Chapter Eight
Claire hadn’t felt so blissfully warm in a long time, but it wasn’t just warmth. It was contentment. She’d felt off kilter since she caught her first fiancé in the supply closet, and she hadn’t really gotten back on an even keel since. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but her guard had been up with every guy she’d dated since, including her second fiancé and certainly making no exception of the blogger, despite the way he’d weaseled around that wariness. Not trusting sucked. Not trusting anyone and feeling the need to keep her guard up and her head down, lest anyone recognize her as the Runaway Bride, sucked even more.
But right then, nothing sucked.
Except for the fact that when morning came, heralded by rays of sunlight creeping through the dusty windows, she woke to find she’d ended up tangled with Liam, her head on his shoulder, and everything about that should have sucked, starting with the fact that she’d enjoyed it. She wanted to blame the wine, but in conjunction with that huge sandwich, there’s no way she felt it enough to lose touch with her inhibitions. And if she’d really lost touch with those, she’d have taken him up on that request to leave a mark.
She could so leave a mark on that man.
At least, she could here. In the woods, isolated from real life. She’d been hurt enough in the real world that there, she’d cross to the other side of the street before she’d be caught breathing the same air as Hot HVAC Guy. Not because he didn’t live up to his billing—he totally did—but because she couldn’t bear to be thrown back in the spotlight. He probably felt the same way. And it was nice to be a woman, and not that woman. Easy enough, on top of a mountain.
But she wasn’t sure he’d be that easy to leave there, at least in the emotional sense. He was such an utterly decent guy. One who hadn’t come close to being as mad as he had a right to be after she’d smashed his truck.
The shadow of her old self could very easily see a fling with a guy like Liam. In the city, she tended to be uptight, fast-paced, and high-strung. It was part of the job, always being ready to smile for the camera and tackle the next story. She’d gotten so used to the station telling her how to feel so as to set the right mood for a given piece that she’d lost sight of what she felt. A week in the mountains, with no need to fake anything for anyone, had begun to peel away those layers.
She was starting to recognize who she’d been before, when things were simpler. But she didn’t have much in common with that girl, who’d had two parents and hope in her eyes for the future.
Now, she only knew how to run.
And maybe, for that moment, when to stop.
When Liam pulled her closer, his palm flattening on her belly, she didn’t resist. She didn’t even think he was awake. But he was warm and solid and probably the only man in her life who hadn’t betrayed, mocked, or laughed at her, and as far as she was concerned, that was enough.
They’d agreed to no sex, but this being held thing was something else. Probably something a lot more dangerous. Flings were supposed to be about physical gratification, and here he was, touching on the emotional stuff. Following the rules and breaking them all at once.
She lightly traced his fingers, almost absently, and almost jumped when they captured hers. “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice soft.
“You feel pretty alive to me,” she said, her voice horribly shaky, the suggestiveness of her words unnoticed until after she’d put them out there.
He released her hand and again flattened his, now near her waistband, this time deliberately, this time sliding ever so slightly under her shirt. Two inches, she figured. Two entire inches of contact had her breath quickening and her pulse racing and desire barreling through her like an avalanche. And then, moving higher, making her nipples tighten painfully in some kind of misplaced hope for the sweet, warm relief of his mouth closing on them. Just when she thought she’d drown in all that anticipation, he retreated, fingertips catching the waistband of her yoga pants. The ease at which he could fit that hand beneath the fabric was criminal, seconded only by the fact that he didn’t even try. But the ever-so-slightly tangled grip he had on her was ridiculously erotic. Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought of him easing lower, silently demanding access that she’d be only too glad to give him.
“I bet you’re wicked in bed,” he murmured, startling her for the second time in as many minutes. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t at all like she wasn’t painfully, blissfully aware of how close he was, lying on his side now, the entire length of his body making some kind of contact with the entire length of hers. And he definitely wanted her. There was no mistaking that.
“No,” she managed to say. “I’ve never had a reason to be.” God, this casual conversation about sex. She was so not wicked. She was so…missionary. And he wasn’t awkwardly stumbling over words. Maybe when he was half asleep, he didn’t overthink things or second-guess himself.
