Cold Front
Chapter 3
The flames leapt and danced, higher and higher. Victoria was mesmerized by them. By the colors, the sounds, the heat. She'd never paid much attention to fire before, never had the time or the need. It was simply warmth when winter laid its claim on the world. It was romantic when flickering from the end of a wick, dangerous when out of control. But tonight she had a new appreciation for it. Fire, she discovered as she lay three feet away from the blaze that had revived her, was beautiful. It was a beautiful surrender, a second chance for a thing that had once been alive to live again. The kindling wasn't to be pitied as it succumbed to the flames. That was its destiny, to fuel a spark and together, burn bright.
Billy was behind her, a second fire at her back. Every inch of him was pressed against every inch of her. His folded arm rested against her stomach, and the palm of his hand softly cupped her breast. She liked it. She liked the way he touched her, the way he felt against her, the way he made all the bad stuff fall away, all the hurt and disappointment just disappear into the dark abyss of memory.
She knew what this was. She knew the name that belonged to it, the word they had both danced around for weeks. It was only a couple of weeks ago she had stood in her father's office with her mother and denied having fallen for Billy Abbott. But every day that passed with moment after moment like this, the harder it was becoming to deny. And that whisper inside of her was becoming more and more persistent, telling her at every kiss, every quiet, satisfied second, "Say it. Just say it."
He hadn't moved a muscle since they'd poured themselves onto the floor. His breathing had slowed against her, and she wondered if he was even awake or just mesmerized by the fire like she was. She touched his arm, and he didn't flinch. Her fingertips found the soft, nearly invisible hair that covered his forearm and stroked it back and forth.
"Billy?"
"Mmmm." His palm tightened against her breast and then slid to her stomach, pulling her to him so that she felt every inch of him even closer . His face nuzzled into the curve of her shoulder. The tiny whiskers of his five o'clock shadow tickled, and she coiled into him.
"I thought you were sleeping," she whispered with a lazy grin.
He smiled against her shoulder, and the warm breath against her skin told her he was laughing before she heard it. "After what we just did? Uh uh. Sleep is the last thing on my mind."
She agreed with a chuckle of her own and a knowing glance back at him. The high from what she had felt earlier was still with her, still made her languid and liquid inside. Billy kissed her shoulder and then her back, the beginnings of round two evident to them both. But just as quickly as he began, he stopped.
"You're okay, aren't you? I mean...are you…you're warm enough?"
Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled the blanket that covered them, the one that earlier had only covered her, up tight around her neck. She didn't want it, the extra warmth or his concern, any reminder of the rain or her behavior. Her weakness. She wanted things to be normal between them. She turned in his arms and rested her forehead against his. The hand that had been on her breast was now at her back, warm and firm even through the quilted barrier.
"After what we just did? Uh uh. I'm…toasty."
"Toasty?" he mimicked, and the mood was instantly altered. "I'll show you toasty." He moved to kiss her, but stopped when she placed her hand on his chest and opened her mouth to say something. "What? What is it?"
"Nothing. It's just…" She cast her eyes down and drew a continuous circle on his chest.
"Hey." He pushed her hair off her face and with his thumb, tilted her chin until her gaze was even with his again. Part of him was afraid of what she wanted to say, but they had come too far tonight to chicken out now. "Vegas. Remember?"
"It's just…" she repeated and exhaled loudly. "I was just wondering if…there's maybe…any food here?"
"Food? You're hungry?"
"No. I'm starving. Don't laugh." She playfully hit him where she had drawn on his chest, and he bit his lip with little success. "I only had coffee for breakfast and I skipped lunch to see Nick And well, you know how dinner turned out. Besides…I'm always hungry after…"
"Yeah, you are," he grinned, and she planted a persuasive kiss on his lips. "But, Vick, I don't think anybody's been here in a while, and we're not exactly in delivery distance, not that we could call anybody anyway with no cell service." She batted sad eyes at him and planted three more kisses along his jaw line. Saying no to her was becoming an impossible battle to fight. "I can look. I'll look, okay?"
