hot—especially in those tight suits. Kinda like you look now.”
“Okay, that’s it.” He dug his poles in even deeper and shot forward. She smiled when she saw him coming and stuck out her tongue. He headed right at her. Why wasn’t she veering?
“Dammit, Jill!” He had two more yards, and he’d be on her.
Her laugh trilled out again. She angled sharply toward him. His right pole stuck in ice-crusted snow, and he lost his balance, toppling like a bowling pin. His skis came off as he somersaulted—his pack digging into his back. He spit out snow, sat up, and wiped his face off.
Her shoulders shook. “You really are out of practice.”
“And you hate to lose. You crushed our picnic.”
Her ski pole waved like Gene Kelly doing a dance. “At least you didn’t blame me winning on carrying that heavy ol’ backpack.”
His snort carried across the distance. “As if. I also won’t say you weigh less and move like a gazelle.”
Her hand reached for his. “A gazelle? Really? That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He tugged her forward.
“Hey!” Her long frame fell in an inelegant heap next to him.
“If you think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever said, I clearly need to work harder.” He flipped her, looming over.
Her mouth opened in surprise as he kissed her. Long and deep and hot, his heart racing from their contest and from how much he wanted her. Her gloved hands clenched him. With their snow suits on, he couldn’t touch the curves he dreamed about, so he concentrated on kissing her senseless. His body nestled between the V of her legs, his hips moving against hers, their suits scraping. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and heard her groan.
The angle of her jaw called to him when she turned her face. Pressing a kiss there, he went lower, running his tongue above the bare skin over her yellow scarf. Her mouth glistened in the sunlight, so he sucked on her lower lip. Elegant fingers played at the back of his neck, while her tongue danced against his. Her hand moved down his back and fell away. Then it slid back up, igniting a string of fire until he felt snow slide down his neck. He darted back.
“Shit, that’s cold.”
Her laughter gusted out as he tugged his glove off and dug out the snowball. When he turned back, his breath caught. She looked like a winter goddess lying there in the snow—her long, lithe frame, the red hair trailing out of her yellow hat, her lips swollen from their kisses.
“You’re so beautiful.”
The smile he loved seeing faded. “You’ve never said that.”
Yeah, because growing up, he hadn’t wanted to lose her. She’d been an anchor in his life. And he’d seen from his parents’ ugly divorce how horribly wrong romantic relationships could go.
Razor-sharp guilt rose. He tugged his glove on and then hunched over her, pushing his sunglasses up. It was important for her to see his eyes. “I may not have said it, but I always thought it.”
“I’m glad,” she said in a small voice, which told him she didn’t believe him, not really. “So, have we a squashed picnic?”
“I only made macaroni and cheese.” He pushed off the snow so he could stand and help her up. “Let’s eat.”
They brushed snow off each other and skied to the spot he’d picked out for them. She unclipped her skis and planted her poles. He followed suit and trudged through the white, shrugging off the pack, trying to cool down.
While Jill took care of business behind a tree, he spread a white cloth on the boulder. They couldn’t have candles and flowers, but he could still plate her food. He popped the champagne, poured, and buried the bottle in the snow. Ice crunched, signaling her return.
“You totally lied! Macaroni and cheese, my ass. Is that champagne?” She trudged through the snow and sank down beside him.
“Like I’d make you mac and cheese. Jesus, Jill, what do you take me for?”
She kissed him. “A genius. Oh, I adore tapas!
“Okay, that’s it.” He dug his poles in even deeper and shot forward. She smiled when she saw him coming and stuck out her tongue. He headed right at her. Why wasn’t she veering?
“Dammit, Jill!” He had two more yards, and he’d be on her.
Her laugh trilled out again. She angled sharply toward him. His right pole stuck in ice-crusted snow, and he lost his balance, toppling like a bowling pin. His skis came off as he somersaulted—his pack digging into his back. He spit out snow, sat up, and wiped his face off.
Her shoulders shook. “You really are out of practice.”
“And you hate to lose. You crushed our picnic.”
Her ski pole waved like Gene Kelly doing a dance. “At least you didn’t blame me winning on carrying that heavy ol’ backpack.”
His snort carried across the distance. “As if. I also won’t say you weigh less and move like a gazelle.”
Her hand reached for his. “A gazelle? Really? That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He tugged her forward.
“Hey!” Her long frame fell in an inelegant heap next to him.
“If you think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever said, I clearly need to work harder.” He flipped her, looming over.
Her mouth opened in surprise as he kissed her. Long and deep and hot, his heart racing from their contest and from how much he wanted her. Her gloved hands clenched him. With their snow suits on, he couldn’t touch the curves he dreamed about, so he concentrated on kissing her senseless. His body nestled between the V of her legs, his hips moving against hers, their suits scraping. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and heard her groan.
The angle of her jaw called to him when she turned her face. Pressing a kiss there, he went lower, running his tongue above the bare skin over her yellow scarf. Her mouth glistened in the sunlight, so he sucked on her lower lip. Elegant fingers played at the back of his neck, while her tongue danced against his. Her hand moved down his back and fell away. Then it slid back up, igniting a string of fire until he felt snow slide down his neck. He darted back.
“Shit, that’s cold.”
Her laughter gusted out as he tugged his glove off and dug out the snowball. When he turned back, his breath caught. She looked like a winter goddess lying there in the snow—her long, lithe frame, the red hair trailing out of her yellow hat, her lips swollen from their kisses.
“You’re so beautiful.”
The smile he loved seeing faded. “You’ve never said that.”
Yeah, because growing up, he hadn’t wanted to lose her. She’d been an anchor in his life. And he’d seen from his parents’ ugly divorce how horribly wrong romantic relationships could go.
Razor-sharp guilt rose. He tugged his glove on and then hunched over her, pushing his sunglasses up. It was important for her to see his eyes. “I may not have said it, but I always thought it.”
“I’m glad,” she said in a small voice, which told him she didn’t believe him, not really. “So, have we a squashed picnic?”
“I only made macaroni and cheese.” He pushed off the snow so he could stand and help her up. “Let’s eat.”
They brushed snow off each other and skied to the spot he’d picked out for them. She unclipped her skis and planted her poles. He followed suit and trudged through the white, shrugging off the pack, trying to cool down.
While Jill took care of business behind a tree, he spread a white cloth on the boulder. They couldn’t have candles and flowers, but he could still plate her food. He popped the champagne, poured, and buried the bottle in the snow. Ice crunched, signaling her return.
“You totally lied! Macaroni and cheese, my ass. Is that champagne?” She trudged through the snow and sank down beside him.
“Like I’d make you mac and cheese. Jesus, Jill, what do you take me for?”
She kissed him. “A genius. Oh, I adore tapas!
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