“Then someone didn’t treat you right.”
She almost laughed. Plenty of someones hadn’t treated her right, but even before that, not one of them had her back arching against a thick rug on a wooden floor, some kind of silent plea for his touch to inch lower. Good grief, was she really doing that? With a concentrated effort, she managed to draw a shaky breath and force her lower back to the floor. Which had the effect of tipping her pelvis toward his fingers until they touched the top hem of underwear that were terribly close to granny status. Not that anyone could fault her for that. How was she supposed to know the hottest HVAC guy on the entire planet was going to show up and send her into meltdown mode?
“You see how responsive you are?” he asked. Not so sleepy now. More like he was about to devour her. “I can’t imagine what would happen if I actually touched you.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re actually touching me,” she managed. Embarrassingly, she almost sputtered it.
“And you’re not asking me to stop,” he said in a lazy, sexy bedroom voice. Which was so wrong. He needed a fully clothed on an old but freshly vacuumed rug voice. That, she might be able to resist.
“I think stopping was already a rule,” she pointed out. She kind of hated that rule.
He immediately removed his hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He sounded awake now. And apologetic. And not like he was going there again.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Wanting him to finish what he’d started, however inadvertently, was out of line. Almost as wrong as feeling some kind of emotional attachment to a man with whom she shared nothing but a distaste for infamy.
And a bed.
Sort of.
She had to get it out of her head that he was anything she wanted. They’d been thrown together by circumstance and nothing more. He wasn’t the only man in the world with green eyes. That he was the only one she trusted at present said a whole lot more about her flawed judgement than it did him, and it was a waving red flag that she needed to avoid him. The lodge was her safe place, and letting something happen with Liam was guaranteed to destroy that comfort zone.
She was so not wanting him.
Right.
She felt like every cell in her body clamored to drag him back in, like she had one fingerhold on a precipice of logic, and the rest of her wanted to be flung.
Flinging sounded fantastic.
Then a phone rang. Moment broken. Body still on the verge of an epic cliché of an explosion, not quite up to speed on the fact that with an apologetic look, Hot HVAC Guy had slid out of their makeshift bed and now stood on the other side of the room, no attention paid whatsoever to his ringing phone. Instead he was staring out the window, both hands on his head like he was stretching for a coffee commercial, only what she could see of his expression wasn’t the blissful look of a man who’d just taken a deep breath of his favored morning brew. Nope. It was more the look of one who was re-evaluating his life’s choices after a narrow brush with death.
Despite her completely imagined, at-best-implied insult, she couldn’t help admiring him. With his arms up, a hint of his abdomen peeked between his shirt and his jeans, which were just low-slung enough to make a sainted woman fall at the feet of the devil himself. His hair, unruly from sleep, begged to have fingers driven through it. Everything about him was so blatantly, casually sexy that it almost seemed unfair. She was probably a total mess, limbs still rubber because he’d grazed her belly with his fingertips, while he stood over there like it was…nothing.
“Need me to leave you alone to deal with that call?” she asked. It was a pointed question, possibly a pathetic one, because the phone had long since stopped ringing. Clearly he’d been grateful for the escape, and she was irritated by the fact that she couldn’t be likewise appreciative, but he’d left her on the verge of an orgasm, and she wasn’t sure how he’d managed to move, let alone walk with the size of that erection pushing his jeans all out of sorts. Shouldn’t his knees be weak or something?
“No, nothing to deal with,” he said. “It wasn’t work or family.” Her expression must have held questions, because he added, “I have a different ringtone for them.”
“Oh.” Her fingers still tingled with the thought of tracing that expanse of belly. In what was perhaps the greatest injustice she’d ever personally witnessed, even asleep, the man had had defined abs. He was more than hot. He was inhuman. He had to be if he could ignore a phone call without even seeing who it was.
And judging by the way she was all but panting, she hadn’t put nearly enough distance between them.