That earned him a full smile, and Billy reluctantly moved to detangle himself from her and the blanket so he could follow through with his promise. He tried to repossess the blanket he had donned earlier, but it was trapped under her hip, a rumpled, twisted snake of plaid. She flashed a devious smile and no matter how hard he tugged, refused to give it up. He stood anyway, his nakedness on full, proud display until he was certain she regretted letting him leave. He didn't even bother checking his clothes, certain they were still soaked, and instead found the pajama bottoms he had thrown on the floor. Despite his fear, they fit. They were snug, but they would protect him from the chill as he moved away from the fire.
Victoria languished in the warmth of where Billy had been until she heard the sound of water hitting the sink and then sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.
"We have water at least," he called from the kitchen. "It's not hot, but it's water."
"Food," she demanded.
He scrunched his face at her, but returned to his search. While he opened and closed cabinets, she peeled herself from the floor, wrapping the blanket tight around herself as she stood. Their clothes were indeed still wet, too wet to wear, but she picked each piece up anyway and laid them one by one flat on the sofa and the backs of chairs to dry. Her shoes were a lost cause, but even those she placed neatly away beside the door, next to Billy's. On her way back, she passed the only dry piece of clothing left in the cabin, the blue jersey in a puddle on the floor.
"You know what the best thing about wine is?"
He turned around just in time to see the blue jersey he had forgotten existed until tonight cascade down her golden back, stopping high on her thighs. His mind flashed to that first morning she appeared wearing his shirt and how intimate it had seemed knowing her body was touching the same fabric his had touched, that she had claimed something of his as her own. He felt the same intimacy now as she stood in his family's cabin, her hands lost in the oversized sleeves, almost all of the legs that had wrapped around him an hour ago emerging from a part of him she knew nothing about.
"There's a bad thing about wine?" she retorted. He was watching her when she faced him, had been watching her for a while she realized. They both smiled, a touch of unexplainable shyness in their eyes.
"It, uh, it doesn't go bad," he finally stuttered and held up a bottle and two glasses that dangled upside down from his fingers. In his other hand he held a round, silver tin by its handle. It rattled when he shook it. "Found this too. I guess Abby has been here recently."
"Oooh. Popcorn." Victoria's eyes lit up at the sight, and as Billy made his way back to her, she quickly folded her discarded blanket in half and spread it in front of the fireplace. She added pillows from the couch and was waiting for him cross-legged, his plaid blanket unfurled across her lap, when he returned with his finds. She took the glasses and wine bottle from him. He handed her a corkscrew from his other hand and then reached behind him.
"Dessert," he said and threw a bag of marshmallows he had transported in the snug waistband of his pants into her lap. The pants were even snugger as he tried to sit, but with careful easing to the floor and the aid of perfectly placed pillows, he joined her. "I couldn't find any chocolate or graham crackers, but there should be roasting sticks in that box beside you."
He was right, and she pulled out two thin, pointed sticks while he held the silver pan of Jiffy Pop over the fire. "So, how'd you learn how to do all this?"
"What? Forage for food?"
"No. The fire. Were you a Boy Scout or something? You were a Boy Scout, weren't you? With the little uniform and the badges?"
"No, I wasn't a boy scout," he mocked and narrowed his eyes at her. He shook the pan, and the kernels rattled inside as the aluminum top started to balloon up. "My dad."
His answer was casual, almost dismissive, but Victoria knew that wasn't true. It was self-protective the way he answered, the way he stared into the fire instead of looking at her, simply nodding his thanks when she sat a full glass of wine next to him. She brought her own glass to her lips, inhaling the intoxicating scent as peered at him over the edge. She debated whether she should change the subject or offer him the same emotional haven he had offered her. But before "Vegas" could form on her lips, he looked directly at her and smiled.
"We had cooks and gardeners and Mamie growing up. But when we were here, my dad, he uh, he wanted us to do for ourselves. Be good with our hands, I guess"
"Well, he'd be proud." Her lips curled up into a half smile, and she leaned closer so he could hear her over the popping. "Because you are very, verrrry good with your hands."
