The city was still awash in gold and silver tinsel and neon-green trees, red-outlined stars and red-and-white stockings, serene-faced angels, glowing and gently twinkling lights, with the occasional menorah in a half-veiled window, and Ned strolled the last block with a happy sigh. He hadn't taken his own decorations down yet, and as soon as he walked into his apartment, he would plug in the strands of twinkling lights wrapped around his own tree and relax for a minute. He was happily buzzed, wrapped tight in his heavy wool coat and a plaid flannel scarf, his freezing fingertips tucked into leather gloves and deep in his pockets. His breath puffed through his scarf, temporarily warming his jaw, and hung in split-second clouds before being whisked away by the frigid wind. Their party had broken up a little early; the alcohol hadn't been enough to make them that reckless, and the storm blowing in was right on schedule to cancel some of the next day's new year's plans.
Not that Ned minded. His plans for tomorrow night involved Nancy, his couch, a bottle of champagne, and a long, sweet kiss at midnight, unobserved by anyone who might make her self-conscious. A celebration of what the coming year would bring for the two of them. He would offer his couch, she would turn him down; he would gallantly offer to drive her home, in the hopes of a few more lingering kisses on her father's front porch…
Ned was lost in that familiar daydream when the wind and occasional pelts of stinging icy pearls suddenly stopped their insistent push against his back, and snowflakes filled the stillness in a muffled hush, fat white ones that filled the cones beneath the streetlights and turned all around that soft halo into visual static.
He would need to put another quilt on the bed tonight.
Miraculously, unlocking his apartment door only took one attempt with his frigid fingers. The breath he was drawing strangled in his throat.
Because Nancy was there, sitting on his couch, using his phone. And the greeting he would have customarily given her died as he took in the details: the tissue clutched in her free hand, her sniffling, the pink rims of her eyes.
"Okay. Yes. I understand. Thank you." She replaced the phone in its cradle and glanced up at Ned, and her eyes were shining.
"What happened? What's wrong?"
But a part of him already knew.
She brought up the tissue and sniffled again, then gave herself a little shake and squared her shoulders. "I need to get to Seattle," she told him. "The flights are full so I chartered one, but he won't leave in this weather."
Ned searched her eyes. "Thanks for not commandeering a plane. Why the urgency?"
"Dad. Went out to dinner last night. They haven't seen him since."
"So it's been about twenty-four hours."
"And they won't do anything until it's forty-eight, and by then…" She gestured despairingly, and her engagement ring flashed on her finger. "I need to go. And I…"
"Want some company?"
She nodded, miserable. "We can drive in shifts."
Ned's eyes widened. "I… that's…"
"We just need to get to the other side of the storm, a working airport, and go from there."
He relaxed slightly. That made more sense. He wasn't sure how long it would take to drive to Seattle from here, but it felt like a lot more than the handful of hours a flight would take. "Okay. Let me pack a few things. You know about his case, where he was staying…"
She nodded. "We can talk about it on the way."
Ned made it out in record time, certain that he had forgotten something and just as certain that he could replace anything. They approached her car, and he directed an apologetic smile at her, on the other side of the snow-covered Mustang.
"Let me do the scraping," he volunteered, raising his voice to be heard through the scarf. "I need you to drive the first leg while I sober up."
Her eyebrows rose, but she nodded.
He felt a little more even once they made a quick stop for caffeine and snacks, once the car had warmed up. The Mustang's passenger seat had always been comfortable, especially after he pushed the seat back.
"What's he working on?"
Nancy set her jaw in a way that Ned recognized; she was concentrating hard on the road in front of them, and trying to keep her emotions in check. "It's kind of old-fashioned," she admitted. "His local client gave him a lead on the group that swindled her. They have slick promotional material, and they make house calls. Something about that gets people." Nancy shrugged. "Plus the personal angle. I'll give them that. They get their hooks into people and find new leads, find out what the best approach is. Orphans, puppies, the rain forest. They have a brochure for every scenario."
"And they got your dad's client."
"His client, a few of her more gullible family members, a few of her even more wealthy friends. Then they skipped out. The last one they got on the hook had a Seattle forwarding address for them.”
"I thought your dad had a detective firm he kept just for this kind of thing."
Nancy nodded. "He does. But with the holiday, and he had a friend who he decided to visit… he was just going to find evidence, someone they had on the hook in Seattle, and turn it over to the cops there, tell the River Heights cops where they were."
"Okay. So how many people are in the gang? What organization are they pretending to be with?"
