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A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(75)

Author:Robyn Carr

Ian covered her mouth in a hot, deep kiss and pumped his hips, holding on, waiting, moving gently, then fiercely, until he felt it all happen at once—her fingers on his shoulders, digging in, her pelvis thrust against him, her insides pulsing in a fabulous joy that left him drenched in hot liquid. And he made the moment count, letting it all go, being with her through the ecstasy.

He held her for a long, quiet time, his lips on her neck, her lips on his shoulder, their bodies rising and falling with rapid breathing, moist with perspiration, calming down, recovering. Finally she whispered in his ear, “What were you thinking while that happened, Ian?”

Before he could come up with an answer, the truth came out. “I was thinking, thank God I didn’t forget how that was done.”

She laughed, rubbing his back.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“I was thinking, thank God he didn’t forget how that was done.”

But he wasn’t laughing anymore. The look on his face was dreamy. He brushed her hair away from her brow. “You’re real special, Marcie,” he said. “I never saw this coming, but…” He couldn’t finish.

She put her palm against his cheek. “That’s nice, Ian. You’re awful special, too. And I let you get me naked when I’d been with you ten days.”

“You let me do more than that.”

“I wanted you to make love to me. You must think I’m a bad girl—”

“You are a bad girl, the best bad girl that was ever born,” he said. “The meanest little carrottop on the playground. You’re the best thing that ever happened in my life, Marcie. I was dying—you knew that. You made a difference. It’s what you always intended to be—a difference.” He grinned. “Like Abigail.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”

He brushed her lips with his. “Am I crushing you?” he asked.

“No. And don’t move. I don’t want to lose the feeling of being part of you.”

He wanted to tell her she’d be a part of him for the rest of his life, but that might frighten her more than his roar. “I’d just like to spoil you for a little while, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds interesting. Just how will you spoil me, if I might ask?”

“Well, I’ll start by not digging us out of here too fast,” he said. “How does that sound?”

“Like heaven. Pure heaven.”

Ian and Marcie dressed somewhat reluctantly and headed outside to check out the snow and make a run to the outhouse. It was still coming down, softly, slowly, but not too deep on the ground yet. She got her turn first, and she made it quick. Then Ian was allowed the facilities. When he came out, he found himself alone. She must have gone back to the warmth of the cabin in a hurry and he began to follow. Before he got five feet, a snowball hit him square in the face. He wiped it away to see her leaning out from behind a big tree, laughing. “Did I mention I was good in softball?” she asked through her laughter. “I pitched!”

The chase was on—Ian took after her with a roar that was answered by giggles. He was stronger and more sure in the snow, but she was agile and quick and managed to get off a few snowballs while he was in pursuit. She ran around trees, rounded the shed at least once, took a few snowballs in the back and retaliated. But the chase ended when she tripped on something under the snow and did a face-plant right into the soft white powder.

He rushed to her side, scared, and rolled her over to find her laughing and spitting snow. He just looked down at her in wonder—did nothing disturb her? Scare her? Panic or worry her? He covered her mouth with his for a long kiss, and when he let her go she said, “Before we go inside, we should make snow angels.”

“I’m not making snow angels,” he said. “What if Buck sees me? It would ruin my reputation forever.”

“Just one, then. Yours would be so big—like Gabriel, for sure.”

“Then will you go inside with me? No more screwing around?”

“Aw—I thought that was your favorite part?” she asked, taking a handful of snow and shoving it in his face.

With a growl, he got to his feet, lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her back to the cabin. He stood her in front of the door and brushed the snow off her before letting her enter, then did the same himself.

“You’ve forgotten how to play,” she accused him.

“You play around enough for both of us,” he said. Without shedding his jacket, he got water heating on the propane stove and the woodstove. “I’ll give you a little time alone while I shovel a path to the john and hook the plow blade onto the truck. Think you can manage these big pots on your own?”

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