Greg Stone cracked one eye open and was immediately blinded by the Saturday-morning sun, shining directly into their window courtesy of a cloudless sky.
He attempted to roll over, but his entire body protested in pain. He groaned and tried a second time, but he was hurting badly. He turned his head to the left - away from the sunlight – so he could open his other eye. All he saw was a mass of tangled hair lying atop a tank top - his tank top.
He reached out - his body wailing in response - and put his arm around Samantha's waist. She turned to roll over and groaned as well - she was just as sore as her husband. She took his arm and held it to her chest, then brought his hand to her mouth long enough to kiss and nibble his fingers and mumble, "I love you, baby," before drifting back to sleep.
Yesterday had been their first day on the slopes. Greg was reaping the whirlwind this morning, as was his wife, but it had been worth it. Skiing was awesome! The sun had risen before they did yesterday as well, but it was bright and with temperatures predicted to be near forty, it would be perfect on the slopes. As he stirred, Samantha rolled on top of him and began gently kissing his face, his neck, his ears, and his lips. There was no better alarm in the world.
This morning it was a struggle to move, but yesterday his wife had to temper his excitement. He had grabbed the hotel brochures and was looking through them - checking out the ski rental options and procedures - when she got up and headed for the shower. She again called his name from the bathroom and when he turned, all he saw was a naked arm in the doorway holding the t-shirt she had worn the night before. He watched for a second as she dropped it to the floor. Greg thought about joining her, but it was already nine-thirty and he had chores to complete.
He called room service and ordered breakfast for them. Then he called the front desk. Yes, a package had just arrived for Samantha, so he threw on his shoes, ran down and signed the receipt for the outfit, then asked if they could bring it up in about twenty minutes.
Greg got back to the room just as Samantha walked out, disappointed that she showered alone. But all was forgiven when breakfast came and he sat down to eat with her. Ten minutes later, he let her answer a second knock at the door. She carried the box back to the table, giving her husband a puzzled look. He just smiled.
She lifted the cover and unfolded the tissue paper, which revealed the clothes and boots from the outfitters store. "Gregory Allen...!" she glared at him in mock anger. "I told you this was too much! You need to send this stuff back."
"I will not send it back. You looked beautiful in it and you are going to keep it - and maybe wear it while we're here so I can show you off. This discussion is over."
Samantha walked behind him and put her arms around him, planting several kisses on his neck and lips. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, just before nibbling at the earlobe, "I'm already thinking about some ways I can show you how much I appreciate this - later." She nipped his neck again and ran her fingers through his hair before sitting back down and finishing her meal.
An hour later, they were decked out in ski clothes, boots, and goggles, carrying skis and poles toward the lift. Samantha convinced her husband to take two brief lessons before trying even the bunny hills - he should have taken several more, as they both discovered later. Samantha was slightly more accomplished, having skied a few times as a young teen, but it didn't count for much out here. The slopes were busy, and got more crowded as the day progressed and the Friday crowds arrived, but they had a fabulous time.
Greg looked up and could see skiers tackling the more difficult runs. Moved to show off for his wife - who was perfectly content to stay with the novices on the easier slopes - he decided to up the risk factor a little. He stayed away from those labeled with black diamonds, but many of the mid-range slopes offered incredible challenges on their own. Greg quickly figured out why the lessons didn't include 'how to fall down' as part of the itinerary - he had that mastered. He would ski for thirty seconds or so and down he would go, landing hard and sliding through the powder.
Samantha really enjoyed the skiing as well, and she even tackled one of the slightly more difficult runs with her husband. It featured one of those 'ski-in, ski-out' restaurants where they stopped for lunch. They enjoyed burgers, fries, and hot chocolate - and watched other skiers who clearly knew what they were doing - before returning to the slopes. Greg said he wasn't going home until he completed one run without falling down - it took until almost four-thirty - but he did it, and they called it a day. The couple headed back to the hotel, where they ate dinner together on the sofa and tried to watch a bit of TV, but collapsed into bed, two uninitiated skiers who were completely exhausted.
Had the two of them really thought about how they were abusing their bodies on the slopes, they might have taken it easier. But muscles that aren't used very often don't get sore until they're rested after use, and the frequent falls, sometimes on hard-packed snow and ice, really hurt later. So the pain, aching, and stiffness didn't reach full potency until they woke up the next day.
