Dashing Through the Snow

by M. Leighton

  “Okay, so it wasn’t a rabies warning I missed,” I retort, leaning back a little and trying to appear as casual and confident as Dash. “So what was it?”

  Black eyes lock onto mine, blotting out everything around me. “That I like a little give and take. I don’t want you to strip me bare without seeing some of your skin, too.” My jaw goes slack until he grins and adds, “So to speak.”

  I raise the glass to take a sip, an effort to buy myself some time. Once again, he’s managed to tie my tongue into a tight knot with what seems like very little effort on his part.

  If this is any indication of how Dash Grainger is going to affect my wits, I expect this interview to be long and difficult.

  I swallow a bit of the amber liquid in my mouth and it sears me all the way down, causing me to gasp. I sputter and sit up to take a deep breath.

  Dash leans toward me, bringing one big hand to my back. “You okay?”

  I nod, swallowing several times to dull the burn. His palm starts to move in slow, soothing circles over my back, the warmth of it bleeding through my sweater to tease my skin. My nipples tighten in response, and I feel the heat of embarrassment, coupled with the fire of the alcohol, blazing in my cheeks.

  I want to sit back so Dash will stop touching me. It’s hard enough to think around him at all, much less with his hand on me, his eyes on me, his clean, delicious scent surrounding me. But my sweater is fairly thin and I’m afraid he’ll see the…condition I’m in, so I can’t.

  Maybe if I cross my arms over my chest…

  I ease back against the cushion, forcing Dash to remove his hand. He doesn’t move away, though. He remains so close to me that our knees brush.

  Drink still in hand, I cross my arms protectively over my chest. Unfortunately, the action merely draws coal-black eyes to my breasts. At first, it’s a quick flicker, but then they dart back down and stay there. And, damn them, I feel my nipples tingle into even tighter little buds, like they’re screaming Touch me!

  Oh, God.

  When Dash finally pulls his eyes back up to mine, they’re filled with so much hunger I have to suck in a breath to keep from groaning.

  This is why Jake was worried about me being attracted to an adrenaline junkie, a type who normally repels me like bug spray does an ant. Dash Grainger—the legend, the playboy, the lady-killer—is no joke.

  Dash stretches his arm along the back of the couch, just above my head, his body still angled toward mine, and tilts his head as he asks in a quiet voice, “How about we go tit for tat?”

  Shit. Did he say “tit” because he makes my nipples hard?

  Or is that just an expression?

  I want to get up and walk away, just take myself into another room, another world until someone comes to drive me out of here. I’m bound to make an utter fool of myself before this is over.

  But the proud professional in me refuses to give up just because this guy seems to have my number. I have to salvage this, even if it means sitting here bravely with a straight spine and a raised chin while my body betrays every single feeling that’s racing through it.

  Because I run from no man.

  I only run from Christmas.

  “I’ll be one hundred percent honest with you if you’ll be one hundred percent honest with me.”

  I watch him closely, and something in his expression tells me that this trade isn’t something he offers many people. Hell, he hardly grants interviews at all, so this is a big deal. This could an incredible opportunity for me professionally. I’d be an idiot not to take it.

  And I’m no idiot.

  “Fine. Tit for tat it is. One hundred percent honesty.” With my eyes on his, I raise my glass again, sipping slowly from it, this time prepared for the flames that scorch their way down my throat before settling warmly in my stomach. “I’ll go first. Why do these daredevil stunts? You’re an Olympic gold medalist, you already dominate in snowboarding all across the globe, you’ve got more endorsements than most NBA All-Stars, so why risk everything the way you do? The way you did today?”

  Thoughtful eyes search mine. “I love the high.” His answer is simple and, as promised, completely honest. There’s no hint of reservation. In his gaze, on his face is just bold, bare truth.

  “Isn’t there anything you love more than the high? Family you’d hate to leave, a life you’d hate to give up if you were in an accident that crippled you?”

