Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 4

  “Fifteen out in the field.” Quill’s tone grew distant and somber as he studied his half-eaten burger. “Lot of good years. She’s one of the finest people I know.”

  “It’s awesome having friends like that. I wouldn’t have made it without my crew. And even now it helps, knowing I’ve got people cheering me on.”

  “They’re cheering you on? No one tried to talk you out of volunteering?”

  “Oh, my parents think I’m nuts.” Owen laughed away years of caring too much what they thought and all the work that had gone into reaching this place of relative peace with his own choices. “But even they know how much this means to me. And my friends are all hanging on my social media, following along.”

  “Support is good.” Something in Quill’s tone said he hadn’t always had that in his own life, and Owen felt a deep pinch in his chest.

  “It really is. I never would have made it through the last few years without having people to count on.”

  “Oh?” Quill tone was curious but not prying, and Owen appreciated that. He took a few more bites of food before answering, trying to decide how much of his story to share.

  “I had cancer two years ago,” Owen explained at last. “And it’s true what they say about having a village making a difference—I had friends who took me to appointments, family who made me food, long-distance contacts who sent funny messages. I’m not sure I would have gotten through without them.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Quill’s voice was matter-of-fact, not drama-filled pity. “You in remission now?”

  “Yeah. It was testicular cancer, caught early, so high survival rate, but the chemo and associated procedures were still no joke.”

  This was usually when people got way nosy and personal about which body parts Owen had left and how they functioned, but Quill just nodded. “I lost my grandfather to late-stage prostate cancer. It was...awful. I’m glad they caught yours early.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, when I was at my sickest, I made a bucket list of sorts—everything I’d always wanted to try and been too chicken to go for. I know it sounds like a bad country song cliché, but it really got me through some dark days, thinking of things I’d do with a second chance.”

  “Not too silly at all.” Quill nodded sharply. “So you quit the whole investment banking world?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t that hard a decision really. I’d been fortunate that I had some investments pay off, allowing me to decide to take a few years off to do my bucket list. Eventually, I’ll probably need to get a real job again, but I’m lucky that I can take my time deciding on what and where.”

  “Nice.” Quill said it with the sort of absentness of someone who’d never questioned his place in the world, skated through his thirties without a similar existential crisis. Owen both pitied and envied people like that—pity because they missed out on a lot of fun and experimentation, and envy because they didn’t have to deal with the uncertainty of being well past college and still not sure what they were doing with their life.

  They both turned their attention to their remaining food for a few minutes, but then Quill surprised him by asking, “So, what was on the list? I mean, if that’s not too prying... Just curious.”

  “Curious is fine,” Owen assured him. Damn, Quill was seriously adorable when he was less than certain. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m something of an open book. I like talking.”

  “I noticed.” Quill gave him a wry look.

  “Yeah, guilty.” Owen laughed. “Anyway, it was a mix of big and small things—things like go to Carnival in Rio, learn to bake bread, have a threesome, ski in Aspen, do New York Pride, go to Space Camp, run a triathlon, and this, of course, winter in Alaska.”

  Quill coughed. “I’m not going to ask which of those you’ve accomplished.”

  “Oh, you can ask.” Owen couldn’t resist teasing back. “I spent my summer as a volunteer at Space Camp. My inner eight-year-old was in heaven. And as to the rest...” He gave Quill a pointed look. “I’ve made decent headway on the list.”

  “Good.” The tips of Quill’s ears were pink, and Owen had to seriously restrain himself from touching him.

  “How about you? Anything on your personal list that you haven’t done that you’d like to do before your life is over?”

  “Nah.” Quill pushed his near-empty plate away. “I’m not the list type or much on travel.”

  “Really? Nothing?” Owen tried to convey with his eyes that if Quill was holding back on anything sexy on his list that Owen would welcome hearing about it.

  “Dessert?” The server arrived to clear their dishes before Quill could answer. “Something to share maybe?”

