“Maybe you’re just afraid to mess up your fancy hair.”
“My hair is fancy?”
“It’s...adequate.”
He raised a brow, then crouched down to scoop up snow.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I warned, launching my final defense. It landed a full meter short. Great. Iwasa terrible shot.
He straightened just as I yanked down a branch above his head.
A curtain of snow fell on him, turning the man in black into Jack Frost.
I laughed so hard I nearly fell over.
John blinked through the snow, only his eyes and slightly red nose visible, his breath puffing in white clouds. “You’ll regret this.”
The laughter caught in my throat. I turned and ran.
He was faster. In no time, he tackled me into a snowbank.
I landed flat on my back, giggling breathlessly, with John on top of me. His arms caged me in, keeping most of his weight off, but his grin was wicked and far too close.
“Got you,” he said. “This sweater is cashmere, it’s ruined now.”
“Oh no,” I deadpanned. “Tragic.”
We were wide in the open. Anyone could walk by. But all I could focus on was the way his wet hair curled at the ends.
He made a low sound, almost a growl. His eyes flicked to my lips—intentions unmistakable.
“They could see us,” I whispered, suddenly breathless.
“We’re not doing anything bad,” he murmured, lowering his head. A damp curl grazed my forehead. His nose brushed mine. “Not yet.”
A wave of anticipation rushed through me. Despite the snow soaking through my trousers, I felt too hot.Something rustled in the bushes nearby. Probably an animal. Or worse—Charlene.
Sensing my hesitation, John stood and pulled me up with him, steadying me with a hand at my back. A second later, a volley of snowballs flew in our direction, accompanied by wild whoops.
We bolted for the shed.
Laughing, we dove inside and slammed the door behind us.
“Did they see us?” I asked, breath catching.
“I don’t think so.” John peeked through a crack in the wood. “They went the other way.”
It was dark inside—just outlines and shadows—but I could feel him. Closer now.
My back bumped the shelves.
The same shelves he’d once pressed me against.
He must have had the same memory because before I knew it John had cornered me, his thigh pressing between my legs, opening them. I gasped at the sensation, willing my body to step away from his but apparently, I wasn’t in charge of it anymore.
“This can’t happen again, Mr. Bestselling Author,” I said with my mouth. My fingers, however, curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. “I thought we agreed on that.”
“I didn’t agree to anything. You ran.”