  “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.” I start to argue, but when my mouth opens, one obsidian brow shoots up in challenge and I clamp my lips shut, nodding for him to proceed. “Why are you here on the day before Christmas Eve rather than spending it with someone you love?”

  I pause.

  He says nothing in the silence. Just waits.

  I consider making up something, like I usually do when someone asks me this question. But the scrupulous part of me squirms at the thought of agreeing to be candid and then not being candid. That’s too much like a lie.

  So, for better or worse, I tell him the real reason.

  “My father was a gambler. He said winning was the best high in the world. Gambling always came first, even before his family. On Christmas day nine years ago, when I was fifteen years old, he left my mother and me to go to a high-stakes poker game. It got robbed. He got shot. He died before we could even see him. My mother never recovered. Now she spends every Christmas drunk off her ass, breaking glasses and dishes and destroying what’s left of her life. So I work.”

  He nods slowly, digesting my words. “I imagine it wasn’t your choice to interview me then. Just to get away at Christmas time.”

  “That’s right,” I confirm softly, still holding to sincerity, whether it offends him or not. “I’ll ask you again. Isn’t there anything you love more than the high?”

  One side of his mouth twists in a wry, humorless way. “I haven’t found anything yet.”

  “What about your parents? Your siblings? Your…your girlfriend?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dash’s hand reach toward me as he takes one curl of my sable brown hair and wraps it around his finger. “My parents are in Morocco. Or Sri Lanka. Or…some place, spending money. I haven’t seen them in years. My brother died of meningitis when I was sixteen, and I’ve never told a woman I love her because I’ve never been in love.”

  “So the only thing you love is the high? The slopes and the danger and the victory?”

  “I love the freedom. I don’t have to think or feel or worry. I just…ski. I fly. I conquer. And, for now, that’s enough.”

  “And what happens when it’s not? What happens when it’s not enough?”

  “I’ll do something else.”

  “So there will always be something more important than people.”

  “Yes. Until there’s not. Until someone walks away with my heart.”

  “How will you know? How can you be so sure you’ve never been in love?”

  His answer is spoken in a hushed tone that rasps across my nerves like crushed velvet. “Because she’ll be my high. That’s how I’ll know.”

  His eyes hold me. I want to look away, to let him have this moment, but I can’t. They won’t let me go.

  “She’ll be one lucky woman,” I confess, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them. Before I can think better of it.

  “I don’t know about lucky, but she’ll be strong. Fierce. She’ll have to be.”

  He’s sucking me in, pulling me under. He’s an avalanche and I’m being swallowed by him. A perfect stranger. How does he do it? How has he managed to throw me off, drag me in, lift me up, all in the course of a few minutes?

  My chest is full with him. My head is light with him. My body is achy with him. It’s like the world I know, the reality I live in, is far from here. Far from us. Time and space and thought are suspended, and anything goes.

  “My turn,” he says, winding his finger deeper into my hair. “Have you ever kissed a stranger in a snowstorm?”

  His
face is drawing closer and all I can think of is how much I want this to happen. But then the last of his words sink in.

  “Snowstorm?” I mumble.

  He nods, his face still coming slowly toward mine.

  “But, the sky…it was blue,” I offer weakly, melting into the cushion at my back.

  “Not anymore,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing mine.

  Just before my eyes drift closed, I notice how dark the room has become. It’s almost like night has fallen.

  I gasp, turning my head toward the window and bolting upright. “Oh shit! It happened?”

  Dash, leaning back onto one elbow since I slipped out from under him, gives me a sexy grin. “Your ‘it’ and my ‘it’ must not be the same thing, because I’m nowhere near making my ‘it’ happen for you yet.”

  The alarm buzzing through me has completely cleared my head, and now thought—real, coherent thought—is rushing back. “The snowstorm. The driver told me it was coming, but I didn’t believe him.” I get up and rush to the window. It doesn’t even look like the same place I arrived at.