  “None for me. And we’re splitting the check.” Quill shifted away from Owen, seeming in a hurry to make sure the server didn’t assume they were on a date.

  “I’m good.” Owen liked sweets but the huge portions had been more than enough food.

  They each paid their share, then headed outside. The light had started to fade, the midnight sun of the summer long past, the crisp bite to the air making Owen wish he’d grabbed more than his hoodie.

  “Cold?” Quill asked as Owen rubbed his arms.

  “A little yeah.” Warm me up. Please.

  “I know a shortcut through the alleyways back to the hotel.”

  “Lead on.” Owen followed him as he ducked down a narrow alley, both of them walking too fast for much conversation.

  “Whoa.” Quill’s arm shot out, holding Owen back as an SUV unexpectedly backed into the alley. Yanking Owen into a dark doorway with him, Quill frowned at the vehicle, which took its sweet time vacating the alley, long enough for Owen to sense Quill’s warmth and nearness, more of that classic, intoxicating scent, the harshness of their breathing that much sexier in close quarters. The charged air around them was made worse with every brush of their arms.

  “You sure there’s nothing on your bucket list?” As the SUV finally moved on, Owen turned to block Quill from an easy exit. “Nothing I could help with?”

  “Not sure.” Quill hissed out a breath. Which was decidedly not a resounding no, so Owen moved closer.

  “I’m very...open-minded. And discreet. You could tell me.”

  “You’re something else,” Quill whispered, but his tone was more awestruck than censuring.

  “So I’ve been told.” Taking a chance, Owen put a hand on his shoulder and was relieved when Quill didn’t immediately flinch away or tell him off. “Come on, take a chance. Nothing you’re curious about?”

  “Like what?” Quill’s voice was a harsh whisper.

  “Hmm.” Owen pretended to think as he leaned in close enough to brush his lips against Quill’s neck. Quill was taller, but not so much that Owen had to overly stretch. His skin tasted good. Warm. Ever so slightly salty. “This maybe?” He moved to flick Quill’s earlobe with his tongue. “Or this? So many delicious possibilities...”

  A shudder raced through Quill’s larger body, but he still didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak either, inhaling sharply. Feeling more confident, Owen moved to brush Quill’s cheeks on both sides with his lips, deliberately missing his mouth. And when Quill twisted, making a frustrated noise, he was right there to claim victory.

  * * *

  Quill knew the kiss was coming, knew logically that two steps to the left would free him from this temptation, but he might as well have put down two-hundred-year-old fir tree roots for all he could move. Owen might be aggressive—in all the best ways possible—but he’d also given Quill ample time to object or pull away. And Quill hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had no bucket list, but right now, finding out what Owen tasted like rocketed up to the top of his previously nonexistent list.

  So much so that when their mouths finally met, Quill was the one to gasp first, taken aback by how much he wanted this. Owen took advantage of his gasp to dee
pen the kiss. He tasted sweet, like he’d popped a mint when Quill hadn’t noticed, and he kissed like a guy who knew exactly what he was doing, who wasn’t going to wait for Quill to figure himself out or take over. But he also didn’t rush like some might, no hurtling ahead, instead exploring slowly, like they weren’t in a doorway, blanketed by chilly air. He kissed like they might get to do this again, like learning what Quill liked and responded to was of vital importance. Despite being most definitely in charge, Owen wasn’t taking—he had a generous mouth and seemed intent on giving as much pleasure as he could.

  And that turned out to be a hell of a lot of pleasure—the slide of warm lips, the rub of an agile tongue, the firm clasp of strong hands, the well-placed nip or suck that had Quill groaning. Seeming emboldened by Quill’s noises, Owen pressed him against the door, and Quill happily welcomed the pressure of his body. As surprise faded, Quill met Owen’s kisses more readily, giving as good as he got, gratified when Owen made a low moan that was half pain and half pleasure.