He glanced around the room. “The power back on?”
She stood and walked over to a lamp she was pretty sure had been on when the power failed. She hit the switch—twice—and the bulb remained dark. “Not yet. Hopefully it’s a problem down the mountain. Otherwise it might be a while before it’s fixed.”
He turned his attention back to the window. “Beautiful day. There’s a solid foot of fresh powder out there.”
She rubbed her eyes, but even closed, with her fingertips wiping at the lingering image of that man, she couldn’t stop seeing him. “Fresh powder. Is that snowboard lingo?”
“Nah.” He hesitated. “Maybe. Skiing, whatever.”
“There aren’t any cleared downhill trails around the lodge,” she said. “Not unless you want to go down the road, though with those switchbacks and the likelihood of storm debris, I don’t recommend it. But there are a few cross country trails and some skis in the shed. I’m sure they, too, are cross-country, seeing as how that was the only kind of skiing my uncle ever mentioned, and to my knowledge all they ever did here.”
He glanced back outside, then to her. “Do you have any neighbors up here who might have supplies? Dry tinder or matches or anything?”
She thought for a moment. “There’s a cabin not too far away. I don’t know who owns it or whether it’s occupied, but most people leave emergency supplies on site. We might get lucky.” She cringed over the part about getting lucky, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Sounds like it’s worth checking out, but since I don’t know where I’m going, I believe you just talked me into insisting you come with me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he had a point. And as much as she hated the thought of strapping on skis, a warm fire would be great, and his excitement was contagious. It seemed a visceral reaction to the idea of getting out there, and frankly, she could use the chance to cool off. “Only if you’ll teach me,” she finally conceded. And immediately regretted it. She had never gotten near a winter sport that didn’t turn disastrous, and that luck had now officially extended to cutting down Christmas trees. And the victim of said bad luck was going to put her on skis? Not the smartest idea…at least not on her part.
But she definitely needed to cool down, and a foot of fresh snow was a guaranteed way to accomplish that.
Thirty minutes later, they were bundled up and standing outside in front of the shed. It wasn’t until she noticed Liam had walked up to the building and was peering at the back of the lodge, where the service porch was, that she remembered the raccoon. She was about to ask Liam if he saw anything when a gray and black ball of fur jumped, barking and growling, from the thick evergreen shrubbery that provided a windbreak against the porch.
“Shit.” He took what she suspected should have been a quick step in the opposite direction. But well over knee-deep in snow drifts, he managed only to fall over backward. The raccoon retreated, save for a lingering guttural growl and a dent in the snow that looked like a basketball had hit it.
She put so much effort into not laughing out loud that she nearly fell getting to where he lay, unmoving, in the snow.
“Tell me that did not just happen,” he said as she took his hand and helped him upright, a difficult task compounded by the thickness of her gloves. He ended up mostly helping himself, but he held onto her hand for a moment longer than necessary. Several moments, in fact, before she awkwardly withdrew.
“I think it happened,” she managed.
His gaze drifted briefly to her mouth before meeting hers. “I think it will.”
She’d never in her life seen anything greener than those eyes, and they were on her. And she was absolutely not cooling off. Not with the not-so-subtle implication of those words, which—however innocent they might sound—were loaded with innuendo. And she wanted to drown in it.
Like that was a good idea. That she stood there, in broad daylight, considering anything happening told her the air up there must have been thinner than she thought.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fly backward so quickly,” she finally said, offering a much needed change of subject.
“I’m sure it was a riot,” he muttered. But he smiled. “Since our friend has obviously come outside the kitchen now, think we can close that window from the outside?”
“I’m sure,” she said. “Need me to tell you which one it is?”
“I’m going to go with the open one,” he said, giving her a blank look.
“Oh.” Heat flooded her cheeks. Idiot. “What if that’s not the same raccoon?”
“It is. His mask is crooked. I’d know that face anywhere.”
“What if he has a cohort?” she asked.
“Then the cohort can hang out in the kitchen. We’ll check it out when we go back in.” He waded through the drift and the bushes and closed the window with surprisingly little effort. No wonder the raccoon could come and go as he pleased. “Now where are those skis you mentioned?”
