But in the end, the lure of the catnip was too much for the panther, just as Matt had known it would be. The cat circled the fist-sized packet several times, then lowered his head and rubbed the side of his face over it, pushing it through the snow with a snorted growl that ended with another sneeze.
“I’m as sorry as you are,” Matt whispered when the great beast suddenly pounced on the package, scooping it up in his powerful jaws with a final snarl before bolting into the forest. “Forgive me,”
Matt softly petitioned to the retreating cat as it disappeared into the storm.
He turned and faced the cave again, once again torn between going inside or simply disappearing into the forest behind the leopard. It could be that simple; he could just turn and walk away and never be seen again. Winter might miss him; hell, she might even mourn him, but in the end she would be better off. At least her soul would be intact, which was more than he could say for his own if he entered that cave.
But his decision finally came down to one simple promise, given long before his heart had atrophied, when love had led Matt to an act of desperation, when hope hadn’t been a curse. So he stepped forward as he unbuttoned his snow-covered suit jacket, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as he quietly walked through the entrance.
The moment he stepped inside, the walls of the cave started pulsing in a warm golden glow that softly lit the interior. He unbuttoned his shirt next, pulled its tails from his pants, and shrugged it off as he stared at the woman sleeping at his feet. He slipped off his shoes, then straightened and unfastened his belt. Her hair was still damp, he noticed, and her cheeks were pink with warmth. She had one hand tucked under her head, the other hand clutching the sleeping bag up to her nose.
Matt dropped his pants and stepped out of them, kicking them out of the way as he continued staring at Winter. He noticed the indentation where the panther had been curled against her back, and felt a perverse anger at seeing evidence that the leopard had likely been sleeping with her for the last two and a half years.
But never again, Matt vowed. The only beast in Winter MacKeage’s bed after tonight would be him.
Finally naked, Matt looked around the interior of the cave, his gaze stopping on the thin wooden stick laying against the softly glowing back wall. He walked over and picked it up, balancing its insubstantial weight on the palm of his hand. He smiled, rolling the smooth wood in his fingers before setting it on a narrow ledge near the ceiling, well out of reach of his fairy princess.
He turned back to Winter, absently scratching the hair on his chest, figuring he’d warmed up enough not to turn her into a block of ice when he crawled in beside her. He walked over and knelt down, slowly unzipped the zipper, worked the material out of her hand, and peeled away the top of the sleeping bag.
Matt sucked in his breath at the sight of her wearing his clothes, his long johns and shirt only amplifying how tiny she was. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as something stirred deep in his chest, someplace in the vicinity of his hardened heart.
She was so delicate. So beautiful. So damn innocent.
And his. After tonight, little Miss Prickly MacKeage would belong to him; her heart, her soul, her vivacious spirit would be his completely.
Matt lay open the sleeping bag to make them a double bed, then carefully laid down and gathered her into his arms. He smiled when she murmured something unintelligible and snuggled against him to bury her face in his chest. The moment she awakened, he tilted her head back to bring his mouth down on hers, capturing her gasp of surprise.
He kissed her deeply, holding nothing back, his gut relaxing for the first time in hours. She finally realized whose mouth was ravishing hers and responded with an eagerness that hit Matt square in the chest.
He pulled back to stare down at her, watching her lazy blue eyes gaze back as her warm, welcoming smile reached clear to her flushed cheeks. “You came home,” she whispered. “Or am I dreaming?”
“You’re not dreaming, princess. I’m really here.”
She reached up and touched his untethered hair hanging down to his shoulders. “It’s wavy,” she said, her sleepy smile widening. “You look even more handsome with it down.”
He kissed her again for her compliment, which she seemed to think was an appropriate response for him to make as she slid her fingers through his loose hair and kissed him back.
Once he’d gotten a good taste of her, Matt again lifted his head to look down. “What are ye doing here, Winter?” he asked. “Do yer parents know where you are?”
“No.” She smiled, reaching up and locking her fingers together at the back of his neck. “I’ve run away from home, Mr. Gregor, and this was the only place I wanted to run to.” Her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I hope you don’t think I was being too…ah, too forward.”
“I’m glad,” he whispered, smoothing her wild red curls back from her forehead. “I like finding a fairy princess in my bed.”
She smiled hugely. “A fairy princess?” she repeated. “Is that how you think of me?”
“Aye,” he said, giving her a kiss on her nose. “My beautiful fairy princess.”
“Your brogue is back.”
“I’m regressing again. It seems to be an affliction that appears whenever I hold ye in my arms.”
She moved her hands from behind his head to hold the sides of his face. “I want to make love to you, Matheson Gregor,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me, deep where I ache.”
Her words hit like a tidal wave, washing over Matt with a shuddering force that tightened his gut in a knot of desire. He lowered his mouth to kiss her, but she wouldn’t let him, holding him firmly to keep him looking at her.
“I—I haven’t ever been with anyone,” she softly confessed, her forehead again wrinkling with worry. “So I don’t know what to do.”
He turned his head to kiss her palm, then smiled down at her. “I’m thinking ye might start by taking off my clothes.”
She moved her hands from his face to his shoulders with a relieved sigh, obviously pleased he was willing to guide her through their lovemaking. Her eyes widened. “You’re naked,” she said in surprise.
He nodded. “I was referring to my clothes on yer body,” he told her, plucking at her shirt.
“Oh,” she said, wiggling out from under him so she could sit up and unbutton her shirt. She frowned, looking around. “How come it’s so light in here?”
Matt pushed her hands away and finished undoing the buttons, slipping the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms, then quickly reaching for the hem of her long johns top. “Did ye leave the lantern going?” he asked just as he pulled the top up over her head, her answer getting muffled in the material as she raised her arms to help him.
Matt sucked in his breath, quickly capturing her now freed hands and holding them away from her body to fully appreciate her very beautiful, very plump breasts. “My God, you’re lovely,” he whispered, looking up to find her blushing even more beautifully.
He quickly leaned forward, using his body to press her down to the sleeping bag, covering her chest with his own as he captured her gasp in a searing kiss. Matt gathered both her hands in one of his, pinning them over her head so he was free to explore what his eyes had already told him were two wonderful pieces of heaven.
She nearly bit his tongue when his hand closed over her breast, her hips surging up so sharply, Matt groaned and had to quickly pull his hips out of the way. Holy hell, his fairy princess was turning into a package of sensual energy.
But hadn’t he known what she’d be like? Hadn’t he felt Winter’s explosive energy lurking just below the surface for two weeks now, every time he’d kissed her?
Isn’t that exactly why he’d kept running away?
Aye. He had known within seconds of stepping into her gallery that Winter MacKeage was not some shy, delicate flower. The moment he’d locked eyes with her, Matt had seen a passionate woman just waiting for a brave man to cut through her thorny defense. And hadn’t he heard the death knell tinkling when he’d opened her gallery door, of his destiny meeting his fate? If Winter’s paintings had captured his interest, her obvious passion for life had caught him in an even more deadly spell. Just like a damned moth, he could no longer only dance near her flame.