by Fox, Addison
“Cameras?” Grier squeaked.
“Yes, there are cameras. Let me guess. You thought you were the first one with the clever idea to go at it in the sauna?”
“Um, no. I just . . . well, yes, actually.”
Avery patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I turned them off when I sent Mick in there. Clearly it was a smart move on my part.”
“Oh God,” Grier moaned as she dropped her head in her hands again.
It briefly crossed Sloan’s mind to wonder why Avery seemed to have all the responsibility. Where was Susan? Or some of the other hotel staff? Pulling back on the urge to say something, Sloan knew it wasn’t her place to poke at it.
Yet.
Even if she did think it was curious. And really, really unfair.
“Come on. Spill it, Steamy.”
“She had three orgasms,” Sloan added helpfully, gratified when Avery gifted her with a broad smile and a refill on her coffee. “And that was just the first time they slept together.”
“Sloan!”
“What?” Sloan shrugged as she sipped her hot coffee.
“It’s a detail. And the woman asked for details.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Actually, it’s part of the best friend code. Orgasms require some details.”
“And triple orgasms usually require the confessional,” Avery added helpfully. “Lucky for you we’re snowed in. I could, however, ask Father Joseph to come on down if you need to do a little confessing. I can turn off the cameras in the conference room for you if you need it.”
“Avery! I’m fine. Thank you.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders as she poured herself a cup of coffee and settled back in her chair. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Oh, you were that.” Sloan laid her napkin on the side of her plate.
Whatever annoyance Grier must have felt evaporated into giggles and Sloan couldn’t help laughing in return. “Three, G? Really?”
“Yup.”
Sloan met Avery’s gaze. “I say we dump her body out back in one of the larger snowdrifts and go jump the man. He’s stranded in here somewhere and no one will find her until spring anyway. We can both be long gone by then.”
“Long gone and several orgasms richer.” Avery nodded. “It sounds like a good plan.”
Grier grinned up at them, a faraway look filling her eyes. Sloan was pleased to see whatever sadness had accompanied her when she’d arrived had clearly moved on.
“We’ll go after I finish my coffee. Give her a head start.”
Sloan gasped as a napkin smacked her in the head. “You really are the biggest bitch, Sloan McKinley.”
“Oh, come on. You forced my hand with the triple orgasm comment. And then rubbing it in about how that was only the first time.”
Grier’s grin only grew broader as she delicately wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Figured that’d get your goat.”
“I’m a small enough person to admit that it most certainly did.” Sloan couldn’t stop her laughter from joining Grier’s as she leaned over to kiss one cherubic cheek. “It’s a good thing I love you.”
Avery reached over and snatched a slice of bacon off of Grier’s plate. “Have I mentioned how glad I am you two came to town?”
By the time Walker dug out the snow covering his driveway and then his grandmother’s, it was almost eleven. He itched to head over to the café, feigning hunger for an early lunch, but had fought the urge and went in to work instead. Things always slowed for him around this time of year, with the usual town frenzy over the bachelor competition only contributing to the slow pace of business during the holidays.
No one seemed all that inclined to start divorce proceedings at Christmas. Wills were usually a New Year’s resolution, not a fun holiday activity. And property disputes were always saved for the spring and summer when pieces of land could actually be surveyed.
As he flipped through the few active files on his desk, his gaze caught on a public drunkenness charge he was handling for Denny Fitzgerald. Why the man thought he’d even try and fight the charge Walker still hadn’t figured out, but he’d agreed to take on the case.
Denny wasn’t a bad guy. He’d made a bad choice—managed to do so every couple of years or so—but he was a good person all in all. He helped his neighbors and always pitched in on town activities. He was the first to help someone move or take down an old tree or set up for the town Fourth of July festivities.
And he was going to be one of the bachelors in the auction.
Walker had seen him eyeing Sloan a few times—all the guys in town had their eyes on her. Hell, she was a beautiful woman who no doubt drew attention even in overcrowded Manhattan. There was no doubt she’d draw significant attention in a town with an impressive population of seven hundred and twelve.
“You look like you’ve been sucking on lemons.”
Walker glanced up to find Myrtle poking her head into the office. “And good morning to you too, Myrtle.”
“You know damn well it’s almost noon, so don’t sass me. And what the hell are you doing in here?”
“Working.” Walker made a big show of glancing at his watch. “Which is clearly more than I can say for you this morning.”
“It’s barely eleven thirty. You’re lucky I made it in at all, especially since I had to deal with Mort.”
“What’s wrong?” Walker immediately thought of Myrtle’s angina-attack prone husband.
“That man is going to drive me to drink, I swear on all that’s holy. He spent the whole damn morning bitching about the traffic on Main Street since your grandmother closed off the intersection in front of the bank. Why does she do that? I swear, it makes my husband bat-shit to deal with that.”
Walker almost laughed at the idea of traffic in Indigo. Road congestion generally meant waiting one whole rotation of the town’s traffic light turning from green to yellow to red and back again. Opting to ignore a subject he knew he wouldn’t win, he shifted the conversation. “We got two feet of snow yesterday. Don’t tell me he was out shoveling this morning.”