Nancy glanced over at Ned quickly before locking her gaze to the road before them again with a miserable shrug.
Ned swallowed. "The friend?"
"I know the friend's name," she said, on a relieved exhale.
"Did he report Carson missing?"
"Yeah. He had dinner with Dad that night, and they were gonna meet again the next day, but he didn't show. I haven't been able to talk to him yet."
"And, knowing your dad, he has a contact on the Seattle force."
"Who I haven't been able to talk to yet. Dad was paid up, so they left everything in his room and I'm hoping he left notes about what he'd found so far. The agency…" She sighed. "Answering service. Everyone's on holiday schedule. It's so…"
"Infuriating," Ned filled in, when she trailed off and blotted beneath her lower lashes. "I'm sorry, Nan. I hate that the weather screwed everything up."
"Me too. And I know you must think I'm overreacting…"
"Hey." He reached over and touched her gloved hand as it gripped the steering wheel. "He's your dad. If it were you… well. I have complete faith that even now, he's breaking through some rope and making his way to the closest police station."
She shook her head. "I hope so. If…"
She trailed off, and Ned let her. After a moment, he reached for the radio. They were too keyed up to sing along, but at least it was something to focus on.
The storm didn't let up. Ned hadn't checked the news forecast before their hasty departure, so he wasn't sure if they were heading into the thick of it, or if they were just traveling with the storm. Traffic was a maddening crawl, a sea of cherry-red lights that burned between the blur of snowflakes. Ned didn't comment on it; he knew better. Any progress, even a few inches, was something.
They made it to the state line, and by then Ned was sober, but they were both exhausted. He was serving as navigator, and while they were pushing toward the closest major airport on their route, Ned had a feeling they would end up in a snowdrift before they made it there. Nancy's obvious anxiety was burning through her energy, and if Ned had realized he would need to stay alert, he definitely wouldn't have had all those beers. Now the thought of a warm, comfortable bed was ridiculously seductive.
But Ned realized that, to Nancy, it would be almost mocking. Her father was missing, possibly captive, bound, miserable. To let herself relax would be an affront to him.
Even so, once they were close to a more populated area, Ned started squinting through the snow, looking for places they might stay.
“What are you thinking?” Nancy adjusted her grip on the steering wheel and flexed her tension-cramped fingers. The car smelled like hot sweet coffee, though the last sip had been gone for an hour, and a trace of Nancy’s usual winter perfume, delicately sweet with a trace of darkness, like winter pines in moonlight.
Ned really needed to sleep. Spontaneous poetry was a precursor to involuntary unconsciousness.
“Rest, check in with Hannah, and we can see what the forecast is. I feel like we’re fighting a tsunami here. In the morning, if the storm’s passed, we can go straight to the airport.”
For a moment, Ned thought she was going to argue. She ran through her objections and apparently found them weak. “We’ll stop and check in,” she reluctantly agreed.
The first hotel he spotted had their “no vacancies” light on. The next, practically no lights were on, but Ned stopped to talk to the clerk. Nancy was fiddling with the radio, frowning fiercely, when Ned returned.
“That massive storm last week did a lot of damage. This place has no heat but he, the guy at the desk, knows of a B&B a few miles away. He called ahead. Space and fireplaces.” Ned brushed snowflakes off his dark hair.
Nancy sighed. “Lead on,” she said.
Ned reached over and touched her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wish I could do something.”
She forced a smile, searching his eyes, and softened a little. “Me too,” she said. “C’mon, let’s get there so we can call Hannah and thaw out.”
The bed and breakfast in question was hidden by the massive snowfall; the drifts partially obscured the wooden hand-painted sign out front. They passed it by, sailed by it, on the first pass, and only with both of them squinting into the whitened dark did they simultaneously cry out in triumph. The small window in the front door was a circle of yellow ringed by a green wreath, a slice of warmth in the cold darkness.
The man who answered their knock held a retractable dog leash in his other hand, and directed a close-lipped smile at Ned. "Come in, come in. Have a seat on the couch. Knowing Toby, I'll be back in thirty seconds."
Ned caught a glimpse of an enormous dark dog, a streak of exuberance punctuated by the clack of claws over the hardwood, and Nancy fell back with a quiet chuckle. Left alone, Ned gestured Nancy over to the couch, and returned a moment later with their relatively paltry luggage. He found her staring intently at the phone, clearly desperate to call Hannah for an update, but waiting on the owner's permission to use it.