He blushed and coughed, taken by surprise, and her cheeks flushed too as they each recalled his hands so intimately on her. "Thanks, baby."
They settled into a comfortable silence then as the popping intensified and the smell of popcorn overtook the smell of the fire. Victoria used the wait to prepare dessert. She slid two marshmallows on each stick and leaned them against the rock hearth until they were needed. As she finished, Billy pulled the popcorn off the fire, ripping the top open before sitting the steaming pan between them. Victoria waited for no invitation and grabbed a handful before it even hit the floor.
"Wow. You really were hungry, weren't you?"
"Sorry," she said with her mouth full.
"No, no," he laughed, his eyes lingering on her as he put a few hot pieces into his own mouth. Victoria reached for a second handful, and as she brought it to her perfect pink lips, one fluffy kernel escaped and tumbled down the blue jersey. Billy's eyes followed, reading the "R" and then the "A," the "N," the "G." The rest of the letters were hidden, folded into themselves, pooled into Victoria's lap, but in his mind, he still saw "E," "R," "S."
"What?" Her voice brought him back to the present, snapped his head back up to her face and her puzzled, self-conscious countenance.
"Nothing. It's just…that shirt. Brings back memories."
"Was it yours? Because I never really pictured you as a hockey fan."
"I'm not. I mean…I'm more into baseball and football. A little basketball." He picked up his glass of wine and took a long drink to buy him some time. This was getting comfortable, them, conversation. It was easy, always easier than he expected. Suddenly there were a million things he wanted to tell her, but zero pressure to actually say them. Just desire. He sat the glass down and rubbed at his face until a smile appeared. "But see, that, what you're wearing? Best present I ever got."
"Really?" She studied him and then looked down at her attire, studying it as intensely.
"Yeah," he nodded. "When me and my dad lived in New York, we went to a few games. It was kind of hard, moving there. New York was where we lived, but Genoa City was still…home."
"I felt the same way about boarding school. I hated it."
"I didn't hate New York," he said. "Just everywhere you looked, there were reminders that it wasn't home. You know, no trees except in Central Park, and when it did snow, it turned into gray slush before you could get out the door. Couldn't root for the Yankees or Mets because we were Brewers fans. No Jets or Giants because of Packers." He stopped and pointed at her. "But, see, Wisconsin doesn't have a hockey team."
She smiled an understanding smile as he drained the last of his wine down his throat. She offered him more, but he shook his head. The jersey felt different now, warmer, and she touched the stitching on the front of it as his memory became hers.
"My dad bought season tickets every year. We didn't go to every game, but there was this one year. Man, it was a great year. The Rangers made it all the way to the Eastern Conference Finals, but they were down in the series, three games to two. Then the night before Game 6, Mark Messier, Rangers Captain - that's his jersey you're wearing, he comes out and guarantees a Rangers win. Just guarantees it, Vick."
"So did they? Win?"
"Yep. They were down 2-1 in the last period when Messier, he gets a hat trick. That's when one guy gets three goals in a game."
"I know what a hat trick is," she retorted and threw a piece of now cold popcorn at him. "There were lots of hockey players in Switzerland. Hot, hunky hockey players."
"Oh, really?" He threw the piece of popcorn back at her, and when that missed, causing her to laugh harder, he threw a pillow.
"So, did you get the jersey that night?" she managed between giggles and jealous glares.
"Naw," he shook his head. "They won Game 7, too and then the Stanley Cup that year, but I didn't- I didn't get the jersey until our first Christmas back in Genoa City. I guess my dad knew I was having a tough time readjusting. It was a nice reminder of my other home. It's even signed. See?"
He leaned forward, as far as the snug bottoms allowed and touched her, pushing her hair back as his fingers grazed the "C" near her left shoulder until they stopped at a tiny scribble. All she could make out looking down were the two "M's," but sometimes all you needed was a hint of something to know it was true. The whisper inside her was stronger now, deafening.
"What about you?" he asked suddenly.
"Me? Oh, I'm more of a baseball fan. Sox. Southside."
