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She tasted of mint, her hair surrounding him with the smell of roses as he deepened the contact by tilting her head and parting his lips. Matt drank in her fresh and wonderful flavor, and was soon rewarded—and delighted—by her response.
She was hesitant at first, maybe even shy. But then he felt Winter’s grip on his wrists relax and her neck muscles soften as she moved ever so slightly toward him and parted her own lips.
And that was when he got his first taste of that energy he’d seen in her paintings; it hummed through his body with the force of intoxicating passion.
Yes, he was definitely tasting the sweet promise of Winter’s magic.
Winter thought she was going to explode. Talk about unpredictable chemistry. If she didn’t faint from the currents of electricity coursing through her, she was going to burst into flames. Matheson Gregor kissed like a man who had no intention of stopping until he had her complete surrender. He wasn’t being demanding or aggressive; he was being…overwhelmingly gentle.
And that, Winter quickly realized, was where the danger lay.
She could easily forget she needed to exercise caution when dealing with Matt; that blindly giving herself over to him could quickly lead somewhere she wasn’t prepared to go.
Oh, but he tasted so fine. His heat simmered around her with a strength that beckoned Winter to lean in just a little bit closer, and open herself just a little bit more to the sensations churning inside her.
As if of their own accord, her hands left his wrists and slowly wrapped themselves inside his open jacket to around his waist, moving her deeper into his embrace. He answered her action by letting go of her head, carefully wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and pulling her more possessively against him as he moved his mouth over hers.
And even though she had initiated their further intimacy, Winter felt the first flush of panic. He was much too much for her. She had kissed her share of boys, but they suddenly seemed like toads when compared to this prince of a man. Her body might be willing, and curses, even her heart was galloping in pleasure, but her mind…some still-functioning corner of her mind told Winter she’d better get herself out of this mess before it was too late.
She finally broke the kiss, but instead of pulling away she buried her face in his shirt, finding it impossible to look at him—at least until her cheeks cooled and her heart quit racing.
Matt’s chest expanded on a deep breath, and he cupped her head to him with a gentle rumble of amusement. “I am definitely glad I didn’t wait.” His finger came under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “You’re lovely, Winter. Please don’t go all shy on me. I’m attracted to you, and it’s only reasonable to expect that attraction to lead to kissing.”
She couldn’t respond to save her soul. Matt gave another soft laugh and kissed her on the forehead, then let her go, took hold of her hand again, and started them walking down the moon-shadowed path toward the hotel.
“So,” he said conversationally, “do you think the meadow would be a good place for me to build my house?”
Winter was thinking a meadow in China would be even better. “It certainly has everything you’
re looking for,” she said, proud that she had found her voice and that it had sounded quite normal. She sensed him looking at her, but she continued staring at the path ahead. “Though I’ve always thought living within a stone’s throw of the water would be as equally appealing as a magnificent view,” she added, trying to ignore the heat of his hand surrounding hers.
Aye. This was nice, Winter decided. The man kissed like a prince, yet he felt so wonderfully comfortable to be with. Her poor scattered emotions were bouncing from wanting to kiss him again and wanting to simply cuddle into his warm embrace.
Cursed chemistry.
It seemed he needed to think about that, until he finally said, “Living on the water does have a certain appeal, but it’s such a narrow perspective. Up in the meadow a person has a sense of…well, of the largeness of the world.”
“Aye,” Winter agreed, her nerves finally settling down the closer they got to the hotel. “It reminds you how insignificant we really are in the overall scheme of things.”
Matt gave a laugh, his hand tightening on hers as he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles without breaking stride. “I prefer to think we have great significance,” he said as they walked under the hotel canopy. “Otherwise, what’s the point of our being here?”
Winter blinked up at him as he held the lobby door open for her. Matt’s smile was warm and genuine—and rather breathtaking when he was amused. “The point is, we’re supposed to be seeking the point,” she said, finally stepping into the lobby ahead of him. “We’re all on a collective journey,” she continued as his long, easy gait brought him beside her again. “But individually, we’re mere whispers in a very crowded universe.”
She stopped and waved at the mural she’d painted of TarStone Mountain in wintertime. “That’s why the skiers are nothing more than single dots of paint,” she explained. “And why the resort itself took only a few brushstrokes. Compared to the timeless, massive energy sitting dormant in the granite, soil, and timber of the mountain, people are just like little animals taking advantage of TarStone’s energy.”
“You talk as if the mountain were alive,” he said softly as he studied the mural. He looked over at her, his eyes dark and enigmatic as he lifted one brow in question. “Is it?”
“Aye, it’s quite alive,” she said just as softly. “You can lie prone on its granite with your eyes closed and feel the mountain gently breathing.”
“Stone is inert, Winter,” he argued. “It doesn’t breathe, much less live or die. It’s nothing but matter.”
She tilted her head. “Did you not feel the powerful weight of Bear Mountain when you sat up on that boulder this afternoon and ate your lunch?” she asked. “Did a sense of peace not come over you?
For those few moments of time, did you not feel you were part of something just as alive as you are?”
“Is that what happens when you sit in your forest and paint? You get this sense of being part of everything, of being one with the animals as well as the rocks and trees?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
He took hold of her shoulders, moving closer when a group of people walked by, his darkly intense gaze remaining locked on hers. “Can you teach me that, Winter? Will you take me with you the next time you paint, and let me see if I can feel it, too?”
Without even thinking, Winter reached up and laid a hand on his chest. “But you can feel it, Matt. There’s nothing special about me; anyone can feel the energy if he only stops long enough to notice.”
“Tomorrow, then. We’ll head up to my meadow and we’ll sit on a rock and listen together.”
“Tomorrow I’m meeting Tom at my gallery in the morning,” she told him. “And you’re meeting him in the afternoon.”
Matt stopped her from lowering her hand by covering it with his own. “Then when?”
“Tom can show you when you go see your sunset. He’s just as aware of the energy as I am, Matt. You only need to look at the carving he did for Megan to see that.”
Matt pressed her hand more firmly against his chest. “I don’t want Tom; I want you.”
There was a loud commotion at the front of the lobby, and Winter turned with a frown—and suddenly gasped. “Father Daar,” she said, as the old priest used his cane to push his way through a group of people congregated by the door.
“Winter!” Daar called as he scurried past the desk clerk trying to head him off. “I’m needing to talk to ye!”
“It’s okay, John. I’ve got him,” Winter told the clerk as she met up with Daar. “Father,” she said calmly, covering his arm holding the cane so he would stop waving it around. “What’s wrong?”