Toby returned, gave an exuberant shake in the entry way, and disappeared, likely in search of some lovingly embroidered and padded bed, as the tall man wiped his hands on his jeans and shook his head. He picked up a leather-bound reception book and crossed over to the sitting area, turning on a small lamp that spilled another pool of golden light over a polished wooden table. The house smelled of cinnamon and roses, with the trace of wet dog and fire smoke. The tall Christmas tree in the corner was strung with seemingly hundreds of colored lights.
"So—"
"I'm so sorry," Nancy interrupted. "My—he can handle whatever you need to know, but can I please use your phone? It's an emergency."
The man raised a pair of sandy eyebrows, but nodded, and Nancy snatched up the receiver immediately. Ned watched him tug a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. On the other side of the table was a plaid-upholstered chair, a soft bag of knitting on its seat, a pair of needles visible over the handle.
"So we have the room at the top of the stairs, if that's all right."
Ned didn't even bother glancing over at Nancy; she was deep in hushed conversation, her every atom centered on whatever Hannah was telling her. "That sounds perfect."
"How many nights?"
"One. We'll be leaving in the morning. Fireplace?"
The man nodded, with a small apologetic shrug. "I know the house is pretty cold. Plenty of quilts and blankets on the bed, and I can get you both some apple cider before I head to bed myself. Will you want a hot breakfast?"
Ned glanced over at Nancy, then shrugged helplessly. "I think just coffee. We'll be leaving early."
He nodded again, then noted the make and model of Nancy's car, copied down Ned's information from his driver's license, and took Ned's payment for the night. "All right. Let me help you with the luggage, and I can show you the bathroom."
Ned followed him, but his heart remained with Nancy; the house was a series of impressions. Pine-paneled walls, stairs that were a touch too steep and upholstered in somewhat shabby green carpet, a glowing lamp at the end of the hall. The room had the promised fireplace, and the wood was already laid there; the man leaned down and tucked a few shreds of newspaper between the kindling, then stood a moment later, smiling in approval as the wood began to catch. The walls were papered in speckled turquoise with a raspberry border, and the light caught on a few gold-framed prints. While the room was small, it wasn't too cluttered; a pine chest at the foot of the bed was the perfect place for their suitcases.
The bathroom was all in white and smelled like cinnamon potpourri. Ned nodded in vague approval, said they would be fine, and left the owner to lock up for the night.
Nancy was on the couch when Ned returned to the sitting room. The phone was back on the hook and she was gazing into space, her eyes shining. Her jaw was set.
Ned's heart sank a little. "We're upstairs. C'mon."
He only realized, once he was walking into the room with Nancy, that it was one room. One bed, and not a particularly large one, though it was covered in a poinsettia quilt and looked nice. No couch or… alternate sleeping arrangements.
Ned swallowed. He had been so focused on finding somewhere for the night that he hadn't even asked if there was another room. Besides, it wasn't like…
Well, it was. He and Nancy absolutely had never shared a bed. A beach lounge chair or a blanket, sure. A bed behind closed doors? No.
He had thought about it a thousand times, of course. But none of those times had been quite like this. And the man had just assumed, given everything, that there was no reason they wouldn't share a room. Their hands were still gloved; Nancy wore an engagement ring, but even that was out of sight. Ned had reeled off Nancy's license plate from memory.
The thought that they had been prematurely mistaken for a married couple… well, that did give Ned just a bit of a warm glow, even under these circumstances. Those few times they had pretended to be married as cover on a case had always given him an incredible thrill.
"Bathroom is just down the hall, if you want to…" Ned gestured.
She nodded, and her hands fluttered a bit before she clenched her still-gloved fists and shrugged slightly to readjust her purse.
"God," Ned muttered to himself, once he was alone. He had definitely screwed up. In the chest he found three more quilts, but as soon as he took his boots off, he realized how cold the room was. He turned on the radio, tuning it to a station and turning down the volume so it wouldn't disturb their neighbors, then crossed to the fireplace and stood there, absorbing the warmth and waiting for a weather report.
Well. He would just sleep on the floor; that's all there was to it.
She returned, closing the door with a sigh. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and she looked beyond exhausted. "No news," she said, and Ned recognized the edge in her voice as her trying to keep her emotions in check, not frustration with him.
"In weather news, the storm is expected to intensify overnight, and another front will be coming through tomorrow night, so you might want to hold off on scraping your driveways just yet. We'll have a reprieve and some sunshine for a few hours, but the temperature will likely feel like it's around zero degrees."