She showed him to the shed, where a dozen pairs of skis lined a wall. He went through them quickly, convincing her he knew a lot more than she did about what was what in there. After a quick perusal, he handed her a pair of skis. “What size boot?” he asked.
She told him her shoe size, and he handed her a pair of boots. She’d forgotten they were in there, but of course her uncle had stocked them with the ski gear. He didn’t offer a huge selection, but his guests had enjoyed getting out on the mountain. Even though many spent their days at the bigger ski resorts more closely adjacent to town, not all came with their own gear or the desire to tackle a downhill run. Like her. If she had to ski, she liked the idea of flat ground beneath her feet. The lodge sat on the edge of a ridge, with the road climbing steeply to the front, providing dramatic views across the valley. To the back of the structure, however, the ground sloped more gently. The views were intermittent, but she felt safer that way.
That good feeling didn’t extend to sticking her foot in something that had been sitting for years in what probably qualified as the outdoors. Protected from the elements, sure, but not critter proof by any means. Hell, the lodge hadn’t been proven critter proof. Dubious, she turned the first boot upside down and shook it. Nothing came out, so she stuck her gloved hand inside to make sure no critters had taken up residence. When she withdrew her hand, she had her answer…and not the one she wanted. A large black spider, all eight creepy, beady eyes fixed on her. “You did this on purpose,” she grumbled. She stepped past Liam into the shed, then shook off the offending creature. Not that it did any good to free herself of the thing. She felt like she had a thousand of them crawling on her.
“Did what?”
“Gave me an enormous spider.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that on purpose,” he said mildly. “Though if I had, I would have been disappointed. That was the most boring reaction to a spider I’ve ever witnessed.”
“The raccoon was an aberration. I’m not usually a screamer.”
“Good to know,” he said slowly, a smile teasing his lips.
She glared, entirely too heated by the thought of him making her scream, and grabbed a brush off a nearby shelf. After thoroughly cleaning out her boots, running a pair of arachnids out of the second one, she wordlessly handed over the brush. He followed suit. No spiders in his. Of course.
Together they walked out onto the snow, which had become blinding white after her eyes had adjusted to staring at dark corners and peering inside boots in the shed. She dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and noticed he did the same. They were operating in unison. Adorable. Only he probably wasn’t worried he was about to go plummeting to his death off the side of the mountain. Or why he’d taken the first excuse to get out of that awkward physical situation they’d worked themselves into. She still wasn’t sure he’d ever looked at his phone to see who had called. Her own phone battery was dead, but she’d noticed his plugged into an external battery pack. Of course, because when the last thing you needed was an interruption…
Ugh. Not so much. The last thing she needed was to be floating around in a daze. Her attraction him already felt like a betrayal of the woman she’d been when she’d fled the city. Or maybe she’d just slunk away, not that it mattered. If she went back, she’d be a different person. She just had to fit those pieces back together. Find a new normal. A new normal that would not under any circumstances include a man who was almost as recognizable as she, though for significantly less humiliating reasons.
But despite that last non-negotiable point, her traitorous mind lingered. If the rest of him was anywhere near as talented as those teasing fingers, she could only hope to find herself in a world of trouble.
Or to avoid it.
Avoiding would have been a grand idea.
Avoiding skiing would have been a close second.
Liam watched her attempt—and fail—to navigate the simple task of simultaneously holding skis and poles, amusement teasing his lips into a grin. “How is it possible you haven’t done this before?”
“I wouldn’t say I never have. It’s just not my forte.” She’d done it exactly once, but who’d asked him?
“And you’ve determined this how?”
She stopped trying to juggle her ski poles and immediately dropped one. Annoyed, she leaned down to swipe it off the snow. “The first and only time I ever ice skated, I spent a whopping four seconds on my feet before falling from a standstill and breaking my arm two days before Christmas. It was years after that before anyone talked me into strapping skis to my feet, but ultimately I fell for that whole they’re-flat-on-the-bottom spiel and gave it a try. I must have some natural talent, because I did manage to steer into a tree, which seemed better than going down the entire mountain. Needless to say, that ultimately and efficiently ended my short-lived interest in winter sports.”
