“You’re dead, Harper.”
Within seconds, Grayson has an armload of snowballs. I’ve tossed three more his way, but none provide as perfect a hit as the first. I duck behind my snowbank, gathering more of the slushy stuff in my hands, shaping as many weapons as I can.
This whole time, I’ve heard the poorly stifled chuckles of the crew—everyone must be enjoying seeing Grayson get his due—but suddenly, everything around me falls completely quiet, as if the whole team has just packed up and left. As if Grayson realized he should give up the fight now and call it a day. Somehow, though, that doesn’t seem like something he would do.
I cautiously rise up, peeking over my wall of snow. Only to be pummeled directly in the face.
I throw myself back behind the barrier, scooping as much ammunition as I can into my arms. Waiting for justthe right moment, I pop up, launching three fast ones in the general direction of where I think Grayson is.
“Missed me,” he taunts.
I don’t have time to duck before I’m under assault again.
“Ready to give up?” His voice is as smug as the dumb smile I’m sure is spread over his dumb face.
“Never!” I search desperately for more good snow, but I seem to have depleted the limited supply within my hiding spot. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, desperately trying to find anything I could launch at him.
“What was that?” His voice sounds closer than it did ten seconds ago.
And then I get an idea.
“Ow! Oh fuck!” I grab onto my ankle even though I know he can’t see me.
There’s a long pause.
“Emmy?”
“Shit. I think I rolled my ankle.” I bite my lip, wondering how best to play him. “But I swear I’m not giving up! You’re still going dow—ow, oh god, ow!” Scrunching my face as if I were in actual pain, I worry that I might have overdone it and blown my cover.
Until I see Grayson darting around the barrier, dropping to his knee in front of me, not a snowball in sight.
“Which ankle?” Concern laces his voice, and I’m surprised by how genuine it sounds.
“Um, the right.” I watch him, surreptitiously checking his positioning, wondering how to best gain the upper hand here. No amount of probably fake concern is enough to thwart my plans.
He picks up my ankle, and I wince. Not because ithurts, obviously, but because his touch is unexpectedly tender. He starts to unlace my wardrobe-provided hiking boots. “Does this hurt?”
I begin to shake my head before I remember that itshouldmost definitely hurt. “A little.”
His fingers stop toying with the laces. He cups my ankle in one hand, the other finding purchase on my calf. The heat of his fingers burns through the denim covering my skin and I suck in an involuntary breath.
“Sorry. I’ll try to be gentle.” He carefully turns my ankle from one side to the other.
My brain loses all function, so transfixed on the sensation of Grayson’s strong fingers wrapped around my leg. But then his blue eyes meet mine, and I remember. I remember who he is and what he’s done. “Maybe you could walk me back to the inn? I’m sure I just need to rest it for a bit and then it will be fine.”
And of course the damsel in distress routine works on him. He slips one arm around my waist and practically lifts me off the ground. “This okay?”
I shift a little closer to him, getting a whiff of pine and charcoal. My nose wrinkles as I try to dispel the intoxicating scent, all while getting us into position. “This is great.” I flash him an innocent, flirty, “thank you big, strong man for saving me” smile.
His fingers tighten on my waist.
I don’t let myself think about how good the contact feels. I focus on the endgame.
It only takes a tiny little turn on my part, just a hint of tripping, and Grayson fucking West finds himself landingstraight on top of my fluffy snow barrier, sinking into the cold, wet slush. His eyes widen as he realizes what I’ve done, how easily I fooled him.
And because I’m an idiot, I stand there for an extra second, enjoying the spoils of my victory. Which is just long enough for him to grab my wrist and yank me down into the snow next to him. The force of his pull is so strong, the more I try to dig myself out, the deeper into the snow I sink.
“You asshole.” I scoop up a handful of snow and toss it in his direction.