Nancy groaned and sat down on the bed, then held her head in her hands. "I feel like I'm in a nightmare," she murmured. "No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get anywhere."
"Look, once the sun comes out, we can make good time, maybe even make it to the airport."
After a beat, she nodded miserably, still hiding her face. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know this isn't how you wanted to be spending your New Year's Eve."
Ned sat down beside her and rubbed a reassuring palm over her back. "There's no one else I would have wanted to be with you," he said. "Other than your dad, of course. We'll get some sleep and in the morning maybe they'll have news. Some leads. Something."
"I hope so." She drew a long, bracing breath, then forced a weak smile. "Thanks. I guess I'll get ready for bed."
Ned picked up his own small bag and headed to the bathroom, and returned in an undershirt and sweatpants. Nancy looked up at him, startled, when he opened the bedroom door; she was already under the covers, with one hand on the bedside alarm clock, setting it to wake her early.
He gave her an apologetic smile. "In all the confusion, they gave us one room, and I didn't realize it until…" He gestured, taking a step into the room and closing the door. Nancy's eyes widened even further. "I… it's all right, I'll just sleep on the floor."
Nancy made a quiet sound of protest, then sighed as Ned opened the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out one of the heavy quilts. "I… Don't," she told him. "Don't. I'd hate to think of you cold and miserable on the floor all night, with all the traveling we have ahead of us."
Ned stilled, but didn't immediately agree. "The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable."
"You won't. I mean, we're just going to sleep." She tried to give a careless shrug, but Ned had known her too long; he could see the stiffness, the tension.
"I can… go see if they have another room available." Part of him felt like he was outside his own body, listening to the words he was saying in disbelief. But another part of him understood that sharing a bed was a milestone, one that she hadn't chosen, and he didn't want her to feel at all coerced about it.
Because, once they were in bed together… he would definitely let her decide what that meant, if anything, but he knew he would be painfully aware of her all night long.
"Oh, don't. Come on." She returned her attention to the alarm clock, made a quiet sound of triumph once she successfully set it, then tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed, a little impatiently. "Just draw the screen first."
Ned pulled the screen in front of the fireplace, lingering there another moment just to feel the warmth, then turned back toward the bed. In his mind this had always been their wedding night; the firelight barely touched her pale skin, lending it a warm glow, catching in a few reddish strands. Her blue eyes were tired, though, and the flickering in the light scooped shadows of exhaustion in her face.
Even as worn out as she was, he wondered if she really would sleep.
He paused on the side of the bed opposite her. "I usually sleep in my underwear," he said, which was nearly true. "But, if…"
She covered her face briefly, then pretended she was just brushing her hair back. "I'm sure it's fine," she said, then rolled over to her other side, facing away from him.
A soft, sweet wave of warmth washed over Ned as he pushed his sweatpants down. He hissed when his skin came in contact with the freezing sheets, and the springs creaked faintly as he pushed a knee onto the bed.
Which was, now that he was paying attention, surprisingly small.
For a few seconds he considered tugging a pillow between them, then dismissed that immediately. He couldn't really afford to give up the space. He felt hypersensitive as he slowly laid down, tugging the covers up over him. The sheets burned, they were so cold, but Ned himself was always warm.
Especially knowing that the woman he loved was so very close to him.
The two of them were so quiet and still that Ned could hear the very faint sounds of the fire crackling to itself in the fireplace, the small organic sounds of the house settling for the day, the pounding of his heart. He had to believe that Carson was fine, because the alternative was unthinkable, but now that he had time to relax…
It would happen one day. He didn't want it to be anytime soon, but one day her worst fears would be realized. One day their luck would run out.
His luck—but Nancy's luck, too.
Ned was afraid to move and startle her, so he just shifted to pillow his head on his arms, gazing up toward the dim suggestion of a ceiling.
"What time are we getting up?" he asked quietly.
"Mmm. Five. I think that should give us time to get to the airport for the first flight out."
She was being optimistic, but he also wanted her to get some rest, so he didn't suggest anything else. "Sounds good."
"Mmm." And he heard it, the quiet chattering of her teeth.
Ned only hesitated for a second. Then he rolled onto his side and reached for her.
"I—" she murmured, but she didn't protest; she just snuggled against him as he rubbed his warm palms over her chilly forearms. Everywhere the room's air touched was cold, and she was still shivering.
"How are you this warm?"
