Snow Day

by Shannon Stacey, Jennifer Greene

  “Not another word,” Colton warned them all sternly. “Miss Ambroise over there,” he nodded to Tessa, “cooked and served the dinner. She’s not going to do the cleanup, too.”

  “Are you going to help?” Kevin asked Colton.

  “I absolutely am. And I’ll be watching all of you every step of the way. So, no messing around.”

  “Who died and left you king?” asked Ned.

  “My grandfather,” Colton responded, looking Ned straight in the eyes.

  Ned stared back, obviously not sure how to respond.

  “He’s Colton Herrington,” Jack Biddle spoke up. “He can buy and sell each and every one of you—”

  “Jack,” Colton interjected.

  “And he can kick your asses,” Jack finished.

  “Jack,” Colton barked. He looked to the boys. “That wasn’t the point I was making.”

  “Are you rich?” asked Sam.

  “The point is, we’re all stranded together, and we’re all going to share the work.”

  “Like, really rich?” asked Kevin.

  “For tonight, you probably need to care more about the part where he can kick your ass,” the coach intoned.

  Colton struggled to suppress a grin. “So, we’re all agreed? We share the workload?”

  There was more grumbling from the boys, but they made their way toward the dining room and the kitchen. Colton started with the clearing.

  Tessa sidled past him. “Tough guy?” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Don’t you mean thank you?”

  “You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

  “Go sit down.”

  “I can help.”

  “You’ve done enough. Relax. Read a book or something.”

  Her glance went to the messy table, but he could see she was tempted.

  “Now,” he ordered. “I’ve got this.”

  Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. “You do seem to have a way of keeping order.”

  He couldn’t help but grin, but then he warned himself not to care about her opinion. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “And I’ll go find a good book.”

  “You do that.”

  The coach had gotten up to help, as well, and the Biddles had made themselves even scarcer. So the great room was suddenly quiet and empty. Colton couldn’t help but be glad about that. Tessa deserved a little peace.

  It took about an hour of bickering, reluctance and petty complaints to get through all the dishes. When they finally finished, Colton felt as if he’d put in a full day’s work.

  Barry had called to tell them Christie was in good shape with a cast on her arm. Her mother, Summer, had required surgery, but she was now recovering nicely. Barry was staying over at the hospital since they could use his help. There were a number of storm-related injuries coming in, and emergency crews were stretched since many of them were still out looking for the missing April.

  Now the boys were clustered in the castle kitchen, and Tessa appeared in the doorway. She had showered and changed, wearing a pair of skinny jeans, heeled shoes and a black-and-purple sweater. Her brown hair glistened under the lights and, even without makeup, her blue eyes were deep and intense.

  “As a reward,” she said to the boys.

  A dozen heads swiveled her way and gaped at her. They might only be fifteen, but they recognized a pretty woman when they saw one, and she had their complete attention.

  “I’m going to take you all on a tour of the basement.”

  “The basement?” asked Kevin.

  “Do we have to clean it up?” asked Ned. “Basements are lame.”

  “Any more of that battle armor down there?” asked Sam.

  “Plenty more stuff like that,” said Tessa. “Shields and swords, all kinds of interesting things.” She handed around a few flashlights, keeping one for herself.

  “Let’s do it,” one of the other boys called out.

  “Can’t be worse than dishes,” Kevin capitulated.

  Ned scowled, but the tide was against him.

  “This way,” Tessa called out.

  Colton fell into the back of the pack, intending to keep order through the tour.

  It turned out he needn’t have worried. The boys were absolutely fascinated with the collections amassed in the Ambroise basement. Tessa’s grandfather had been a skilled metal worker, with a passion for the medieval period. The boys were impressed with the weight of the swords and shields, clearly imagining what it must have been like to live in a different era. In the 1600s, they’d have been old enough to fight.

  They also seemed to like Sophie’s paintings. It didn’t hurt that there were a few nudes, causing jokes, guffaws and a few catcalls. They were fascinated by the size of the wine cellar, and intrigued by the passageways and hidden rooms, though they were disappointed to learn the castle didn’t have a dungeon.

  Colton had to admit, offering the tour had been a stroke of genius on Tessa’s part. By the time they finished and emerged from the dusty caverns, it was time for the boys to roll out their sleeping bags. Luckily, their van had been full of their overnight gear from the trip.

  It became very obvious, very quickly, that it would be all but impossible to settle twelve excited and rambunctious boys down for the night. But Tessa surprised Colton again. She produced a book to read to them.

  Predictably, they groaned and complained that they were far, far too old to be read a bedtime story. Tessa made them a deal. If they’d lie there quietly and listen for fifteen minutes, she’d let them decide whether or not to have her finish the book. They grumbled but agreed.