  “Fuck. You’re killing me.” Owen didn’t give Quill a chance to answer before claiming his mouth again, kissing him like he’d been as long without this as Quill. Of all the things that Quill tried not to miss about having sex on the regular, kissing was on the top of the list. Kisses like these—desperate and hungry and all-consuming.

  Somewhere down the alley, an engine revved. Fuck. Quill had lost sight of how exposed they were. Another car could pass by at any time, and while it was dark, that didn’t mean the risk of discovery was zero.

  “We can’t do this here.” He panted against Owen’s mouth, not wanting to break the contact, but sanity started to return in unwelcome waves that brought with them a healthy dose of regret and shame.

  “Right.” Owen’s grin was visible even in the dim light of the alley. “Race you to my room?”

  “We can’t.” Quill gently pushed Owen back, needing the separation if he was to have any hope of thinking clearly again.

  “Oh, we so can.” Stepping back farther, Owen held out a hand. “You’re single. I’m single. No reason for us to not enjoy ourselves tonight.”

  “I think I’ve given you the wrong idea...” Quill scrubbed at his head, trying to shake loose his last remaining brain cells.

  “The wrong idea?” Owen shook his head, skepticism clear in his tone. “Kinda hard to get anything other than that you wanted more of that, from your tongue in my mouth, your dick hard against mine, and your sexy noises.”

  “I don’t do this.”

  “Like ever? Because you’re not gonna sell me on that being your first kiss, sorry.” Owen’s grin was part humor, part frustration.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Quill wasn’t capable of flat-out lying to Owen, something about him pulling out truths that Quill ordinarily had no problem keeping private. “I mean that I don’t hook up with coworkers. Ever.”

  “I’m not technically a coworker—not on the payroll—and I told you I’m discreet when I need to be.” He wasn’t lying. The winter volunteers received a place to live and a subsistence payment but weren’t classified as employees. “One night. You probably won’t ever see me again. Why not have some fun?”

  Fuck. Quill wasn’t sure he’d ever been this tempted to toss caution to the wind. But he also knew himself, knew that the remaining walk to the hotel would sober him up from this lust-drunk state, and knew that he didn’t want to spend tomorrow even more full of regrets. It wasn’t so much that he thought Owen would gossip, but he’d worked two decades for his reputation, and he wasn’t going to risk that on a few hours of passion. He’d already gone too far as it was.

  “I’m not really the fun type.” He didn’t add that in his experience sex could feel good, could be a release, could temporarily meet a need, but wasn’t exactly fun. And the sort of emptiness he often got afterward frankly sucked. He didn’t need to add that to the regret stew that was sure to follow this lapse of control.

  “I could prove otherwise to you.” Owen’s self-assured words went straight to Quill’s already aching dick. And maybe he could, maybe he was the one guy who could show him he’d been wrong about sex and fun. But it didn’t matter because Quill wasn’t going to find out.

  “No, thank you. Sorry.” He didn’t claim to not be interested since they’d both know he was lying. “Listen, we better head back.”

  “Suit yourself, but you go on. I’m going to explore downtown here a bit more.”

  Fuck. The only thing worse than going back to Owen’s room was the thought of Owen going back with someone else. A fierce jealousy he hadn’t possessed in years raced through him, and he had to remind himself that he was not a rash person. Owen wasn’t his, wasn’t ever going to be his, and like Owen’d said, they might never see each other again. Quill had no business caring about what Owen did with the remainder of his evening.

  “Fine.” The word came out a growl because apparently he did care. Acutely. And Owen’s raised eyebrow said that he had Quill’s number.

  “See you tomorrow.” Owen headed back down the alley, toward the restaurants and bars.

  Tomorrow. Fuck. So much for probably never seeing each other again. He still had to make it through tomorrow’s training before he could put this whole mess behind himself.

  Chapter Five

  “You want me to do what?” Quill blinked against the morning sun filtering into the meeting room. He’d slept like crap the previous night, something that was hardly a new problem for him. His stupid brain hadn’t wanted to shut off, unable to decide which he regretted more—not giving in to the temptation of going back to Owen’s room or letting things get so out of hand to begin with. God, he couldn’t ever remember wanting something the way he’d wanted Owen. Maybe...