Ned chuckled softly. "Just lucky," he replied, closing his eyes. Thankfully the cinnamon-rose scent that permeated the lower floor wasn't smothering them here; he could smell woodsmoke, the faint clean trace of detergent on the quilts, and Nancy's hair. He was very aware that his body could only hold out for so long, snuggled up against her like this, and was fighting the familiar slide of his thoughts, trying to focus on anything else. He tugged the quilts up, tucking them more tightly around her, and then she snuggled against him again, her back to his front and their legs tucked together.
Plenty of space. Light-years wouldn't be enough space.
He kept stroking her arms, but she remained cold. The longer the silence stretched, the more impossible it seemed to break. He didn't want to upset her; he didn't want to pretend that anything about this was for pleasure.
She shivered again, and he only had the time to draw a breath to speak when she was turning in his arms, burrowing into him, her breath warm and damp as it touched his skin. A spark of awareness so violent that it almost made him shudder traveled up Ned's spine, arcing like electricity between them.
But some grief was too raw for words, and Ned just held her tight, sighing when her leg slid between his. Her long silk-smooth legs warmed at the contact with him,
"I don't know," she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin. "I don't know what to do. If I go to sleep, it's like I've given up."
"And if you don't go to sleep," he pointed out, "and tomorrow you can't concentrate on your driving…"
She snickered, then sighed. "I can't make any progress from here, and every second…"
"The police know. His friend knows. They're already looking for him. I love you, but this is not all or nothing, honey." He brushed his lips against her hair. "You have permission to relax."
She was quiet again. "My brain understands," she said, and he realized she had stopped shivering, but they could scarcely be any closer. "But my heart's overriding it. It's like some strange vigil. He's been there for me through so much. I owe him…"
He stroked her hair. "He's your father," Ned said, his voice gentle. "Of course he's been there for you. But short of chartering a helicopter—" He felt her stiffen, and shook his head. "Which still wouldn't work. You've done all you could. You'll do all you can tomorrow. You're his daughter. He wouldn't want you to destroy yourself."
She released a long breath, and he finally felt her relax. "Yeah," she murmured, almost to herself.
He shifted, her head tucked beneath his chin, her body so tight to his that no air could possibly come between them, so tight they practically had to alternate breaths. They had been this close before, but not like this.
"I know this is stupid," she said quietly, her voice slow with sleep, "but it feels like… I'm between the two of you. He's my rock, but so are you. I know one day I… that there will be a time after, when I would have been alone. But there's you."
"Yeah," Ned replied softly.
"I'm not ready to lose him."
"I don't think you ever will be," he replied. "I'm sorry."
She sighed. "I don't know how I'm ever going to get to sleep."
Ned smiled. "I would try to sing, but you don't want to hear that."
"Mmm."
And Ned wasn't sure what she said next, because the next breath pulled him into weary darkness.
--
Well, Nancy thought, as Ned slipped away, his breathing becoming slow and even. If he felt the way she did, he wouldn't be able to sleep right now.
Her brain wouldn't slow down, though, and as tired as she was, she couldn't relax. When she was able to stifle the voice that was screaming at her to gently slide out of Ned's arms, drink as much caffeine as she could tolerate, and depart alone in the pitch darkness for the nearest open airport—
The other half of her brain was eagerly, breathlessly reporting that her mostly-naked fiancé was wrapped around her in bed and they were alone together and no one knew they were here or cared and—
And.
Oh, she had fantasized about it. She had always placed Ned in a category so far beyond any other guy her age that she'd ever met that "gorgeous" had stopped applying a long time ago. The combination of his features was somehow perfect; his presence always sizzled down some hardwired part of her psyche. Ned fit exactly into that puzzle-piece slot for her, but it was all of him, at every level. His personality, his intelligence, his maturity, his heart.
All of it just melted away, though, perfected and realized by… this. Of all the people sharing the planet with her, Ned was her counterpart.
Was it any wonder that she thought about him naked? She was pretty sure it would have been strange if she had never thought about it. So everything about—this—seemed designed to allow her to act on… something.
If he felt the visceral, almost painful attraction she did, he would have acted on it.
Then again, she hadn't… but mostly because the idea of him rejecting her in badly-disguised disgust was horrifying.
Ned really was like a very efficient electric blanket, and she did in fact ease away from him once he seemed entirely unconscious. No way that he had embraced her or touched her had been… less than incredibly arousing. Either he hadn't noticed that, or hadn't cared… or just hadn't felt free to act on it. He had been very, very conscientious about their unexpected situation, after all.
They had proven they could share a bed even without anything… untoward happening. Maybe there would be other cases, other trips—
Dad.