“But you’re here with me?”
“Don’t ask me to think too much about that.” She glanced in his direction, fully prepared to scowl, but was distracted by the fact that he wasn’t laughing at her. Or mocking her. He seemed to be studying her. Maybe he was skeptical. She couldn’t blame him. She’d come here every year for most of her life. That she might have skied more than once wasn’t such a stretch. Especially for a man who showed up for a furnace job with a snowboard in hand.
“What about a sleigh ride?” he asked.
“The horse would probably kick me,” she said.
“What if I promised to protect you from the horse?”
The way his arms had felt around her, he was welcome to protect her from anything. Apparently other than herself. “It might be a moot point. I still have to survive this ski trip.”
An adorable grin teased his lips. “I have the utmost faith you will survive this ski trip.”
Yeah, sure she would. He had to show her how to connect her boot to the ski. With one foot in, she almost fell over. When the second boot snapped in place, she stupidly stretched out her arms to adjust her jacket, which in turn caused her poles to lose contact with the ground, which then caused her to slide a few couple of inches. “Oh, no.”
Liam looked up as she wildly stabbed the sticks at the snow. “What?”
“I moved,” she admitted.
“You weren’t kidding about not liking this stuff.”
Claire looked up at him and found her distorted reaction scowling back from the reflection in his sunglasses. “Winter sport failings aside, I’m still not exactly the outdoorsy type,” she said.
“I kind of noticed your failings as a lumberjack,” he said dryly. “And now that I know you aren’t experienced on these trails, I’m not entirely confident you won’t send me over the edge of a ravine.”
She managed a smile, finally finding some humor in this whole sordid situation. “I think I exceeded spectacularly as a lumberjack. I managed to hit a moving target with a thirty-foot spruce.”
He cocked a brow. “You hit an idling target, and I’m not so sure that’s your bragging point here. Besides, I think it’s closer to twenty-five feet.”
Freaking technicalities. She could use a win, considering she was the one standing there, woefully inadequate in the face of snow and a gentle slope. “Well, I’m not going to send you over the edge of any known ravines.”
He paused in the middle of adjusting his sunglasses on his nose. “Known ravines?”
She shrugged and hid a grin. “If I don’t know they’re there, I can’t make any promises.” Maybe he was a little worried after all.
He stared for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. He had a perfect smile, and a perfect dimple when he laughed, but she found herself missing the intensity of that green-eyed stare with it hidden behind sunglasses. Though she was better off missing it.
She’d fallen for that whole good-looking guy shtick before. The fact that he was hot enough to melt the snow beneath his skis was more of a warning sign than something to lust after. Not that she lusted. Lusting was…messy. Lusting had landed her first fiancé in the supply closet with her maid of honor just hours before the ceremony. Talk about bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. He was probably still limping.
And she was still staring.
“Look,” she said, more than a little flustered. It was probably evident in her voice. In fact, she’d bet it was. “I’m not sure I could get these things off my feet if I tried, and there may or may not be a raccoon in the kitchen. Or an entire family of them. We have a witness to your arrival—one who will definitely remember you because he wants to get paid for fixing your truck—and I’m still going to need heat at the lodge. If none of that convinces you that I’m not going to intentionally send you over a cliff—”
He was laughing. Laughing.
“What. Is. So. Funny?”
“The last twenty-four hours of your life sounds like something someone invented around a campfire, that’s what.”
“I’m glad you’re amused.” Actually she kind of was, because watching him laugh made it impossible for her feel any actual irritation, or to fear too much for her life with those match sticks on her feet, but she had to object on principal.
“I’m probably the last person who should be amused,” he said, still laughing.
“Are we going to ski or not? At some point a warm fire is going to sound fantastic, and right now, we’re woefully without the means to make that happen.”