  She began reading the tale of Prince Colby of Bersadia, a fifteen-year-old boy who’d lived in a kingdom, long, long ago. At first, the boy’s name startled Colton, because Colby had been his father’s nickname for him when he was little. But he soon forgot about the name as Tessa’s sultry voice drew them all into a tale of swashbuckling betrayal and danger. It was a coming-of-age story, perfect for the audience, and completely appropriate to the castle tour they’d just completed.

  At the fifteen-minute mark, nobody uttered a peep. Soon, Rand and Emilee were listening, and even Jack and Sherry crept into the room, hovering near a doorway. Tessa read on while the young Colby lost his parents and then his grandparents, having to take charge of the kingdom at a young age. The land was plagued by drought and marauding bandits, and the young king was betrayed by those he trusted, nearly killed as others schemed for power.

  By the time the story ended, the boys had completely settled. It was coming up on midnight, and it was obvious they’d be able to go to sleep.

  The coach thanked Tessa for making his life so much easier. He was going to sleep on the couch with the team, while the Biddles had been given a room in the empty south tower. Colton and Rand had spent last night in the north tower, where Tessa, Emilee and Barry had rooms.

  Now, Colton watched Tessa cross the great room toward him, unable to pull his gaze away from her long, shapely legs, the sway of her hips, the curve of her breasts and especially the brilliance of her smile. She was so smart, so creative, yet so incredibly down-to-earth. She was unique. There wasn’t another woman like her anywhere.

  “You coming up?” she shocked him by asking as she sashayed past.

  He immediately rose to his feet. “Absolutely.”

  “There’s something I want to show you.”

  She didn’t mean it the way he’d heard it. His hormones were in overdrive because he was being so starkly reminded of why he’d fallen in love with her. It made him hear a lilt in her voice that simply wasn’t there. She probably had another painting, or maybe a pink ceramic cat sculpture created by some long-lost relative that she thought he needed to see. Whatever it was, he’d go. The hard truth was, h
e’d go wherever she led him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TESSA WAS RELIEVED and glad that the boys had settled down easily. She was happier still that the Prince Colby story had gone over well. She’d never read it. It had caught her eye today in Sophie’s library—an extraordinary find.

  Now, she wanted privacy to share her discovery with Colton.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as she led the way into her bedroom.

  She was slightly nervous, slightly excited. She couldn’t wait another minute to share.

  “Take a look,” she told him, handing over the slim hardback book.

  The cover was a picture of a pensive boy. He wore period costume, with a leather tunic. A falcon soared in the background, high above a crumbling stone castle.

  “It was a good story,” said Colton. “Reading them to sleep was a really good idea.”

  “Look at it,” Tessa prompted.

  His gaze moved down. “What?”

  “The author, Colton. Look at the name of the author.”

  He read aloud. “Charles Herrington.” Then he instantly went still. “Is this a joke?”

  “No. It’s him. Read the dedication.”

  Colton didn’t open the book. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it in Sophie’s library.”

  “When?”

  “Today. What does it matter? Read what he wrote.”

  Colton’s jaw went tight. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. But then he pulled open the front cover. Tessa had memorized the words.

  For my darling son. When I am not there, I am there, because you are there, and you are me through the clutter of imagination and noise.

  Colton was silent for a very long time. “I never know what the hell he means.”

  “He means he loves you and he’s proud of you.”

  Colton’s tone hardened. “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Colton.”

  “He doesn’t have any right to love me and be proud of me. He left me.”

  Tessa shared what she had realized in the reading. “Your father couldn’t run a resort company any more than Roble in the story could have been king.”

  “You’re staying the story is a parable.”

  “The story is atonement.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Maybe not,” Tessa allowed. “But you always said he was oblivious to everything around him, especially you. He’s not. He knows when he fails. He realizes he failed as a father. And I bet it hurts him.”

  Colton tossed the book unceremoniously onto her dresser.

  She put a hand on his arm. It was hot through his dress shirt, muscles tense as steel. “Charles couldn’t bring himself to stay in Boston, and he knew Paris wouldn’t work for you.”

  “There’s food and shelter in Boston. He could have written there.”

  “Oh, Colton.” She sighed heavily, wondering how he could be so smart yet so oblivious to emotional drivers.

  “What now?” he demanded.

  “We’re not all as tough as you. We can’t turn off our emotions. The rest of us want, the rest of us feel.”

  His eyes went hard and dark. “You don’t think I want? You don’t think I feel?”

  “No,” she admitted, taking a plunge to where she’d never gone with Colton. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Well, I do,” he admitted. “But we can’t always operate on emotion and want.”

  “We can sometimes,” she countered, refusing to back down.

  His eyes drilled into hers. “How about now?” he rasped, leaning in. “Is now a good time to operate on emotion and want?”

  Cascades of longing washed through her. “What do you want?”

  It was transparent in his expression, of course. And she wanted it, too. It might be wrong. It might be foolish. But she wanted Colton more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  “You.” His arms went around her, jerking her against him, his mouth coming down hard, fast and determined, robbing her of breath.

