by Ava Lovelace
She shook her head.
“Yeah, me neither.”
After rummaging around in the pockets of his kilt, he came up with a little leather roll, pulled out two slender metal sticks, and proceeded to pick the damn lock right in front of her. Before she could protest and toss the Employee Binder at him, he had the door open and was handing her a huge overcoat.
“Are you a thief or a rogue?” she asked after checking for a name tag or business card in the coat's pockets.
“Chaotic good. Rogue cleric. Fast with Google-fu and eBay. Lots of character points. And I'm performing a public service.”
“Saving a damsel is a public service. Outfitting one with stolen clothes is not.”
He slipped on a tweed coat that made him look like Sherlock Holmes and handed her a wooly hat that she smelled and immediately tossed back in the closet. “You're not a damsel. And we're just borrowing clothes nobody wants, anyway. We're the only people on this floor, right now. Pretty sure the coat you're wearing belonged to that accountant who got fired last month for losing petty cash.”
When she thought about it, Lissa could see his point. It's not like anyone wanted this stuff or had access to it in the moment. And she remembered the owner of this coat, who had been built like a pro wrestler. Robert Alexander. Rob, for short. He'd been sacked quickly and sent packing with a police escort and a sad cardboard box, swearing up and down all the way to the elevators that he'd never misused any funds. And who had been his boss? David Dennihy, of course. Poor Rob. The coat smelled a little of cedar and donuts, and she buttoned it up and realized she was still barefoot.
“Socks,” she said, heading for her office.
“Mm hmm. Pants and hat,” Mark answered back with a grin, heading back to his own department.
Without meaning to, she'd totally given in to his ridiculous idea. The man was beyond sneaky.
A few moments later, he showed up at the door to her corner office, workout pants showing under the hem of his tweed coat and a wool plaid driving cap on his head. He looked utterly ridiculous and completely irresistible, the lines of his body hidden by bulky wool and his chiseled face grinning like a little boy about to play hooky. She had to look just as silly in a coat that could've fit two of her easily and a pair of bulky athletic socks poking out from her skinny jeans. Her winter hat was bright orange with fox ears that poked up and long tassels that tied under her chin.
“Are you ready to drift?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“This Jaeger's name is Foxy Danger,” she answered. When he held out his hand, she was so caught up in the ridiculousness that she took it and let him pull her down the hallway, giggling.
And Lissa wasn't a woman who usually giggled. She usually reserved her laughter for math jokes, Archer, or that scene in The Avengers where the Hulk beats the shit out of Loki. At work, she was serious and focused and worked hard to protect her reputation and career. If Dr. Horne had seen her running down the hallway, hand-in-hand with his rogue photographer, he would've crapped a brick.
She did have the good sense to feel under her coat for her ID card before Mark pushed open the main office door and dragged her down the tiled hallway to the elevator as it slammed behind them with a resounding crash. She was starting to think that being stuck in the building for a couple of days might have its perks, but those perks were rendered moot if she couldn't get back into the warmth, safety, and relative comfort of the Interprog offices.
When they reached the glass double doors to the courtyard and parking lot, Mark stopped and turned to her, tugging the tassels of her hat to get her attention. Like he didn't already dominate it.
“I'm going to run out to my car and get you some galoshes and gloves. Stay here, okay?”
“You don't have to take care of me, you know.”
“No, I don't. But unless you have galoshes and gloves of your own, I think it might be a good idea, don't you agree?” He raised an eyebrow at her tube socks.
“I'm muttering under my breath.”
“I'm pretending not to hear it. Now stay put.”
Pulling up the collar of his coat, he squeezed out the doors and jogged to a snow-covered Pathfinder at the far end of the lot. Lissa spotted her own car and a few others abandoned haphazardly around the iced-over landscape; folks must've taken Murphy up on his offer to get home or maybe carpooled with friends before the storm got too bad. She rubbed her hands and tied the belt on her borrowed coat tighter while Mark rummaged in his car and jogged back. Cold was definitely not her favorite weather, and she hadn't wanted anything to do with snow since she was ten and had gotten a huge handful down the butt crack from the neighborhood bully.