The balances tipped back toward hysteria, and when she heard a faint creak from downstairs, Nancy seized on the distraction eagerly. She moved to the windows and gently pulled the drapes aside.
The large dog she vaguely remembered from their arrival bounded into the snowy backyard, as a pair of lights snapped on, casting the drifts in blue shadow. The dog didn't stray far from the halo of those lights, and Nancy presumed it was fenced in; she heard a quiet call of "Toby!" and then the dog raced back, skidding to a stop and shivering into a vigorous shake.
Then the light snapped off and the wind filled the stillness, and she heard the faint sound of snow being driven against the house, ice pelting like a handful of tiny gravel.
Get in the car or go back to bed.
There was probably a basket of assorted tea bags downstairs. She could imagine it, even if she hadn't actually seen one. It would be rectangular, boasting chamomile, peppermint, black, Earl Grey. And if she dressed and went downstairs, letting a tea bag steep while she slumped at an unfamiliar kitchen table, her heart torn, she knew how that would end. A note on the pillow beside Ned, an apology, a plea for understanding and forgiveness.
He was right, though. As much as she wanted to believe that she could just somehow will herself into being laser-focused and hyperaware, as anxious and nervous as she was, getting on the road right now would be reckless. Ned would be angry that she had disregarded his advice, and if she hadn't wanted him along, why had she come over to his apartment in the first place?
She needed him, his support and his love. It still felt incredible that he had chosen her, and tonight, her panic and fear made it pulse like a sore tooth. She didn't, couldn't see herself as being passed from the care of her father to that of her spouse, and her relationship with Ned was more of a partnership, but he was her safety net. She didn't want to do anything that would hurt what they had.
Which made her next idea even more ridiculous.
She turned back to the bed, swallowed, and stripped her shirt off. Her nearly-bare legs were already chilled from leaving the halo of Ned's warmth, and she moved back into bed carefully, trying to move the mattress as little as possible. She inched toward Ned, and when her bare breasts and chill-stiffened nipples brushed against Ned's chest, she couldn't suppress her shiver.
She was nowhere near calm enough to sleep—somehow her thoughts were racing even faster, driven by the exhilaration of this new closeness—but her eyes were closed when Ned made a soft, inquisitive, waking noise. Then he drew a breath and she knew that he'd realized it.
"How… are you cold," he said, his voice slow. His palm slid up her arm, and gooseflesh and hairs rose in its wake.
"Heard something from downstairs and went to the window. Just the dog," she told him. Her voice was mostly even, but she could feel the faint tremor of her pounding heart in it.
"And… you had to take off your shirt to see better."
"Well, I didn't know that I was marrying a furnace." She put a faint note of teasing into her voice. "And… now we're even."
Ned chuckled. "We are?"
She nudged him very gently, her heart rising into her throat. "Underwear, underwear."
"I'm just glad you're feeling better. Although I really need to warm you up…"
She smiled as he wrapped her in his arms again, though that same charge she had felt was back, and she felt cautiously optimistic that maybe he was feeling it too. "A part of me really wants to jump back into the car," she admitted. "I know you're right, but it's hard to think about anything else." She paused. "Except this."
"You think about this?"
"If you'd looked in the mirror recently, you wouldn't have to ask."
"Same." His stroking fingertips slid up her arm to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. "Promise you'll tell me to stop."
Her heart was fully galloping now. "Promise that you won't," she whispered.
"Baby." His lips brushed against hers. "I will always do what you need. And if it's this…"
Her heart cracked a little at that. "I feel like I'm gonna come out of my skin and I think this will keep me inside a little longer," she murmured, combing her fingers through his hair. "But I've wanted you for so long. This isn't just tonight."
She could feel his lips curl up. "Show me where," he murmured, and they moved together, as he tugged her beneath him, to the center of the freezing sheets. "Show me how."
They were in a strange house, in the middle of a snowstorm, where no one knew them, likely surrounded by strangers—and he made her scream. She tugged a pillow over her face to stifle it, her cheeks awash in heat as she sucked in a breath so sharp that was nearly a scream, and when his fingers and tongue and lips and teeth, Jesus, she had never known—when he finally brought her to her climax she was shuddering, her hips jolting, her legs spread wide.
She had been wrong. She exploded into a thousand shimmering pieces, her eyes rolled back, straining and melting in turn, her fingers in his hair.
And he didn't stop touching her; he kept caressing, stroking, even as he let her come down, and then he was trailing kisses and nipping and licking his way back up. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked it just as he had sucked her clit, and she sobbed, writhing, reaching for him as her inner flesh contracted in response.