  But no. He’d done the right thing, walking away. Even with his churning head, he’d wolfed down toast and black coffee from the hotel buffet and dutifully hurried to the office for this early meeting with Hattie. But now he had to entertain the very real possibility that he was still dreaming.

  “Your caretaker has some sort of family emergency,” Hattie explained patiently again. “We talked about all the options. We can’t leave the position unfilled—it’s simply too much work for one person. Moving Owen Han over from Chugach makes sense. There’s a surplus of volunteers there, and you did seem to get along with him yesterday. Giving you someone you can work well with is a priority.”

  “I don’t... I can’t...” Fuck. This might be Hattie, but he still wasn’t going to confess the ways in which he’d made a fool of himself the night before. And besides, if thoughts of his reputation had kept him from going further with Owen, that same reputation definitely couldn’t afford for him to object on the basis of Owen being too big a temptation and risk for his sanity. “There’s really no other option?”

  “Not a good one. There’s no time to relist the position and get someone in and trained before the first snow. Our other volunteers are harder to move—couples and people who specifically requested a given post. Owen applied for placement anywhere in the state, so he was less likely to object than some might. And yesterday he seemed friendly enough toward you. Did something...change?” Hattie’s eyes shifted slightly, as if she was trying to give him an out, but they weren’t alone in the conference room. Other attendees were filtering in, some in hearing distance, including Hattie’s boss, who had apparently already signed off on this change.

  Nothing Quill could do other than force himself to shake his head. “No. I just hate putting anyone out. Figure he was looking forward to Chugach.”

  “I spoke to him this morning. He’s fine with the idea. Not put out.”

  “Ah.” Fuck. Well there went Quill’s one hope of getting out of this. If Hattie had already spoken to Owen, this was a done deal. But why the hell hadn’t Owen objected? He should want nothing to do with Quill. Damn it. What a mess.

  “Will that work?” Hattie
’s head tilted, concern clear in her brown eyes.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Really, what choice did he have? He hadn’t worked twenty years at this job to suddenly get a reputation as a diva or difficult to work with. At the rear of the room, he spotted Owen helping himself to some hot water for tea. “Anything else I should know?”

  “Nope. Just...” Quirking her mouth, Hattie let out a little sigh. “Keep an open mind, maybe? I really do think this will work well for everyone concerned.”

  “Will do.” Quill had no hope of this thing working well for anyone, but he’d already done what he could. No sense in upsetting Hattie, who was simply trying to do her job. He saved his ire, heading to the coffee table where Owen was still fussing with his tea.

  No way could Quill stomach a beverage of his own right then. God, but he hated uncomfortable conversations, confrontation, but there was no avoiding this. Not bothering with trying to figure out a greeting, he gave him a hard stare and nodded at the hallway. “A word?”

  “Of course.” Owen gathered up his tea and followed Quill out to the hall, far friendlier than Quill would have expected given how they’d parted. Maybe he’d gotten better sleep than Quill. And fuck, wondering whether Owen had slept alone was not what Quill wanted to be doing right then. Not that any of this was, but he didn’t need jealousy on top of everything else.

  “Did you ask for this?” Quill asked when they were clear of the doors. “Ask to be moved?”

  Owen’s eyes went wide. “No. Not at all. Your friend Hattie called me this morning. I was beyond surprised.”

  “So why not tell her no?”

  “I didn’t feel I had any choice.” Owen’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “It’s not like you would have wanted me to tell her that we left things on...not great terms. I thought you’d value my...discretion.”

  “It’s not unappreciated,” Quill ground out. Anger, as it turned out, was a good antidote for avoidance. He might not want to be having this conversation, but irritation was good at keeping his voice firm, making him hold his ground. “But, hell, this is a mess. You don’t really want to winter with me.”