And Greg was living it in full this morning. He had been awake just fifteen minutes, but was already calling this 'suffering Saturday'. His poor wife would be suffering, too, once she started moving around. He carefully moved his hand away from Samantha, who stirred and grunted again, but didn't wake up. The only way to get out of bed was to roll out, so that's what he did. He quietly made his way to the bathroom, feeling like a Mack truck had run him over. He turned on the shower and stepped in, the warm water not helping his condition at all, but waking him up. He limped back to the bedroom - she was still dead to the world - and quietly got dressed.
Not wanting to wake her by talking on the phone, he struggled down to the spa area to check it out. Sure enough, it was open and as he walked up, the man at the counter grimaced and smiled at him. "Ooo, looks like someone went skiing yesterday..."
"Is it that obvious? It was fantastic, but I feel completely steamrolled this morning. Do you have any openings for two? I'm guessing my wife will need some attention, too."
"Yeah, we have an eleven-to-twelve and a two-to-three. Do either of those work?"
Greg took the earlier time slot and told him thanks, and the man replied with a laugh, "Oh yeah, you'll thank us when it's over. Our people are really good at fixing you up." Greg also got a quick tour of the facilities before he left.
When he got back to the room, he heard the shower running. She was up and moving around, so he was hopeful that she was faring better than he was. When she came out of the bathroom, he realized he was wrong - very wrong. She was moving slowly, reaching for objects to help support her, and not smiling.
He looked at her sheepishly and said, "Good morning, swee..."
"Don't 'good morning' me, you ape! I think you succeeded in killing me."
"You look pretty alive to me, Sam."
She took a deep breath, as if even that was a struggle. "That's only because my mind hasn't gotten the notice from my body."
"I'm so sorry, what can I do to help you?"
"Get me in touch with a good divorce lawyer. I'm taking you for everything you own," she couldn't quite get the statement finished without laughing, and then groaning, "Oh, it hurts to laugh." She flopped down on the chair and let out another little yelp. "And it hurts to sit. Even my butt aches!"
Greg smiled through his own pain and took a step toward her. "Well, I can definitely help you with that."
She held a hand up. "Don't touch me! I think I'm about to shatter."
Greg laughed, "I know. I'm really sore, too. We have massages scheduled for eleven down at the spa. Would you be willing to try that before dividing up our assets?"
She gave him a wry smile and groaned as she tried to move. "Yeah, but if it doesn't help, it's over with us and I'm going home to mother and daddy - and you know what they think of you."
He laughed again. Samantha's parents absolutely loved him. Greg was the son Stanley Burrows never had, having raised a brood of three girls he jokingly described as 'a trio of good-looking trouble-makers that kept both stress levels and checking-account balances in the red.'
Fortunately, the massages were wonderful. The woman that worked on Samantha was older, but had very strong hands. It felt a bit strange to have a woman giving the massage, but the only man's hands she wanted on her body were Greg's, so that's how it was. Greg had no qualms about a woman working him over, but he could tell Samantha was keeping a close eye on things. His masseuse was noticeably younger than hers - maybe forty years old - and a little too attractive for Samantha's liking, but she was strictly business, so everything was fine.
The Stones actually felt human again. They were still somewhat sore, but they walked without limps or groans. Greg suggested a light lunch since he had something kind of special planned for the evening.
"I'm up for just about anything - except more skiing! I need a couple more days to recover before I go up with you again." She got no argument from Greg.
They grabbed a couple sandwiches and sodas from a local sub shop and decided to just drive a bit and see the area. Greg mentioned a couple of possible routes. "We could head over to Dubois, or we could drive down to Pinedale, or...I don't know, we could check out the road over to Idaho Falls. Do you have a preference?" Samantha didn't care, so Chris decided on Pinedale. "We'll be driving to Idaho Falls several times next week, and I was hoping you still wanted to see Yellowstone tomorrow. If so, we could maybe hit Dubois along with that."
"Gregory, I'm good with any of them." Taking his hand from across table, she added, "I mostly just want to be with you whatever we're doing."
