His nose is mere millimeters from mine. Opening my lips, just a little, ready to welcome him in, I clench my thighs together as my center throbs—knowing he can provide the relief I want.
But I’m left wanting. A giant snowball lands on our faces, shocking me back into reality. Gasping, I inhale snow, then cough in his face, even as Jack’s laughing and cursing under his breath at the same time.
He leaps up and away from me to attack Cliff and Todd. I hear what sounds like, “Raincheck,” under his breath, but I’m not sure. Without his rugged, sharp, scruffy jawline in my sight, I see snow-frosted evergreens. And blue. The clouds have parted; the heavy gray of just an hour ago seems to be clearing. Hopefully, this promise of blue skies holds up, delivering a clear night sky for the main event tonight. Remember, Holly, you’re here for the comet, for science. Not for the ranch hand. Definitely not for orgasms.
Struggling, I make my way back to standing, but my heart isn’t in the game anymore. For a brief moment in time, I could picture this being my everyday life—being a unit of four, permanently.
But the snowball feels like a comet smacking me back into my goals and dreams. A family isn’t in the cards for me. My career is. I wave off Cliff’s plaintive pleas for help, shouting, “Too cold!” as I shuffle back toward the protection and quiet of the cabin. I need to get back to work and focus.
The rest of the morning and afternoon pass with me hiding in my room, working. There’s a knock when the boys have made lunch. I eat, silently grateful that Jack runs the generator to ensure the fridge stays cold and the well bladder is full. I send a thank you to the Kringle Comet that Jack doesn’t eat with us. Again, a while later, another knock, with an invitation to play Monopoly. I decline the game. I can’t possibly sit across from Jack for that long without melting from desire.
“Working,” is a generous word for today. Having this cabin to myself for the weekend, I intended to finish a paper I’ve been working on. Start a grant proposal for next year. And get a jump start on what I want to publish about the Kringle Comet.
As I stare at my laptop and the notebook beside it, I have pity for past Holly with the high ambitions. She had no idea she’d be waylaid by a snowstorm and a mountain man with impeccable muscles and a kiss that makes my toes curl in delight. My hypothesis last night about kissing him to get him out of my system was dead wrong.
My new hypothesis is to avoid him, but after many hours of having the memory of his callused hands on my breasts come back to me, along with his gruff voice in my head calling me a good girl, I pronounce that idea dead, too.
Eventually, after pacing the small bedroom and giving myself a pep-talk, I’m ready to really work. The blank screen has been hurting my brain, and my brain—ever looking out for mysurvival—sends me movie reels of Jack and me last night before the fire. So instead of just staring at the screen, I free-write, allowing myself to fill the page with whatever flies out of my fingers. I tell myself it will get the creative juices flowing.
After twenty minutes, I look at the words on the screen, and sigh at the third paragraph, where I outline how to split my time between work and this dumb man up here on Mt. Frost.
I am so screwed. Well, I’d like to be. That admission causes a groan to escape from me.
And that’s when someone else knocks at the bedroom door, making my insides flutter, hoping it’s a grumpy ranch hand on the other side.
Nope. It’s just Todd and Cliff inviting me out for dinner. “We even lit candles!” Cliff says, bouncing on his toes. A candlelit dinner with Jack is absolutely what I want, and the last thing I need.
Chapter 11
Jack
After spending the entire day alternating between berating myself for perpetually listening for any sign of Dr. Holly coming out of her room as if I’m her lapdog at the ready, and telling myself I’m a jack-ass—pun intended—I’m so spun up with emotions that I haven’t felt since high school that I have to go shovel more snow just to burn off my angst. I’m grateful the boys go pound on her door for dinner so I don’t have to stand in her doorway with puppy-dog eyes.
It isn’t our job to cater food for her. But there are three of us and one of Dr. Holly, so it seems only fair. She didn’t intend to be stuck with us this weekend. It’s absurd to think she’ll cook for my family. Thankfully, Anna keeps the porch freezer full of food. I’ve made a roast, rice, and roasted broccoli and turnips I found in the bottom of the freezer. Anna likes to preserve things she grows. Why on earth she grew turnips, then thought they’d be a good idea to stock up here, I’ll never know. But I’m grateful she did.
After babying the generator today to ensure it keeps working, making the boys shovel the walkway with me as best we can, and playing an agonizing game of Monopoly, then more angstyshoveling, I’m tired but wired, craving her smile, her voice as she talks science, her eyes that sparkle when she looks at me.
When she appears, her hair down and curly around her shoulders, her sweater tight around her breasts and belly, I can’t help but stare. She shouldn’t look this good. I shouldn’t desire her this much. The bold text stretched across her chest reads, “Hotter Than a Solar Flare.” Silently, I agree with the sentiment, but I don’t comment.
Her eyes are bright, and though her smile feels a little forced, she sits with us and laughs with ease at Cliff’s mispronunciation of constellation, saying constipation. From there, the quality of the conversation goes downhill, but the sparkle in her eyes as she smiles increases tenfold.
The boys understand chores still happen even at the cabin and clear the table and wash the dishes without grumbling while I make sure there’s a level, stable surface to set up her telescope outside. I re-shoveled the path earlier. Back inside, I make two big thermoses, one of black coffee and one with hot cocoa for the boys. I make a pile of thick woolen blankets by the door. While the lack of clouds is great for stargazing, it means the temperature will plummet tonight.
There’s no chance to talk privately or to have a moment together before we all tromp out into the snow. It’s probably better this way; does a kiss need to be discussed?
Todd starts singing Christmas carols, and Dr. Holly quickly joins in with Cliff, leaving me looking like the Grinch. They start a new song, and when my lips are still sealed shut, Dr. Holly links her arm through mine, dazzles me with her smile, and sings loudly enough for the both of us, encouraging me. Fine. I clear my throat and join in.
I can’t remember the last time I sang Christmas carols. When we’re with Hans and Anna, they sing loud enough for the entire forest, and I’m not sure the boys even notice my lack of voice. But I hear Cliff give a little squeal when my deep voice harmonizes with theirs. Out of the corner of my eye, Todd raises a fist in the air in victory and gives a mittened high-five to Cliff. It makes me realize how unfair I’ve been to them; how closed off, not from loving them, but from being joyful with them.
Two days with Holly, and I feel like a new man.
“Wow! That’s so cool! This is your job?” The boys throw exclamations and questions at Holly for a good long time, all while I stand stoically next to her, listening with interest as she explains all the aspects of her work, and dying inside to scoop her up in my arms and kiss her again. Hard. Until she’s breathless and grinding against me.
I picture a dozen scenarios: undressing her here in the snow, trying not to literally freeze my ass as I thrust into her. In front of the fire again. In the bed. On the kitchen counter. In each scenario, she’s eager for me just as I’m eager to pleasure her. All the blood running full-force to my dick leaves the rest of me chilled, making me shiver.
Holly looks at me—I panic, thinking she’s somehow read my thoughts—when she says, “Hey, Jack, come look at the comet!” Stomping my feet to redistribute the blood flow, I playfully shove Todd aside to take a look at this ball of ice in the night sky.
With the naked eye (hehe—I might be twelve inside), the Kringle Comet is a helluva bright streak across the night sky, dimming all the constellations. But through the lens of Holly’s fancy telescope, it takes my breath away. It’s bluish-white, its center a solid pulsing orb, and its tail is a magnificent cluster of sparkly crystals, like diamonds.