“I damn well know how much snow we got.” Her voice softened. “And no, he wasn’t. The Stark boy came over and shoveled early this morning. And don’t be changing the subject. Why does your grandmother close off that damn street?”
He shook his head, barely repressing a sigh. “You know she does that every year. For one week, the street gets closed off for the competition.”
“A whole week,” she muttered to herself as she walked out of his office and to her desk in the front lobby. Despite the distance, he heard her continued mumbling. “For one afternoon’s worth of activity.”
Bored with his own company, he followed behind her. “You know that’s where they set up the pail races.”
“Well, why the hell does she have to set up so early?”
“So they can plow off the street every day and get it good and dry so none of our fearsome competitors slip on any ice.”
“It’s a pain in the ass.”
Walker sighed out loud this time and wondered how Mort Driver had put up with the lovely Myrtle for damn near forty years.
“Speaking of pains in the ass,” Myrtle added. “I was hoping you’d be out of my hair today. Certainly there must be things you need to take care of in town.”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
The bottle-red curls on her head bobbed in the affirmative. “Yes.”
“I’m trying to get some work done.”
“There’s nothing that needs doing. The few case files that are active are still moving along at a crawl. Get out of here and let me do my filing.”
Walker glanced down at her pristine desk. “I don’t see a single file on there.”
“Then get out of here and let me play Spider Solitaire.”
“Remind me again why I pay you?”
“Because I’m the best damn paralegal in the state. And I work and slave for you. Just
because your lazy ass doesn’t know how to drum up business in the dead of winter doesn’t mean it’s my fault. You want me to work, get me some case files to work.”
Myrtle leaned down to shove her purse into a desk drawer, her mutterings continuing to float up above her like thought bubbles. He heard the word “lazy” mentioned a few more times, along with some admonition about the hazards of idle hands.
Walker caught a blaze of movement outside on the street and saw several women in heavily padded coats walk into the middle of the town square. Curious, he moved toward the windows, surprised to identify them as Sloan, Grier and Avery.
“What are you looking at?”
“Our intrepid visitors.”
Myrtle moved up behind him and let out a low whistle. “Those two sure are shaking up things around here. I hear the bachelors are anxious to be bid on by one of them.”
“Who says they’re bidding on anyone?”
“Sloan let it slip that she was planning on bidding on several for her article.”
“Several?”
“She’s got four more days after next weekend. Says she plans to make good use of her time. Every man I’ve talked to so far sure is anxious to find out if she picks him.”
“So you think she’s going to bid on four guys?”
“She could bid on up to eight. Girl’s got to eat lunch and dinner. Hell, make it twelve. She could throw cocktails in between lunch and dinner.”
“There’s no way she’ll bid on twelve men. Do we even have that many signed up in the competition?”
“We’ve got thirty-eight at last count, two more just signed up yesterday. She could handle a third of that, no problem. Expense account,” Myrtle added in a knowing voice.
“She is not bidding on twelve men.”
“Theoretically, she could. It’s not like she’s assured of winning each and every one.”
An unnatural spear of annoyance twisted and turned at this decidedly unsavory development. He reminded himself Sloan had a job to do. That was all.
So why was he suddenly fighting the insistent need to pound on a few of his friends and neighbors?
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Myrtle’s voice pierced through his imagined fistfight with Denny.
“What’s so sweet?”
“It looks like Bear and Tommy Sanger just started a snowball fight on the Square.”
“With who?”
“With the girls. Oh, I do think I’m going to pull up my chair. Love is in the air; can’t you feel it?”
“Like hell it is.”
Without a second thought for his actions, Walker snatched his coat, hat and scarf off the rack near the door, shoving into the sleeves as he stomped across Main Street.
It would be a long time later before he remembered Myrtle’s knowing voice as she hollered at him on the way out. “It’s about damn time.”
Icy snow dripped down her neck when Sloan ducked to dodge a second snowball from Tommy. He might have gotten her squarely with the first one, but she’d be damned if he got her again.
Unmarked snow crunched under her feet as she ran toward where Grier and Avery hid behind a bench to prepare their attack. The cold air pierced her lungs, the pure freshness like a drug to her senses as she wiped at the dripping snow with her mitten.
No black snow piled up in gutters as it melted, she marveled. Nope, not a bit. The Alaskan snow was pristine and as bright white as a wedding dress.
“Here. You’re due.” Grier plopped a huge snowball into her hands, packed as tight as a softball.
Sloan judged the distance from where they hid behind the bench to how many feet she’d have to throw the snowball to hit the guys and decided she’d have to expose herself to attack to get the type of hit she wanted.
Eyeing the distance and lining up her shot, Sloan allowed Avery to toss a few to distract them before making her move.
The moment Tommy was occupied dodging Avery’s attack, she raced in Bear’s direction as a diversion tactic, then swerved at the last minute.
“Take that!”