The Audi they rented was comfortable, powerful, and featured both heated seats and all-wheel drive, which were perfect for the day. They headed south down Highway 191, talking and laughing, and soon left the mountains behind as the land began to flatten out. The scenery was beautiful and the snow thinned - and then disappeared altogether - as the altitude dropped and temperatures rose toward the Great Divide Basin. Ninety minutes after they started, they arrived in the small town of Pinedale. There wasn't a lot to do, but it was nice, there were a few stores, and frankly, they just enjoyed the drive together.
They stayed for a while before turning around and making for Jackson. They stopped once, at a small campground on the Hoback River, to step out and walk for a few minutes. Greg tried to show off his rock-skipping talents, but it was a bust because the lack of snowmelt meant the river was much too shallow.
"So what have you planned for tonight?" Samantha called from the kitchen as she grabbed a seltzer from the fridge.
"I made us a reservation at the Snake River Grill back in town. It's for seven-thirty, so we have..." he checked the clock, "...two hours to get ready and get there. Is that enough time?"
"How many stars are we talking about?"
"No idea. It's not a formal, black-tie place, but I'm wearing a coat and slacks. The guy at the massage place recommended it and said he always wears a jacket, but nothing fancier."
Greg volunteered to shower first, so she could take her time, and then got dressed. At a quarter of seven, Samantha came out of the bathroom, looked at Greg, and whistled. "Wow! Don't you look nice!"
He turned - and gasped. She was wearing the outfit he purchased the other day and she looked flawless! The dress and boots looked even better now than when she modeled them in the store. They highlighted the reserved sexiness he just adored about her. She had put her hair up and there were curls framing her face. She did a quick twirl and asked, "You like?"
He took a deep breath. "Sam, 'like' doesn't even begin to describe my feelings. Other than our wedding day, I'm not sure you've ever looked more beautiful."
She clicked her tongue and shook her head, "That's at least the hundredth time you've said that, but thank you."
"And for at least the hundredth time, I'm right." Greg walked over and put his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
"Oh, no you don't, lover-boy. It took me a while to get my makeup right and you're not messing it up...at least not yet," she added with a wink as she brushed his jacket and adjusted the lapels. "Maybe later...we'll see how nice you are to me during dinner. Let's go, so we're not late."
The drive to the restaurant was difficult for Greg. All he could think about was putting his hands all over his wife. Samantha looked at him and smiled, knowing his torment, and hopeful that he would get just a bit playful with her. His right hand moved to her bare leg above her knee and he slowly moved it up and down her smooth skin. As she dressed, she thought about wearing stockings of some kind, because of the colder evening temperatures. She decided against it, partly because they looked wrong with the boots, but mostly because she wanted as little as possible between Greg's hand and her skin.
Their table was towards the back of the restaurant and was a half-circle, two-person booth, which meant they were able to sit next to each other while still looking at each other. He ordered a glass of wine for each of them and selected the elk medallions for himself, his left hand again finding her knee. The waiter recommended the lamb, and Samantha took his advice, ordering it. As they continued to talk - about skiing, the baby, Yellowstone Park - she could almost feel the anticipation in her husband's fingers. His hand slowly moved up her leg, as if testing her to see where her limits were in a public place. Her pulse was starting to quicken and it was becoming difficult to hold up his conversation and manage the thoughts in her mind. His fingertips were like little firebrands as they reached the hem of her dress, and she caught her breath when they moved just slightly under.
At that point, the waiter arrived with their food, and Greg's hand had another job. They started eating and, true to its reputation, the Snake River Grill's food was simply perfect, from first bite to last. When the waiter asked about dessert, Greg chose key-lime pie and she decided on the coconut sorbet. They shared with each other and both were wonderful. As they ate their desserts, his hand found its way to her body again. His fingers were making little circles on the inside of her leg as they drifted upwards toward her thighs.
Samantha was trying hard to maintain a straight face and her composure, but her body was beginning to betray her. Greg went on talking normally as his fingers worked their magic. He wasn't even touching any forbidden zones, but she was becoming aroused over ice cream. He offered her another bite of his pie and when he put the fork to her lips, his hand touched her bare thigh. Greg froze and looked at her, his eyes wide, and she gave him a 'naughty-little-girl' smile back with a breathy, "Surprise..." as she bit down on his fork.