“Yeah, we’re going to ski.” He demonstrated what she was supposed to do, which seemed easy enough. “Tell me which way to go, and I’ll go first to cut tracks for you. That’ll make it a cakewalk.”
Cake. Sure. Cake with an epic view of Hot HVAC Guy’s ass. Now that was something that should be on the menu of every bakery in America.
Despite her misgivings, she managed to stay on her feet, and the tracks through the fresh snow meant she didn’t have to steer. Just propel herself, and she suspected he kept the pace slow for her. It was a lot of work, but she handled it, at least until about fifteen minutes in, when she was concentrating on staying upright and hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped ahead of her.
At the last minute, she slammed her poles into the snow, wondering how it could be so hard to stop when pushing required such effort. Before the universe had given her an answer to that particular question, she ran over Liam. Literally. With absolutely no ability to steer, she rammed into him, knocking him off his feet.
She jabbed the ski poles at the ground with force, slowing her down enough that she didn’t fall when she reached the end of his tracks. “Sorry,” she said, probably not sounding like it because she was immensely pleased with herself for staying upright. “Here, let me give you a hand.” She reached out and did her best to ignore the tingles zinging through her when he gripped her hand through two layers of thick gloves and allowed her to help hoist him upright.
She hadn’t predicted how close they’d be when he stood, or that her gaze would drift to his mouth. She expected to see the corners quirk, threatening a smile, but they didn’t.
“The, uh, cabin is ahead.” Somewhere. She couldn’t remember if it was a half mile or two miles. Just that they needed to be back on that trail, because she was having trouble remembering what a bad idea they were.
He was slow to look away from her mouth. When he did, she nearly sighed with relief. They moved ahead on the trail, mostly silent but for the slice of the skis through snow. With the path obvious, she didn’t even need to provide directions.
Several minutes passed before the old cabin came into view. Her heart sank. The place had fallen into such disrepair that gaping holes marred the roof, and the windows were busted out. “This it?” Liam asked.
“It used to be.”
“Do you think it’s okay to look around anyway?”
“I don’t see why not.”
They stepped out of their skis, leaving them on the battered porch. He tried the knob. Unlocked. Inside they found no trace of supplies, or any sign there’d ever been any. The only things remaining inside were either nonflammable or nailed down, which made it a bust for makeshift firewood, too. “Well, this was a wasted trip,” she said.
“Not so much. You skied.”
“And knocked you down.”
“But you didn’t hit me with a tree.”
“We’re not back yet,” she said. They left the cabin, secured the door as best they could, and stepped back into the skis. At the thought of retracing their route, exhaustion hit, and so did the need for a nice hot bath.
A few minutes into the return trip, the ground sloped downward. She wasn’t paying attention, and when she pushed off she managed to slide right into him, knocking him down a second time. Only this time she went down with him.
Lovely.
How he could be so warm through a layer of outerwear that was exposed to the same thirty degrees that touched her own skin, she didn’t know.
They lay there, snow pillowed around them, skis somehow tangled. She probably should get up, but that would involve twisting her foot so it didn’t face nearly backward—an awkward, albeit painless, side effect of landing in a heap—and she wasn’t entirely sure she could do that. Or that she even wanted to.
Although Liam would probably like that very much, because he was the one with his head in the snow. She started to mumble an awkward apology that would have ended with something like you were warned or I told you so, but she didn’t get the chance.
“You know what?” He yanked off and flung his sunglasses, and for a moment, she thought he might be mad. But nope.
He kissed her.
He reached up, put his gloved hand at the back of her head, and dragged her mouth to his. And kissed her.
Surprise pelted her like ice blown from the trees, but was quickly forgotten. His lips had been cold, but they melted into warmth almost the moment they touched hers. It was gentle and sweet, which did little to explain the riot of desire tearing through her.
As soon as he broke the kiss, he nudged her sunglasses off her face. They fell to the side.
“Are you going to hit me?” he asked, eyes dancing, so brilliantly green against the snow that they took her breath.