"No," he laughed and made a grab at her ribcage before breaking their physical connection. "Best present you ever got as a kid?"
"What? No. I'm not telling you that."
"C'mon. Tell me. Was it pink? A doll? Are you afraid of people finding out the big, bad business woman played with dolls?"
"No. It wasn't pink or a doll. And I'm not telling you because…well, because you'll just make fun of me."
"No I won't. Promise." With his finger, he made a cross over his chest, but his face was far too animated to trust. He must have sensed it, because he grew serious and uttered the word she needed to hear. "Vegas."
"It was a horse," she finally sighed without looking at him.
"A-A horse?"
She could hear the amusement in his voice and snapped her head back up, a lethal look in her eyes. "You promised, Abbott."
"No, I'm-I'm not laughing. I'm not. It's just...I should have guessed it considering who your father is. So, was this horse a Christmas present or a birthday present?"
"I don't remember." She picked at the blanket in her lap and scrunched her forehead to draw the memory out. "I don't even remember how old I was. But it was cold, and my mom and dad led me to the barn and there was this horse with a big red bow on it. My dad picked me up so I could pet it. I had a handful of mane when he whispered, this big grin on his face, "He's all yours, my girl."
Maybe it was because they had fought earlier, but the memory affected Victoria more than she had anticipated. She had never loved or hated her father more than right now, and that was the most frustrating part of all. She missed the father whose strength always surprised her, the one who trusted her, the one who called her the apple of his eye and shared his love of horses with her.
"It wasn't really the horse he gave me," she muttered more to herself than to Billy.
"It wasn't really the hockey game," he replied, and they locked eyes in the firelight.
"You know," she started with a half-smile, "I did all the competitions, the dressage, for him. To make him proud. Even though he didn't always show up. But the competitions, they were never my favorite part about riding." She paused and got a far away look on her face. The half-smile became a full one. "I used to get up early, before my dad even sometimes. It would still be dark out, and I would sneak downstairs to the stable in my nightgown and riding boots. The stable hands must have thought I was crazy, this little girl with wild hair saddling up at dawn. I didn't care, though. It was the best feeling, Billy, to be on this creature, just the two of us, nothing between us but trust. We would go faster and faster, racing the sun across the meadow. It was scary and exhilarating and freeing. There's nothing like it in the world. Except maybe falling in love."
The words caught her off guard, and she looked away, into the fire, the colors, the sounds, the heat her refuge. But Billy didn't seem to notice. She felt him, his hand on hers, his fingers working their way between hers. "Your dad taught you to ride," he said, "but that doesn't mean you have to ride his horse for the rest of your life. You can buy your own horse, Vick."
"Is that what you did? With the magazine?"
"My dad taught me to be a business man. To have something of my own I could be proud of. Jabot wasn't it for me."
"Yeah, but Newman is it for me, Billy. It's my legacy. It's part of who I am."
"It's not the best part," he whispered and tugged at their joined hands. "Hey, you'll have to take me riding sometime. Show me your moves."
"You think you can keep up with me?" she smiled.
"Not a chance. Just make sure your dad's out of town. If he knows I'm there, he'll probably sic a pack of wolves on me or talk the horse into leaving me for dead."
She pushed him playfully, not hard, but his laughing propelled him backwards and he surrendered to the fall. He stretched his legs out, propping his feet in her lap, while his hands supported his head, the rest of him on full display. Victoria couldn't take her eyes off him, his body, his muscular chest flexed and elongated, the waistband of his pants low across his hips, just above the telling bulge. There was something about him, the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, that always made her feel like a teenager. Not that she had ever really experienced this strong sexual urgency as a teenager. This desire, this need, this was all Billy Abbott.
She stroked his legs and then pushed his feet out of her lap as she rose to her knees, letting the blanket fall away. She crawled to him, and with her eyes on his twinkling eyes the whole time, straddled his waist. He felt the heat of her sex against his skin, and immediately freed his hands to search out the hem of the jersey, his jersey. It was deja vu as his fingers slid beneath the fabric and took hold of her hips. His thumbs pressed against the hard, protruding bone on either side and then proceeded higher up her body.