"I want to be inside you." His voice was muffled against her skin.
"Yes." She moaned, sliding her leg around him. She felt reckless and feverish and desperate. "God, please."
When their lips met in a sizzling kiss, she could taste a trace of herself there, and the unfamiliar tang of it made her blush again. She kissed him again and again, felt him move into position over her, then wrapped her other leg around him.
They kissed and kissed, over and over again, and he broke her by slow degrees, dragging his cock over the plush slick flesh between her legs until he was making rough guttural sounds, until she was crying, her head tipped back, so fucking sensitive and so achingly aware that each breath was a sob. He moved inside her and eased, slow and sweet, and she could feel him gasping against her temple as he worked in smooth shallow thrusts, a little more, a little more—
Her cheeks were flushed, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, and at his next thrust her hips bucked. She cried out, then reached for the pillow again.
"Next time," he gasped, after she had muffled a full-throated scream and he had brushed a sweat-slicked lock of hair off her forehead, "I want to hear it."
"Yes," she moaned. "Jesus."
She had always imagined that it would be a clean demarcation, a before and after, an innocence and a breaking. Tonight would always be the first time they had sex; that was undeniable. But the breaking was slow and incredible and a thousand degrees, a feverish need for each other that only grew with every stroke and caress and thrust. Now that the door had been opened, she wanted all of it. Over and over again, she wanted it.
Slowly, as they clung together, she felt his full length slide inside her, where she was slick and hot and so tender. His mouth found hers and she buried her fingers in his hair, her tongue sliding against his, her body cradling his.
"Baby," he whispered, when they broke the kiss. "Oh my God. Are you all right?"
She nodded, gazing into his sweet, dark eyes. "When I thought we were made for each other," she murmured, "I never imagined this. Am I okay?"
"You're perfect. So incredibly perfect. I…"
Then he moved back only to glide inside her again, and her eyes rolled back as she reached for the pillow again, to sob out her pleasure.
But for a small mistake of timing, it was their wedding night. Their vows, God, had been made a thousand times over; he had been with her through the worst, and if the next few days would be the worst of her life, he had already agreed to be there.
Her worries—that he hadn't wanted it to be this way, that he had planned for it to be different, that he didn't really want this, that, oh, her father, oh God—
"Oh God," she sobbed, arching under him when he brushed against her clit.
In that lifetime of their first time, she broke, blinded, choking and writhing and gasping, reduced to instinctual response and sweet breathless ache, all her fear wiped away by the joy of this new expression of their—of them. This was who she could be, with him. This was the pleasure they could have with each other.
Even quivering in aftershocks, rolled onto their sides and clinging to each other, skin tacky with sweat, the slick trace of their joining cooling between their thighs, her mind was spinning. They were nuzzling together, gasping their breath back, and she blushed again as she realized what she had done.
What they had done.
"Okay. I…"
Her eyes had been closed. She opened them now, and gazed up at him. In the faint light his lips were turned up in a small smile.
"You did good," she assured him, and smiled back.
He grinned. "Only good?"
"I have no frame of reference," she pointed out, and stretched a little. "Besides, if I want us to get in a lot of practice so we can make it close to perfect on our wedding night… we need to have some space to work…"
Ned chuckled and brushed her hair from her cheek again. "Close to perfect, huh."
She brushed the backs of her fingers down the line of his jaw. "You feel so good inside me," she said, and watched the gleam ignite in his eyes. "I've imagined this so many times and I was never anywhere close."
"I want everything." The humor had vanished now. "Everything you've ever imagined. Everything you've ever wanted. But next time, no stifling."
"They would have called the cops," she protested.
"Fox Lake."
She considered, then nodded slowly, meeting his eyes again. They would be completely alone, no close neighbors, no one to hear her screaming out a mind-blowing orgasm.
"But, tomorrow… at the stroke of midnight, at the beginning of the new year…"
She could read him, just as she always had. "This," she filled in, when he trailed off. "Oh, honey, if we're in Seattle—"
"Then there will be a hotel room," he pointed out. "I'll give you a special exception. You can scream into a pillow again." He smiled. "See? Compromise."
She laughed softly and shifted, the ball of her thumb brushing over the tip of his nose, over his cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Tell me I've managed to tire you out."
"I think so," she admitted with a brief nod. "That was a superior effort. And full points for style. Especially that first thing you did." She shuddered in remembered joy.