But when she saw a familiar looking shield in Mark's arms, mounded with boots and gloves, she had to grin. Maybe snow wouldn't be so bad, this time.
“Are we seriously going to go sledding on Cap's shield?”
He wiped his boots off on the side of the door and tossed the bounty into the lobby, holding up the shield for her inspection.
“What do you think?”
Her grin answered his and she sweetly answered, “Yes, I think it works. FOR SLEDDING.”
Mark held out a pair of mud-covered galoshes and a thick pair of socks, which she was grateful to see were clean. Sitting down on the tile, she pulled them on over the first pair and tucked her jeans into them. The gloves he gave her were huge, definitely made for a dude, which she found comforting. If his SUV had been stocked with girl stuff, her curiosity and interest might've spilled over into jealousy or spite. Instead, she had to assume he was single. After all, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. And if he'd been dating or banging any of the Media girls, everyone in the company would've known.
He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “Ready?”
Even between the thick gloves, Lissa felt the warmth of his touch as she allowed him to pull her to her feet. The galoshes were huge, even with the double-thick socks, and she kicked her feet, feeling them slide back and forth. The treads were packed with dried mud.
“Been navigating the sewers lately?” she asked, holding her foot up to inspect it.
“Cowabunga.” He grinned. “I'm actually building an Earth House in my back yard. I spend a lot of my free time digging and packing dirt. But it's a hell of a lot better than a gym.” When he flexed his muscles through four layers of warm clothes, she couldn't see the effect. But she could damn well imagine it.
She side-eyed him. “Are you a crazy zombiepocalypse prepper? Because a girl needs to know these things.”
“Oh, yeah. Me and my plastic Captain America shield vs. hordes of the risen dead.” He tugged his hat more firmly down over his hair and held open the door. “No, I'm just a guy who wants to see if he's capable of building a self-sustaining house out of trash. It's basically a double dare from the possible dystopian future. Worst case scenario, I have an ideal future mother-in-law suite.”
Lissa walked out into an afternoon cast in dark blue, lavender, and gold. The sun was setting behind dark, low clouds, the snow glittering in strips between stark, skeletal trees. They only had an hour or so until darkness fell, and it looked like the sky was gearing up for another burst of snowrage.
Mark must've felt it, too—the excitement, and the ominous sensation of a sky holding its breath. He marched straight up the nearest hill, shield in hand, slipping in the ice and turning to help her stay upright. They stood together at the top for a moment, admiring the magnificent silence and beauty of a parking lot rendered useless and pure by nature's whims. It reminded Lissa of I Am Legend—before it started to suck.
“Ladies first.” Mark held out the shield, which was a nicer quality reproduction, a cut above the usual Halloween junk. She almost felt bad taking it. Almost.
“Okay, but not because I'm a shrinking violet who gives a shit about chivalry. Because I want to be the first one down that slope.”
“I'll allow it. You want a push?”
Lissa placed the shield on the snow, turning the h
and grips so they wouldn't strategically bruise her inner thighs. Once she was seated and holding them like handles, she looked back up at Mark. He was watching her, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with mischief and snowflakes caught in his golden eyelashes.
“Push,” she said, and he muttered, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
And then he planted both hands against her back and shoved her down the hill.
“Loooong liiiiiive Chriiiiis Evaaaaans!” she shouted, and he shouted back, “What about Chris Hemsworth?”
“All the Chrises!”
It turned into a whoop as the makeshift sled picked up speed and careened down the hill that suddenly felt like a mountain.
The wind in her hair was thrilling, the touch of his hands still seared on her back. Lissa held her feet up, his galoshes rattling as the shield spun, forcing her to rearrange her weight. Mark watched her, laughing, from the top of the hill, hands on his hips. She couldn't wait for him to feel this same exhilaration, the fastest sled ride of her life on a superhero's plastic shield. In only seconds, she slid to a stop on a mound of bark and climbed off the shield, dusting the snow off her butt and standing.