  She gave into it, gave into Colton, dove into her first glimpse of his unvarnished desire.

  The giddy sensation lasted all of thirty seconds. She could feel the exact moment he brought himself back under control. He carried on with the kiss, but it was choreographed instead of raw with emotion.

  Each kiss was perfect, as were his words, as was each and every caress. His fingertips skimmed her stomach as he removed her sweater. He effortlessly released the clasp of her bra. His tongue teased hers in a way that made her knees weak and brought moans of desire to her lips.

  He tossed her bra, gathering her against him, his shirt abrading her tender skin. When his hands cradled her face, raking into her hair as he covered her in tender kisses, she felt as though her soul was melting.

  He scooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. There he lay her down, stretched out beside her, brushed his knuckles across the tips of her breasts, making her gasp in reaction as shards of exquisite desire darted to her stomach and below.

  He knew just how to touch her, exactly what to say. She couldn’t remember when he’d learned it all, and she certainly hadn’t given him any pointers. He seemed to have an innate aptitude for perfect lovemaking.

  She, on the other hand, fumbled with his shirt buttons until he took over. She caressed his bare chest, working her way down his washboard stomach, thinking she’d change things up a bit. But he stopped her with a gentle hand.

  “Let me,” he whispered.

  Then his hands roamed free, bringing her deftly to heights of arousal, stripping off their clothes, checking to see if she was ready before kissing her deeply, moving their bodies to perfect symmetry and starting a rhythm that led her both gently and passionately, inexorably to completion.

  She didn’t complain. There was nothing to complain about. It was all so perfect, as it always was. She shimmered at the edge of ecstasy, longer, and longer still, hovering in slow motion before catapulting over the edge to absolute, blinding, oblivious pleasure.

  As her breathing stabilized, he moved to one side, pulling a quilt overtop of them, brushing her messy hair back from her face, kissing her swollen lips with just enough pressure to be meaningful without hurting. He settled on his side, cradling her, making her feel warm and cared for in the aftermath.

  “How do you do that?” she found herself asking.

  “Do what?” He straightened the quilt so it was even around them.

  “Make it so perfect.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s you.”

  “It’s not me. I just lay here.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Colton.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious, too.” His tone went low. “I’ve missed you, Tessa.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She’d missed him, too. There were so many things about him to admire and respect. And he was the best lover she would ever have.

  He reached off the bed, fumbling for a few moments.

  “What are you doing?”

  He came up on his elbow, gazing down at her, admiration clear in his eyes. “You know, you are the most amazing woman in the world.”

  “You don’t need to flatter me just because we made love.”

  “It’s not flattery.” He drew a deep breath. “I made mistakes, Tessa. I don’t know what they all were, but I know it was my fault. And I want, no I need to make it better, to fix it between us.”

  Trepidation came to life in the pit of her stomach. “Colton, don’t.”

  “You deserve everything good in the world, Tessa. I promise you—”

  “Let’s not talk now.”

&nb
sp; Nothing had changed. They’d made love, and it was perfect. But perfect wasn’t what she needed, perfect wasn’t the thing she could do.

  He moved his hand in front of her, opening his palm, revealing a tiny, blue velvet pouch. “I’ve been carrying it around with me.” He loosened the delicate drawstring. “For months now, it’s been next to my heart.”

  Before Tessa could even breathe, her engagement ring popped out of the little bag, landing on his broad palm.

  She could have cried. It was a perfect reproposal. He was such an amazing man. What woman wouldn’t die to hear words like that from her lover, to experience such a romantic gesture?

  “Marry me, Tessa. I’ll get it right this time. I promise.”

  Tessa felt tears sting at the back of her eyes. “You didn’t get it wrong last time.”

  He smiled. “That’s good.”

  “You got it perfect, Colton.” She forced herself to look into his eyes, chest aching so badly she thought her ribs would burst. “That’s why I had to leave. That’s why I can’t come back.”

  His expression faltered. Then his eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. “You want better than perfect?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I’m trying to understand, but you’re not making sense.”

  Tessa swallowed. She gripped the quilt on top of her, balling it in her hands, trying desperately to regroup. “You’re too perfect, Colton,” she whispered hollowly. “And I can’t keep up.”

  His hand fisted around the ring, and his expression turned remote. “Who’s asking you to keep up?”

  “You are.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s as honest as I can be.”

  He rolled from the bed, rising beside her. “What do you want from me?”

  She sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. “I can’t describe it. It’s impossible to describe. It’s not something to be fixed. Either you have it or you don’t.”

  He stepped into his pants, maintaining an admirable level of control considering what had just happened. “So, you won’t marry me because I’m too perfect. Yet I have flaws you can’t describe, that I apparently can’t fix, even if you could describe them?”