One hand slid under her ponytail to clasp the back of her head. Another cupped her ass. Her entire ass, as if his hand had been designed for the express purpose of holding her there. The heavy weight of it sent a rush of heat between her thighs. She moaned and plunged her tongue into his mouth, frantic to demonstrate what she needed from him. Needed it soon.
He closed his lips around her tongue, capturing it, and sucked slowly from base to tip. Her nipples turned to stinging points. A sharp ache settled deep between her legs. She squirmed against him, trying to relieve it by rubbing on the hard length of his cock running under the fly of his jeans.
He groaned. The hand on her ass tightened.
Not soon. Now. Right there in the snow.
His tongue delved into her mouth, forcing her lips wide, and stroked her everywhere. She nearly sobbed from the glorious pillage. Desire twisted low in her belly, wringing need out of her in a steady stream. If she could get her gloves off, tug his fly open, she could touch him—touch actual dick for the first time in forever. Stroke it. Pull it. Guide it—
“Oh, yah. Hellooo. Good morning to you.”
Chapter Eight
On top of him, Izzy’s body tightened like a cat ready to pounce. He released her mouth but clamped an arm around her waist to keep her still. If she jumped off him now, old Jorg would get an eyeful of him lying there in the snow with his dick doing its best to drill its way out of his jeans. He didn’t want to imagine the conversation that would inspire tonight at the Goose.
“Hey, Jorg. Uh.” He licked his lips and tasted whatever Izzy had used on hers. Something sweet. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, well, I see a person coming down the hill, very fast, and then I realize it is one person carrying another person. And then…boom.” The white-haired Viking pantomimed someone falling. “And I think to myself, Jorg, someone could be hurt. So, I come quickly.” He smiled. “And now I see nobody is hurt and all is well.”
Izzy cleared her throat and pushed herself into a sitting position—which forced him to pray he wouldn’t have the kind of accident he hadn’t had since he and Jan Coutts had fooled around in the back seat of his car when they were sixteen. “Trace was just going to”—she paused, slipped her sunglasses on, and ran her gloved hand over her visibly pink forehead—“give me a tour of his business.”
“Yah.” Jorg nodded and winked at Trace. “He has very decent business, I am sure.”
Okay, enough innuendos from Grandpa Buzzkill. Trace levered himself into a sitting position, wrapped his arm around Izzy, got up, and placed her on her feet. “We should probably get on with it,” he suggested, and pointed to the snow-covered path to the airfield. “Plan B or plan C?”
She pressed the softest lips he’d ever had the pleasure of kissing together into a line, considered the distance, and finally let out a resigned breath. “Plan B.”
Despite his crippling case of blue balls, he felt his lips lift. “I thought you might say that. See ya, Jorg.” He turned to kneel and let Izzy climb on his back, but Jorg stopped him.
“Ah, Trace. A moment of your time, yah?”
He looked at the old man. “Sure. You want to charter a flight?”
“Not today, no.” Jorg offered Izzy a timeworn smile. “Apologies, pretty lady.” He stepped away and gestured for Trace to follow. “A word in private, please?”
He glanced at Izzy. “You okay for a sec?”
She’d unzipped her parka and began shaking snow off it. “Of course.”
“Okay. Be right back.” Moving to where Jorg stood, a few feet away, he turned to the man. Had Jorg somehow gotten wind of the sale? “What’s up?”
Jorg turned them both until their backs were to Izzy—a wasted effort since she was staring in the other direction, at the airfield, or the harbor, or the water—and pulled his fist from his parka pocket. “I have something for you. Quickly.”
Relieved that this didn’t seem to have anything to do with the airfield, he held out his hand. Jorg dropped a pill bottle into his open palm. “Something to help you make a very good impression on your young lady.” So saying, Jorg turned and tromped up the hill, toward town.
Trace looked down at the bottle in his hand and scanned the label. Viagra.
Jesus. He pinched the space between his eyes. What had his life come to when people thought he needed ED drugs from a seventy-year-old pusher? It was past time to assert some boundaries. He considered catching up to the old man and telling him thanks, no thanks, but that would lead to a protracted discussion of a nature he preferred not to have with Jorg. Ever. Instead, he stuffed the pill bottle into the pocket of his parka and shoved the matter of the town’s concern over his sexual capabilities firmly from his mind.
He tromped back to Izzy in time to watch her smooth pink ChapStick on her lips. Cotton candy. He scraped his teeth over his lower lip. Yeah. Cotton candy. How long before he got another taste? She capped the lip balm, turned to him, and raised an eyebrow.
Hopefully not much longer.
“Ready?” she asked.
Oh, Izzy, you have no idea. “Yep.” He adjusted her messenger bag until it hung around his front, and then turned, scrunched down, and looked at her over his shoulder. “Hop on.”
She slid her arms over his shoulders and wrapped them loosely around his neck. He straightened, caught one leg in the loop of his arm, then the other, and then he hefted her higher. The arms around his neck tightened. Her voice flowed over his shoulder and into his ear. “Is this okay?”
“Okay” was not the word. Her scent swirled around him. He could feel the soft weight of her cashmere covered breasts against his back and the lean muscles of her thighs flexing around his hips. He had to clear his throat before answering. “It’s fine.”
He took a step, then another.
“I’m not too heavy?”
That made him laugh out loud. “I think I can manage.”
“Are you sure?”
It was possible he was getting a little touchy about people doubting his vigor, or maybe he felt like showing off, but whatever the reason, he pretended to drop her.
“Holy crap!” Her arms and legs squeezed tight, but when he arrested her fall, she laughed. Then she smacked his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”
He picked up the pace. “Uh-oh. I hope I can handle all this extra weight.”
“Whoa. Wait… Trace. Whoaaaa.”
Her laughter trailed behind them as he covered the last hundred yards to the terminal at a run, deliberately bouncing her as he went. Key rounded the side of the building where he’d gone to chase squirrels, or do his business, or seized the opportunity to do both, and barked jubilantly.