Victoria stopped his progress, covering his hands with hers, sliding them back down her hips. She locked her fingers with his and pushed his arms away from her, all the way back to the floor. She dipped her head low and teased him with the closeness of her mouth, relishing the control she had over him.
"Stay," she said without kissing him and let go of his hands. He tried to rebel and reached for her again, but she pushed his hands down harder. "Stay," she said with more authority.
He did as she commanded, watching as she planted her hands on his chest and used the leverage to rise and push her way further down his body. When she passed over the growing bulge, he lifted his hips and pushed himself against her. She lost her focus for a second and nearly scrapped her plans.
"I thought you were hungry," he said in his defense and licked his lips suggestively.
"Oh, I am," she breathed. "For dessert."
The sticks she had prepared earlier were just within reach. She grabbed one and stretched her arm until the marshmallows met the fire, browning and blistering as she rotated the skewer. Billy watched, amused and enticed. When they were done to her liking, Victoria brought the gooey treat to her lips and took a bite that left a white trail down her chin. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it away, with his thumb, with his mouth.
"Uh uh uh," she chided when he tried to sit. He growled in frustration, and she took pity on him, placing her marshmallow-covered thumb against his lips. Billy opened his mouth and sucked her finger inside, again and again until the sweet substance was gone.
He had hoped it would be her undoing, but it was only her beginning. She pulled her thumb sharply away and pinched off a sticky chunk. Billy opened his mouth in invitation, and she complied, easing her hand to his mouth. But before she got to his lips, her hand deterred and dropped the marshmallow in the center of his chest. It was hot, and Billy sucked in a breath on contact.
"Oops," Victoria mouthed. With the skewer still in hand, she lowered her body, and using only her mouth cleaned up her mess. Billy's breathing changed to a familiar, ragged rhythm, and between their bodies, she felt his excitement grow. It made her smile, made her understand the pleasure he had gotten from his sweet torture of her earlier. She could give in now, let him have her, but she wasn't quite through.
As she rose above him again, she swept her hair across his torso. He bucked in response to the gentle caress and closed his eyes. That made her smile, because he couldn't see what she had in store next. Her eyes drifted down past the red mark she had left with her mouth to that soft, wispy line of hair that disappeared beneath the elastic waistband. With no warning, that was where she spread the rest of the gooey whiteness. Billy's eyes flew open, but she didn't see it. Her mouth was already on him, licking and sucking the substance from him from his sensitive skin.
There was fire inside him, strong and out of control, burning beneath her lips and teeth and tongue. He could let go. He knew that was what she wanted, but she was what he wanted. In a single, sudden move, he sat up and flipped her onto her back. She was breathless and flushed, and in her eyes he saw the most important thing. She was turned on. He had her pinned to the floor, and the signed jersey was up around her waist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second skewer of marshmallows waiting against the hearth, calling to him. He needed a minute to recoup, and he needed to even the score.
He reached for the skewer, knowing she was watching him, and stuck it into the fire. When the marshmallows were gooey, he pulled them from the fire and watched her face follow them, anticipating his revenge. She was panting and completely caught by surprise when the hot substance made contact with the skin of her inner thigh.
"Billy," she gasped, but he was already there, nibbling and licking her while she writhed beneath him.
He thought he heard his name, but nothing was clear. He felt her hands in his hair and then on his back, pulling at him, demanding he come to her. Before he complied, he flicked his tongue between her legs, and she buried her nails in his back. There was no asking if she was sure this time. Her body was telling him everything he needed to know.
There was no time for gentleness this time. Billy pushed the jersey up her body as far as he could, and she hungrily released him from the tight confines of his pants. When he pushed deep inside her, she rose to meet his thrust. His mouth was hot on her breasts, or maybe it was the too- close fire. Then he was at her mouth, and the taste of marshmallow tickled her lips.
Billy heard his name somewhere between 'God" and "yes," over and over again. It was scary how much he needed her, how much she was a part of him. And it was exhilarating. And freeing. It was exactly like falling in love. Just the two of them, nothing but trust between them.