  I walk to the door and jerk it open, stepping out on the front porch. The entire world beyond the six-foot-wide wooden veranda is nothing but white oblivion. I can’t even see the tracks of the SUV that brought me here, and there’s a couple of inches of snow burying the footprints each of us left coming up the steps.

  “Well, I can tell you. Shit just got real.”

  There’s laughter in Dash’s voice and I turn to face him. “But…how did this happen? It was beautiful earlier. Like, just a few minutes ago.”

  Wasn’t it?

  I glance at my watch. Surprisingly, I’ve been here almost two hours. I don’t know where the time has gone. The only explanation I can think of is that Dash’s black eyes are like black holes—fathomless places where a girl can get lost if she’s not careful.

  He shrugs, stepping closer to me, his abs flexing as he moves. I have to make myself look back up at his face, and when I do, he’s grinning, like he knows how much trouble I’m having.

  Lord, have mercy.

  “It’s Colorado. When it storms…it storms.”

  “But…but…I can’t stay here. I have to get back to town. I have to call someone to drive me to a lodge where I can get a room. I need a room.”

  “You can stay here. I told you I don’t bite.”

  I look at him, feeling frantic, and realize that I’m not worried about his bite. I’m worried about his kiss. His touch. The magnetic pull of his eyes.

  I’m worried that, if he presses his attention toward me, I won’t be able to say no.

  And that could be a disaster.

  “And Calvin, the photographer, he was supposed to be coming here. Where is he?” I take out my phone and hit the screen. I have no signal whatsoever. “What if he’s been trying to get a hold of me?”

  “I’m sure, like the rest of the crew, he got the hell back to where he’s staying. The locals have been talking about this all day. I assumed you knew.”

  “Well, I knew there was a possibility of snow. I mean, it’s Colorado. And the guy who drove me here mentioned it, but I thought he was trying to scare me. You know, prank the tourist. That type thing.”

  “They never joke about a storm like this.”

  “Well, I kinda wish I’d known that a couple hours ago. Before I let him drop me off here with no way out.”

  Dash’s eyes burn a softer black in the presence of the bright snow, midnight cashmere against white satin sheets. “I think you’re looking at this the wrong way.”

  “And how should I be looking at it?”

  Two big, warm hands rise to gently grip my upper arms, the thumbs rubbing back and forth in a way that should probably be more comforting than sexy.

  But it’s not.

  Any touch from this man is like fuel to a fire I had no idea even existed. I’ve never—never, ever—reacted to a man this way. So profoundly. So wildly. I’m not that girl—the one who can’t control herself, the one who makes decisions based on her body or her heart rather than her head. I’m not her. I’m the strong, sassy one.

  “You wanted to get away at Christmas, to get your mind off things, and here you are. You can freak out about something you can’t change or you can spend the night in a luxurious cabin with a charming man, getting the story you wanted. And maybe a little bit more.”

  A tingle races down my spine. “And exactly what constitutes ‘a little bit more’?”

  He smiles, wide enough to show a row of perfect white teeth and crinkle the skin around his hypnotic eyes. “I was thinking about filet mignon and s’mores and champagne. If I were offering anything else, I wouldn’t have used the word ‘little’.”

  I can’t stop the twitch that plays with the corners of my mouth. “I bet you’ve heard the word ‘incorrigible’ a lot, haven’t you?”

  He shrugs one thick shoulder. “A time or two.”

  I sigh, swiveling my head to look back out at the blizzard-like conditions. “This is such a bad idea,” I murmur.

  Right on the heels of what happened with Jake, not to mention the fact that I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up, it’s quite possible that I could be too weak to endure the considerable charm of someone like Dash. I mean, I just had no idea he’d be this…this…much. This gorgeous. This charismatic. This charming and fun and sexy and… That he’d have this way of stealing time and reason, and making me feel so much in such a short period of time.