This was her out. She should say yes, let him scramble to his feet, because they had a terrible habit for bad ideas. But she didn’t say yes. “No,” she said. “I’m not going to hit you.”
“Good.” He drew her in again, this time pressing deeper, this time getting there. Though he touched every corner of her mouth, all gentle and probing and gentlemanly, she couldn’t help but feel he was teasing her. Like he was holding back.
And still, it was the best kiss of her life.
Maybe it was her body’s jump to awareness, the encounter earlier that morning still tingling in her extremities. Maybe she was just grateful to have survived another winter sports incident. Or, more likely, it was him. Because wouldn’t that just be her luck?
“If we hadn’t already agreed not to do that,” he murmured, “I’d love to do it again.” He pushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from her knit hat, every intense fleck of green in those eyes focused entirely on her. “Not that we’re going there.”
She should really look away, attempt to find her feet. But she didn’t. “We’re definitely not going there,” she agreed. Sort of.
“Actually,” he said softly, “I think you’re flinging me off one of those cliffs you mentioned.”
God, what was with flinging? Had she really told him she’d thought about having sex with him? She thought she’d been dodging a bullet, and instead she’d buried a landmine under the snow, and every step she took put her closer to that thing exploding in her face. Like now. “I didn’t know guys ever felt that way,” she stammered. The body contact was killing her. And why was he managing to woo her with his every word? Had he gotten less awkward, or was she just getting sucked in?
“Woman, you just destroyed me with that kiss. There’s no way I didn’t feel that.”
She shifted, figuring she should let him up. Out of the snow. Maybe find a way to come to her senses. But he touched her arm. “I’d like to feel it again,” he said.
“In the snow?”
“Let it melt.” He touched her cheek with a gloved fingertip, and the idea of that contact being skin to skin had her eyes drifting closed.
The gentle probing that followed was so deep and impossibly tender that she wasn’t sure she’d ever un-feel it. Not that she’d want to. It was like that soft mouth obliterated those walls she’d built, running as she did, and made her want so badly to find a place to stand still. Which was ridiculous, because despite being molten hot and a rescuer from raccoons, he was just a man. Of the same ilk that had broken her heart three times now, but that traitorous heart didn’t feel so broken right then. She felt…light. An endlessly free feeling she just wanted to capture and hold. Own it. Because whatever it was could only exist right there, on that mountain.
However real, it would never be more than an illusion.
Still, by the time she broke free, so reluctant, so seduced, she was ready to fling her clothes to the snow and let him maul her. Anything to feel him.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said.
“Like this?” She barely caught the oddity of the question through the haze that had fallen over her.
“Natural. Not like on TV.”
His words jerked her back to where she was. Who she was, and with whom. She thought he understood her, at least when it came to the fact that she wanted to leave that part of her back in New York City. His reminder had no more place on that mountain than she did in skis, and his mention of it left her feeling like she’d been slapped. She struggled away from him, fighting to get her skis re-attached where they’d come loose.
“I’m sorry. Claire, I didn’t mean—”
He scrambled to his feet, not quite making it there before he lost his balance and tipped sideways into the snow. He didn’t have any more luck getting to vertical than she did. Good. She jerked her ski out of the drift and managed to snap her foot into it. Maybe. It seemed secure enough. “I thought you, of all people, would understand I don’t want that here. We agreed we weren’t doing that here.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, sounding bewildered. “I just meant that you look pretty damned amazing like this, minus the part where you look like you want me dead.”
She leaned to get her poles, managing to fall over again. He wisely didn’t say another word. Just sat there in the drift they’d all but flattened. “Watch for ravines,” she muttered, more or less competently getting up and taking off toward the lodge. The tracks made it easy, though she hated he was probably watching her ass as she left. Not that she could blame him. That was pretty much all she’d done on that trail.
Why did he have to kiss her like that and then ruin it by mentioning what she’d gone there to escape?
And why did she have to care that the connection was ruined? She should be grateful. She didn’t know who she was madder at. Him for tearing through her defenses and reminding her of who she really was.
Or herself for wanting him in spite of it.