“How was it?” he called.
“I could do this all day!”
Lissa hurried up the hill like she had a date to punch Hitler and handed the shield over to Mark, her face flushed with laughter and her feet already sweating in the rubber boots. As he held up the plastic circle and prepared to sit, she pointed toward the smooth trail she'd left on her ride.
“Go that way, really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.”
In a flash, he'd kissed her cheek and thrown himself on the shield, zooming down the hill.
“Language lessons!” he shouted, and her stomach flipped.
Was there anything this guy couldn't quote? And were his lips on fire, because DAMN. And how had she never noticed him before, or caught him pouring the communal coffee into an ironic Dilbert mug? She hadn't felt so mentally stimulated by a human conversation in years, and they'd mostly just shouted at each other while sledding.
Down below, Mark hit the same bed of bark she had and hopped up before the shield slid to a stop. His face was red and lit with gloriously Vikingesque victory. Or maybe Scottish. All she knew was that he looked like he should be covered in dirt and blood and plundering something while wearing his kilt.
Plundering her.
He jogged up the hill, dropped the shield at her feet, and whipped off his hat to run a hand through his hair, which had come undone on the ride. The breath caught in her throat as he looked down at her and went still, and they stared at each other as if connected by a tractor beam.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, voice raspy.
She could only shake her head no.
“Does being kissed in the snow by a near-stranger sound like a good idea?”
Before he'd finished speaking, he was taking off his gloves and she was nodding eagerly.
In a heartbeat, he'd dropped his gloves in the snow and wrapped hot, claiming fingers around her chin and jaw, just like in the movies. Eyes open and locked on hers, he moved in to brush her lips with his, wisps of his loose hair whipping across her face in a sudden breeze. Ankle-deep in snow, Lissa felt as if her entire body were on fire, lit from within, as if she stood on top of the world in a sunbeam and there was no such thing as a cloudy day. Mark's other hand found her jaw, fingertips pressing in that tender place behind her ear, deep in her long hair. When she reached for him, she found only his bulky coat and had to be satisfied with wrapping hands around his lapels and tugging him closer.
Mark's eyes closed, his lips opening slightly, as if he was breathing her in but giving her time to pull away, if that was what she wanted. Instead, pressing her advantage, Lissa slipped her tongue into his mouth and slid it all the way between his lips. When he opened his mouth in surprise, she changed angles and tasted him, deep, hands fisted in his coat front. God, he was delicious. He caught up with her, his tongue reaching for hers and starting a playful duel that made her melt. There was an easy confidence to his every move, something an assertive woman like Lissa had discovered to be as rare as actual superpowers. He didn't fidget, didn't apologize, didn't second-guess himself. And it made her want him all the more, knowing that he met her every challenge and bit of snark with equal power and passion.
Although the kiss burned her lips, Lissa couldn't help noticing that the rest of the world had gone decidedly darker. Even Mark's fingers on her face took a chill, and she reached up to grasp them as she pulled away from the kiss and opened her eyes on a sky thick with low, dark clouds. The sun was gone, and she pulled Mark's hands to her lips and blew hot air onto them, rubbing them between her gloves.
“Did we just cause Ragnarok?” he asked, voice husky.
“Worth it.”
“But we need to get you inside before you get too cold.”
“And you.”
He breathed out in a cloud. “Yeah, not a problem. I run hot. I probably just melted a hole in the snow. But if that's an invitation, I'll join you.”
A rush of freezing wind and sleet sealed the deal. Mark picked up the shield, but Lissa snatched it from him and slid down the hill one more time, calling, “To Rohan!” over her shoulder before she crashed and landed on her face in the snow. Mark was there moments later, helping her up and dusting the crusted snow off her shoulders and back. She felt a little silly, but...
“Still worth it.”
“You won't say that when your nose falls off from frostbite. Come on.”