Greg laughed and whispered in her ear, "Here I am trying to be nice and you're the one making that impossible." He moved his hand down to the inside of her leg, again staying away from her danger zones but moving back and forth, coming ever so close. For several minutes, Samantha tried to keep her wits about her, but it was a losing battle. Anyone looking in their direction would have observed a couple carrying on a typical conversation in a restaurant, but in reality, her husband was driving her mad with desire. Finally, she leaned over and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, running her tongue around it and panting, "Sweetheart, we have to leave - now!"
With his left hand still making her crazy, Greg raised his right hand for the check. Ten minutes later, he opened her car door and she got in. When he sat down and shut the door, he turned to ask her what she thought of the meal, but he didn't even get a word out as Samantha launched herself at him. Her lips were instantly on his, needy and insistent.
Greg pulled back, "So I take it you liked dinner...?"
Samantha pulled his face to her again, locking their lips together and mumbling, "What dinner? Who cares about dinner?"
He pulled away again, loving the state she was in. "And I must have been nice..."
She leaned across the center console, nearly falling into him. "You're such a tease! Quit pulling away from me!" Sucking hard on his lips, she whispered, "You were way more than very nice, Gregory..."
Greg laughed, "All I did was rub your legs a little - you were the minx that left some of her clothes at home."
She started sucking his neck while rubbing his chest. "Speaking of home, hurry and get me there, because there's more of me that you need to play with..."
She practically dragged him through the hotel lobby to the elevators. When the doors closed, she grabbed his neck, pulled him close, and stuck her tongue between his lips as his hands made their way down her torso. "Too bad this elevator ride is short...," she breathed into his mouth.
Greg opened the door to their room, and Samantha mostly shoved him through the entrance before shutting it behind her. "Alright, lover...," she said as she threw herself into his arms again. Their momentum carried him backwards as he half-carried, half-dragged her with him. In the dark, they bumped the back of the sofa, so he set her down on it as she continued to maul his mouth with hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw off her shawl as he ripped his jacket off.
Greg's hands roamed down her back to where her dress had ridden up past her thighs and he grabbed her bare bottom and easily lifted her up. She moaned and lightly bit into his shoulder as his hands began to rub her backside. She yanked his shirt out from his pants and ran her hands over his chest, breathing hard. "Don't stop, Gregory, touch me and don't ever stop!" His hands were beginning to move inward, toward her center. She wanted to speed him along, but she was busy, frantically undoing the buttons that held her dress together. She was approaching the point of no return and her husband's breathing was ragged. He whispered into her neck, "I love you and I'm never going to stop." She let out a little squeal when he ran his tongue behind her ear.
Samantha fumbled with her bra, her self-control gone and her mind lost to any reality other than pleasing her husband. She tried without success to rip it off from the front, before giving up with a groan and moving down to undo her husband's pants. He gasped as she worked the snap free, then the zipper was down and she was tugging at the hem of his boxers. Greg's hands and tongue were driving her to the edge - the tips of his fingers were almost to sacred ground and his mouth was drifting down her neck.
In that instant, Greg and Samantha Stone dangled on the precipice. Perfectly balanced, there was one moment of choice left, one chance to step back from the edge or plunge into in the scalding inferno of pleasure...
...and it was in that moment that Rita Lance returned. She jerked back to reality, realizing how badly she wanted Christopher. Desperately wanted him. They loved each other dearly and had been together for years, but she was just inches from being joined with him completely, not just their souls, but bodies as well, and she was ready - there was nothing she wanted more, and no man she had ever desired more. But there would be no turning back - no way to undo this. What if she regretted afterwards what they were about to do now? What if Chris resented her for those feelings? What if he had regrets of his own? Nothing would be the same again. Their partnership would dissolve, the friendship would fizzle under the weight of distrust, and she would lose the one man she could trust, her best friend - the one man she truly loved. In that moment, he was hers to have...but she couldn't.
"Christopher," she panted, still holding his shorts. His tongue was dancing across her collarbone. "Christopher," she gasped, barely able to control herself, "we have to stop! I'm so sorry, my love...I'm so sorry. Please...we shouldn't do this!" She moved her elbows to his shoulders, trying to catch her breath and halt the runaway train they were riding.