  I have a healthy sex drive, just like any twenty-something woman, but it’s never ruled me. Never. Not once. But damn, I can see why women succumb to this guy despite their better judgment.

  I feel a rough finger at my chin, urging my eyes back to some of the most irresistible ones I’ve ever encountered. “It doesn’t have to be. It can be a very, very good idea.”

  I’ve never been one for mincing words, and that kind of directness has gotten me into trouble in the past. Sometimes I blurt things I shouldn’t. Like now.

  “Tell me how staying here, alone, all night, with you could not be a bad thing for me. Jesus, you’re like walking, talking ecstasy!”

  His grin is thousand watt. “I am?”

  “Don’t let that go to your head,” I rush to interject.

  “Which head? You need to be more specific?”

  “Oh, God,” I groan, covering my face.

  He falls quiet and, when I lower my hands, I find him silently considering me, his head tilted to the side again, a gesture I’m finding sexier and more endearing each time he does it. “It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you. Holy shit, am I attracted to you. And I won’t deny that I could list a dozen things in ten seconds or less that I’d love to do to you on a cold, snowy night in front of a fire. But I’m not a mindless, horny teenager. I can appreciate the company of a smart, sassy, beautiful woman, enjoying good food and good drink on the side of a mountain in a storm. This night can be whatever you want it to be. Just…stay.”

  As he says the last, his eyes stray to my mouth.

  I’m breathless and completely dazzled. “Has anyone ever said no to you?”

  He doesn’t answer, just raises his disconcertingly direct gaze to mine and watches me.

  “That’s what I thought,” I mumble with a laugh. With his eyes still on mine, lips curved into a vague smile, Dash reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. He angles his body slightly toward the cabin and tips his head at the door, a silent request for me to come with him. But what is really entailed if I say yes, if I agree?

  This night can be whatever you want it to be.

  Just good food and good wine and interesting conversation with a man I was only supposed to get an hour to interview—he says that could be on the menu if it’s what I want.

  But what if I lose my head to this man and want more? What then?

  “Will you fend me off if I try to sleep with you?” I ask.

  A
gain with the bluntness.

  Someone needs to clip my tongue.

  His pupils swell, even in the brightness of the snow, engulfing his nearly black irises. He looks like a demon. A heaven-sent, angel-perfect demon. Those eyes…they offer sinful paradise, wicked utopia.

  “Would you really want me to?” Even his voice is a dichotomy—smooth as silk yet coarse as gravel.

  “I doubt it, but I’m not talking about want. I’m talking about need. And what’s best for me. In the morning. When the storm is over and I have to go back to reality.”

  “And what if I’m what’s best for you?”

  “But I can’t leave that up to you, now can I?”

  His grin returns, full of manly mischief. “Of course you can.”

  Somehow, we’re at the door. He’s managed to pull me, ever so slowly, across the porch without me even noticing. But I’m noticing now. And it’s time to make a decision.

  I dig in my heels, tugging back. Away. “Promise me.”

  He stops, fingers still entwined with mine. “You’d trust me if I did promise?”

  I pause to think on his question, and strangely, my gut tells me that I absolutely can trust him to keep his word. This man doesn’t need to resort to lies and false promises to get what he wants. All he has to do is smile and hold out his hand.

  “Yes. I would.”

  A small dent appears between his eyes. It’s there for a heartbeat and then gone, as though my answer confused him.

  “Then yes, I promise. I will fend you off if you try to have sex with me.”

  It’s my turn to smile. “Great. Then let’s go.”

  I walk around him, this time pulling him with me. When I meet with mild resistance I turn to look back at him. His expression shows a blend of consternation and exasperation.

  “Something wrong?” I ask.

  “I just promised not to have sex with you.”

  “You did.”

  “Well, hell.”

  I laugh. “You’re not the only one who knows how to get what he wants.”

  One side of his mouth lifts into an ironic grin. “Touché, pussycat.”