He smiled, then leaned in to whisper directly into her ear. "By our wedding night, I want you begging me to suck your clit and eat out that sweet pussy. We'll practice. And when you get it right, I'll reward you appropriately."
She shivered again at the feel of his breath against her ear. "Or very inappropriately," she murmured.
"I promise," he replied.
--
The sky was gray, threatening the next round of ice and snow, but nothing had started falling when they made it to breakfast. Despite those grand intentions, Nancy had smacked the alarm into submission and curled into Ned for a few more glorious, naked hours of oblivion.
Now, as Ned toasted an English muffin for her, she made the call she'd been dreading. Ned glanced over as she hung up with a sigh.
"Busy," she explained. "Maybe…"
Maybe it would be good news. Maybe it wouldn't.
Nancy had been nervous about coming downstairs and the owner seeing that they didn't wear wedding rings; she had been nervous that something had been overheard, the protesting squeal of a bedspring or a sharp gasp of breath before she had stifled an orgasmic scream. Ned just felt… deeply satisfied and proud of himself. On some level he had been dreading their first night together. On the other side of it now, he was cursing himself for not acting on his desire for her earlier. She'd been thinking about him too. She had given herself to him so eagerly, had actually taken her own shirt off to instigate things.
Ned knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Nancy Drew generally had a good idea of what she wanted. She didn't let fear hold her back from it. It was just the bemusing novelty of knowing that what she wanted… was him.
Nancy had managed to take two bites of her muffin when the B&B's phone rang. The owner answered it, and Nancy's gaze was locked to him.
"Nancy Drew?"
Nancy practically flew across the room. "Hello?"
And Ned's gaze was locked to her now, watching her expression of anxious fear dissolve into cautious relief. "And you're sure?" he overheard. "Positive?"
She returned to him a few minutes later, her eyes brimming. "He's safe," she said, and her voice cracked a little. "He's okay. They caught him, but he managed to get out and the cops are picking the gang up now." She wiped just beneath her eyes, swiping at the track of tears. "Oh…"
Ned wrapped her in his arms and felt her shiver with the release of all that pent-up stress.
"Shh," he murmured. "It's all right. He's safe. That's great, baby. See? We made the right choice staying here last night. He's okay."
Her cheek was pressed against his neck, and he felt it suddenly glow with the heat of her blush. "We did," she murmured. "We did make the right choice last night."
As she let herself believe it and adjusted to the realization that she could stop panicking, Ned glanced at the window. "All right," he told Nancy. "Want to see if we can have the room for another night?"
"We're expecting more snow in a few hours," the owner added, glancing up from the open newspaper.
Nancy opened and closed her mouth, considering. "I… okay?"
The owner smiled. "You're welcome to watch the countdown on the big TV," he said. "Your room is available tonight."
Ned stood. "Okay. I have an errand to run."
Nancy arched an eyebrow, gazing up at him.
"We need to toast the new year," Ned said. "A bottle of champagne, party hats, some cheesy plastic champagne flutes. You know. Classy."
Nancy burst into laughter, then ducked her head as her already-wet eyes filled and sent a pair of tears sliding down her cheeks. "Maybe some of those paper horns," she suggested. "We have a lot to celebrate, after all."
"We will," he agreed, and smiled in a way that had another flush rising in her cheeks. "Especially at the stroke of midnight."
She searched his eyes. "Maybe I should come with you," she said, standing up too. "We packed so hastily that there are a few things I need to pick up."
They bolted down the rest of their breakfast, bundled into scarves and gloves and caps and heavy coats, and as the owner called a wish for a safe, quick trip, Ned smiled down at Nancy.
"What—"
He picked her up, and with a deep, intense kiss, walked with her over the threshold.
She laughed when he pulled back. "What was that for?" she asked, bringing up a hand to ward off the already-bitter wind.
"Party horns," he replied with a grin. "No one will question all the noise coming from our room…"
She swatted at him, but dissolved into relieved giggles. "He's safe," she said, in awe. "I can't believe this isn't just a dream."
He slid his arm around her shoulders as they walked out to the Mustang, picking their way carefully over the ice-crusted snow. "Last night was the dream," he said.
She nodded. "And tonight…"
"Tonight, the first of many rehearsals for our wedding night."
She chuckled. "You really need to practice tugging off a lace garter with your teeth, I think," she mused, tapping her chin.
"Only if you do too," he replied, and she flashed a brilliant grin at him before she swung into the car.
And, on that gray, cold morning, the last of the year, all was right with the world.