Greg froze and she felt him relax - and she knew her partner had returned. His breath was still coming in ragged gasps, but his hands moved outward, away from danger. Rita released the grip of her legs on his waist and he gently set her down, letting go of her bottom and brushing her dress down to cover her up.
"Rita," he paused, very unsure of himself and trying to calm down, running his hands through his hair, "I'm sorry - I really am! Are you alright?"
She swallowed hard, putting her hands on his chest. "Yeah, I'm fine and I'm sorry, too. I should h..."
"No, Rita, I started it and should have known better. I completely lost my mind." He looked away from her.
She looked at her partner in disbelief and took his arm to bring him round. "You lost your mind? Chris, I've been messed up since we got here. Remember when I tried this outfit...oh...!" She realized there were just four buttons holding her dress together, and she sighed as she quickly fumbled to get herself buttoned back up. Chris looked away to spare her any embarrassment before she continued. "When I first showed you this dress, you gave me a look. From that mome..."
Chris held his hand up for her to stop. "Rita, I told you I was going to be a perfect gentleman, regardless, and I failed. I really messed this up and I'm sorry." He shook his head in frustration.
"I think we both got carri...wa...hey, where are you going?"
"Outside for a walk. I need to think."
"Please don't go - let's talk," she said softly as she touched his arm. "Besides, it's cold out there."
"Trust me, I need the cold right now," he paused for a moment, grabbing the room key off the desk where he had tossed it. "I might be a while - don't wait up for me."
"Christopher, please..." she pleaded, but he was out the door and it quietly closed behind him.
The room was quiet and dark. Rita stood for a couple of minutes looking at the door, her breathing and heart rate returning to normal. Her mind was racing through possibilities, just as it always did when her relationships hit a hard spot. Was it already too late? Had the damage been done? Had their emotions and their passions broken this relationship before any line had even been crossed? She prayed quietly that they were still all right, but shook her head, worried they weren't.
They had a job to do here and they would do it well, but she feared the two of them were broken - cracked, at least. It would probably be a while before balance returned. She wandered to the kitchen and opened the fridge for absolutely no reason at all - she was still stuffed from dinner and her body was still humming from their after-party. She walked back, took off her boots, and crawled into bed, not even bothering to change and determined to wait up for Chris.
She sensed movement in her sleep and opened her eyes. She could see Chris' form as he took his shirt and pants off and quietly laid down. The clock read 12:42am, so he had been gone for hours. She rolled over to him and whispered, "Hey, there...oh, you're freezing! Why were you gone so long? I was starting to wonder."
"I was thinking, just like I told you. And no, you weren't wondering - you were sound asleep."
Chris' response sounded curt, and it hit her like a punch to the gut. When he left, she figured there was trouble, but she wanted so badly to believe there wasn't. Now he was back and there was no denying it - he was angry with her. The descent from the peak of pleasure to the pit of pain was perilous, and she was approaching the valley.
"I was worried, Chris. I just dozed a few minutes ago!" She could feel her emotions running away again and she tried to stop them, but couldn't. The tears were there, and a little sob escaped, despite her best efforts to keep it in. She started to climb out of bed, needing to get away from him, hide, and unload her emotions by herself, but Chris turned and pulled her back with frigid hands.
"Hey..." he whispered softly, "What's wrong, Rita?" When she only cried quietly, he sat up and pulled her to him. "If you think I'm upset or mad at you, you're dead wrong. I made a mistake tonight - well, now it's last night - and you didn't get angry with me, just like you said you wouldn't. I was mad at myself and I needed some time to be angry with me without you telling me I was fine. That's all."
"Rita, you're perfect, you've always been perfect, and you've been perfect out here - if a little extra affectionate," he added with a chuckle. "But that's part of the job - at least, I think it is...isn't it?"
Rita sniffled, "It is part of the job and it isn't. Christopher, I love you. You know I love you, and I desperately love you as my husband on this case - but not just because it's required. When you looked at me in this outfit that first evening, you did something to me. I just...I don't know what happened, but I knew I had to have you. I wanted you, and not just as my husband on this job. I'm sorry, but it's been almost impossible to keep my hands off you. And when you put your hands on me tonight - well, now it's last night," she laughed a little, "I exploded inside. It was...well...an explosion. I went crazy."