She barely had time to pump her fist in victory as the snowball hit him square on the head before Bear’s booming voice rang out, followed by a heavy thud of snow. It grazed her shoulder before veering off to ground.
“Ooooh,” she taunted at the man who had to be twice her size. “I’ve seen four-year-olds in Central Park with better aim than you.”
He lunged forward with a deep belly laugh that made her think he must play the town’s Santa and he almost caught her around the ankles before she dodged away. “No pitching skills and no tackling skills, either. Poor baby.”
“Sloan!”
Avery motioned for her to head back to base before Bear could pick himself up. His laughter still echoed across the snow-covered lawn and Sloan couldn’t contain her own. “This is fun!”
“It sure beats that black, scummy snow we get in New York.”
“To be fair,” Sloan added philosophically as she bent down to hard-pack another snowball, “it does start out white.”
“True. It just doesn’t stay that way. But up here . . .” Grier put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the landscape. “Wow. It’s just amazing.”
Sloan stopped what she was doing and wrapped an arm around Grier’s waist, her gaze fixed on the town that spread out before them. “It’s really incredible. I’m glad you asked me to come here.”
“I’m so glad you came.”
They were about to hug when a loud shout pulled them back.
“Oh shit,” Grier muttered as she dropped her arm. “Reinforcements.”
Three men walked up to Bear and Tommy. She recognized Skate and it looked like a guy she’d met the first night and another she recognized from breakfast with the bachelors. “We can take them.”
Sloan had begun to pack another snowball when a low voice caught her attention. “If you think that, you’ve never had a snowball fight in Alaska.”
She straightened and came face-to-face with Walker. She hadn’t seen him since the airport and wasn’t the least surprised when ribbons of desire wrapped themselves around her rib cage, making her gasp for a full breath.
Damn, but how did he manage to look like a magazine ad with a woolen cap pulled down over his head? There was nothing sexy about woolen caps.
Yet he looked like a walking billboard for the health and vigor of the great outdoors.
“You’re taking our side? Won’t that make you a traitor to the cause?”
“Traitor?”
“You know.” An impish urge overtook her, and she stretched up to whisper in his ear. Even through the layers of padding between her coat and his, she could feel the warmth of his body. “You’re selling out against the Penis Squad over there.”
A loud bark of laughter greeted her. “I think the Penis Squad has more than enough dicks. Besides. I much prefer the view over here.”
“Walker. Would you shut that lawyerly mouth of yours and get your hands dirty. Honest to God,” Avery muttered as she smacked him on the back of the head. She thumped the wool cap he wore, then added to the insult by slamming a snowball in his hands. “Quit flirting and get to work.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
She heard the flood of insults that flew across the snow as the men booed and hissed, swore and antagonized. Walker’s smile only grew as he hollered back. “And who’s over here with three beautiful women?”
Five matched expressions—dropped mouths and wide eyes—greeted his logic before he launched two missiles at the center of the line.
“Direct hit. Yep”—Sloan patted him on the back—“we can use you.”
She allowed herself one lingering gaze as his dark eyes took possession of hers. Heat arced between the two of them like the aurora borealis she’d watched in online videos, so intense she was surprised the air didn’t turn a deep, vivid shade of red.
The urge to kiss him—to ignore the people who were rapidly filling the square and simply take what she wanted—ne
arly overtook her, but she resisted.
And instead slammed a snowball into his head.
Chapter Sixteen
The Great Snowball Fight of 2011 would go down as legend in Indigo. Walker glanced around the square, now filled to bursting with a good portion of the town’s population, and couldn’t keep the smile from his face.
He felt like a kid.
And he hadn’t felt like that in a long time.
A very long time.
The snow on the square was alternately hard-packed and pitted from an afternoon of attacks and retreats as snowball after snowball was constructed between gloved hands. The diner had set up a coffee and hot chocolate station and he saw his grandmother along with Mary and Julia, holding court in lawn chairs not too far from there.
His gaze caught on Sloan a little farther away, where she stood in deep conversation with Grier. A heavy wool cap with a bright, sewed-on patch that read TASTY’S BAIT AND TACKLE covered her head, which he could only assume was a loan from their intrepid proprietor of any and all ice-fishing needs.
Even with the less-than-stylish headgear, he couldn’t stop his groin from tightening as his gaze once again returned to Sloan. Impish mischief flooded his veins and a deep craving for hot chocolate suddenly gripped him and wouldn’t let go.
“Did we determine a final score?”
Walker turned as Avery came up next to him, her cheeks bright pink with exertion and a broad smile riding her face. “It may have to be a draw. No one’s giving up that last round.”
“No matter. We kicked ass.”
“That we did.”
He wrapped an arm around her heavily padded shoulders and reached up to tug her hat off. “Tasty get to you, too?”
“He made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”
“When did that happen? I was playing on your side.”
“I think it was when you were nursing that cramp in your foot like a big baby.”
“It was an old basketball injury that got aggravated.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, smart-ass. So what did he give you in exchange for your modeling skills?”