leave women in puddles wherever you went."
"Are you telling me it liquefies you?" I asked, pulling her into my arms. "So, if I talk lower like this, does it make you damp in all the right areas?" I persisted, dropping my voice to just above a whisper.
"Just being with you does that," she admitted, biting her lip in the way that hit me in the right spot. "Of course, I'm sure I'm not supposed to admit that."
"Sweetheart, the fact that you're so open with how you're feeling is one of the things I like the most about you. Your blush gives away some of it," I said, rubbing my gloved thumb over her cheek. "But I love how you don't try to hide it like most women."
"You mean you love that I have the dating skills of a baboon?" she mocked. "Me monkey, I like you, can I climb you?" she added, laughing halfway through her speech.
"God, only you could make that sound hot," I said, hauling her into my arms. "And just so you know, you can climb me anytime you want," I added, dropping my mouth to iced lips. She parted her lips at my insistence, clinging to me as I deepened the kiss. I placed my hands on her hips, dragging her lower half to my body so I could emphasize just what her words did to me.
"Damn your layers," she complained, pulling back with aggravation.
I bit back my own groan as my body strained toward hers. "We could go back to the house," I suggested. "I could get a fire started in the fireplace," I enticed, capturing her lips again with mine.
"Deal," she agreed.
Chapter 21: The Snow Angel
Ashton
The snow outside provided the perfect excuse to lie around all day being lazy. We pretty much did nothing but watch TV until dark. The flames from the fireplace made the shadows dance on the walls. For once, it wasn't me who fell asleep first. Nathan slept next to me on the thick pallet of blankets we had laid out in front of the fireplace where we had just made love. At this point, to deny that it was just sex would cheapen what we had shared. My skin still felt the tingle of his touch while my mind replayed how he had looked in the firelight as he slid into me. Unlike the other two times, when all our focus centered on reaching the wave of ecstasy, this time we took the time to discover and enjoy each other's bodies. It was slow and delicious. I curiously explored his body, discovering what he liked. He groaned when my hand had closed around him, stroking him. He allowed my touch for a few moments before rolling on top of me and taking me. His pace was slow and sure as he brought me to the edge countless times, retreating each time just before I went over. Each time I was close, he would drop his mouth to mine, swallowing my gasps and pleas for release. Eventually, his own willpower had faded away and he took us both over the edge at the same time.
In all the ecstasy and pleasure, my emotions had now become more clouded than I cared to handle. My feelings for him were beginning to eclipse the plans I had set. I didn't want to be one of those women who confused lust with love. I barely knew him, so it couldn't be love. Besides, I'd always told myself I didn't believe in insta-love. I'd seen that in college when I would watch my fellow students fall into each other's arms, professing their love after only a couple dates and then breaking up a few weeks later. It always seemed like it was the girl who took it the hardest, while the guys would move on like nothing happened. I was not that kind of girl, and yet, I couldn't deny that I didn't feel something for him. I wanted to be with him, to confide in him. I wanted to tear up our imaginary no-attachments contract. But most of all, I didn't want to leave him.