"So did I, Sam, so did I. But you have that effect on me as well, and it's been like that since the day I met you."
"Christopher, it's been like that for me as well with you. Everything you do with me is gracious, considerate, and unselfish. A woman would be a fool..." her voice trailed off.
"A fool what, Rita?"
"Well, since you ask, a woman would be a fool not to fall in love with you." There. She had said it - well, she had all but said she was in love with him. She still couldn't be that vulnerable with him. After last night, there was little doubt they could love each other physically. The last three nights with Chris had been magical. He had revved her hormones to hyperactive, so that even now, after they had nearly crossed the line, all she could think about was testing that edge with him again. She had been right when they talked vacations a week ago - this place, with no supervision, was a disaster-in-waiting. And now they were here, with parts to play that put them head-on with the very situations they most needed to avoid.
But more than their obvious physical attraction, Rita was feeling the inexorable pull of the emotional attachment. The markers just kept falling into place - after Ms. Veil's death in her apartment, the whole thing with Brent at the boat, Castellana's attempt on her life, the Garcia woman in the hospital, the two dirty cops - there was always Chris. Steady, loving, unchanging, constant. Always kind, rarely angry with her and never harsh or mean-spirited when he was angry. Chris Lorenzo was perfect. The outfit he picked out, the terrible jokes he told, his smile, the smell of his skin, the feel of his body, and a million other things...everything. He was perfect for her, and it exhilarated and terrified her. The thought of losing him was horrifying almost beyond her ability to think.
Chris laughed, "Well, the world must be full of foolish women." The last several months had been difficult for him. Four separate attempts had been made on his partner's life, and in every case, he had been instrumental in keeping her alive. The other time, everyone actually thought she was dead and, while he put on a brave face, it had nearly crushed him. He had gone back to his apartment and wept like a child. When she came back from Sanibel, he had hugged her and held her, then taken her to the safety of his place, waited until she slept, and wept again into the night.
Rita Lance was a part of him - she had been since the day they met - and she always would be. He loved her as his best friend, but he was starting to believe there was more. He sensed something deeper developing. It was scary, but it was much preferred to the prospect of her being ripped from his life by force. He had already been in that movie with her, and it was terrible.
Chris put his head down on his pillow and pulled her down to him, lost in thought. She put her head on his chest and they were quiet for a while. Then Rita looked at him in the dark, her chin resting on her hand that was on his chest. "So...are we broken, Christopher?"
He stroked her hair for a moment and rubbed her back, then smiled and kissed her forehead. "Absolutely not, but my name isn't Chris. It's Greg Stone, and you are my incredible wife - a woman I love very much and never deserved. I thank God every day that I get to wake up next to you. You are the one that loves me more than I can imagine and, come next week, the mother of our child. Every man should be so blessed..."
Rita smiled at Chris and almost whispered an 'I-love-you' before fading into the background, but she couldn't...not yet. Samantha Stone would have no issue with those words, but until she knew...
Samantha Stone leaned in and kissed her husband. "You're still cold! Why don't you take a hot shower and warm yourself up before coming to bed. You'll feel better." When Greg told her he was fine, she lowered her voice. "How about..." she ran a finger over his chest, "...I go fill the tub with hot water, turn on the jets, and we get you all nice and warm that way." She sucked one of his cold fingers into her mouth, running her tongue around it. "I will sit on your lap in the bubbles and we can talk about - oh, I don't know - whatever pops up."
Greg laughed - his wife was so sexy. "Can we revisit that in the morning? I'm exhausted now." When she nodded, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Samantha got up, unbuttoned her dress, and took it off. Her husband watched, unable to see, but following her shadow movements in the dark. She put her long t-shirt on again and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers over them. She snuggled into her husband and then kissed his chest and fingers a few times. She whispered, "I love you, Gregory Allen." She took his hand, their fingers intertwined, and lay quietly until sleep took her.
Greg lightly rubbed Samantha's back as her breathing softened and then became regular in sleep. He relished the heat of her body, the feel of her skin, and the intoxicating smell of her perfume. Contented sleep came in minutes.