As they hurried inside, the wind almost whipped the shield out of Mark's hand. He had his office badge on under his coat and opened the door for her, and they quickly shed their borrowed coats, dropping them on the tile. The only thing warm on Lissa were her snow-burned cheeks and rubber-wrapped feet, and she felt immediately better as soon as she was stripped out of the wet wool and down to her own jeans, long-sleeved tee, and extra-long, moss-green cardigan, which she thought of as her Jedi robe.
Mark's cheeks were red, a black hoodie hanging loose over his black tee and kilt, which was a plaid of dark green and navy. His sweatpants were crumpled and wet on the floor with all their other layers, and his muscular legs were pink from the cold and lightly furred with golden curly hair. He looked hot as hell, like he'd just been doing something manly and fun, like playing rugby or tossing a frisbee with his dog. After all the time she'd spent with her programmers, it was refreshing to meet a geek guy who managed to balance peculiarity with classic manliness and style. And he smelled like the woods in winter, which made her want to step close and initiate a second kiss, one that wouldn't be broken up by the stupid Snowpocalypse.
“Back upstairs?” he asked, and in another place, she would've jumped on the chance to go upstairs with him. But he was just talking about the office.
“Coffee,” she said.
He shrugged. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. Or sweet and iced.” Picking up his shield and leaving everything else behind, he waited for her to walk by his side down the long hallway.
“So you don't drink coffee? It's like I don't even know you.”
“You don't. Coffee makes me hyper. And I'm hyper enough as it is.”
“Then how do you wake up in the morning?”
He pushed the elevator button and turned a devastating smile on her.
“I don't.”
“Like, ever?”
The elevator binged open, and they stepped in.
“I do my best work when I wake up at noon and go to bed around three in the morning. So my schedule's totally bizarre. As it turns out, models aren't big fans of early morning call times, anyway. All part of my deal with Dr. Horne.”
“So that's why I never see you.”
His head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
Lissa blushed, just a little, but didn't drop her chin. “I've been here three years, and I think I've seen you once. I would have noticed you, is all.”
&n
bsp; Mark stepped closer and smoldered at her.
“And why's that?”
“Because you look like Thor and Loki had a hot slashfic kid who cosplays a goth Viking.”
He licked his lips and looked like his jaw might've considered dropping open at her brazenness.
She smirked and stepped off the elevator and into the Interprog foyer, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You're not used to women actually saying what they mean, are you?”
“Hell, no. But I like it.”
She shot him a pointed look over her shoulder and swung her hips as she walked down the hall.
“Good.”
Instead of catching up to walk beside her, he hung behind, probably admiring her behind. Well, let him. If he played his cards right, maybe he could figure out which superhero's logo was on her panties. And she would finally find out what a photographer wears under his kilt.
* * *
True to her word, Lissa made a beeline for the break room and her untouched pot of fancy coffee. With no hive of sugar-crashed programmers waiting to snag it, the pot had ripened perfectly and lurked in the glass carafe like a tar pit waiting to smother yawns. Her favorite mug was clean and sitting on the counter, and she added two sugars and four vanilla creamers and tipped back her head to sip, knowing Mark wouldn't be able to look away from the hollow of her throat and the swell of her chest. Yeah, the noise she made was slightly orgasmic, but it was really good coffee. And it was fun to watch the calm and collected Mark groan under his breath.
“So I have to know. Who do you like better,” he asked, filling a glass with ice and pouring a glass of sweet tea from a pitcher in the fridge. “Thor or Loki?”
Lissa licked her lips and smirked over the steam in her mug. “I think you could combine them to make the perfect man. Thor's childlike wonder and classic masculinity with Loki's cleverness and charm. Add in a dash of Tony Stark's wit, Cap's idealism, David Banner's self-control, and Hawkeye's butt, and I think you'd have one devastating superfox.”
“You've obviously given this a lot of thought.”
“I tried to write Thor/Loki slashfic once, but all they did was banter and pull each other's hair.”