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Maddy held the curtains aside, peering anxiously across the unbroken expanse of snow. The sight that caught her eye made her laugh. A snowman? Grant had made a snowman? And not just any snowman. This particular example was a work of art. Impulsively, she slipped on her dry tennis shoes and put on her coat. Standing on the porch, she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Facing west, the setting rays were blinding as they reflected off the snow.
She went back inside and retrieved a small disposable camera from her bag. When her world returned to normal, she wanted to have a few memories to hold on to. As she snapped a couple of pictures, Grant startled her, appearing unannounced from behind the cabin carrying a burlap sack.
“You shouldn’t be out here in this cold.”
She turned to greet him, unable to suppress a smile of happiness. “I love your version of Frosty. Do you have a scarf and a hat we can use?”
He grinned. “Probably. I would have asked for your help, but I don’t want to risk you getting sick.”
“I’m healthy as a horse.” Nonchalantly, she scooped a handful of snow from the porch rail and pressed it into a snowball. When he wasn’t looking, she fired it at him, hitting the back of his head with gratifying precision. “Intramural champ. Softball. UVA, junior year,” she called out.
A shiver snaked down her spine when he turned around, fire in his eyes. He scraped the wet glob from the back of his neck, cursing when part of her projectile slid beneath his collar. Her nervous giggle was entirely involuntary.
He cupped his hands in the snow, rising with an impressive icy orb in his hand. “Baseball captain. Virginia Tech. Three years running.” He caught her off guard, lobbing the ammunition while he was still speaking. When she turned to get away, it splatted on the side of her head, stinging her cheekbone.
His face changed in an instant, remorse sending him empty-handed toward where she stood. It was the perfect opportunity. She fired twice in rapid succession. “Back off, Monroe. This is war.”
Both of her shots hit the mark. He retreated rapidly, covered in snow. “You’ll pay for that,” he warned, beginning to build an arsenal.
“I’m so scared,” she whimpered, hitting the front of his coat over his heart. “The big bad man might hurt me.”
They fought in earnest, neither giving any quarter. Her best and most entertaining shot hit directly between his legs. His face went slack with surprise, before he winced in discomfort. He grinned up at her, rubbing his crotch. “You might keep in mind that damaging the equipment could impact your plans for the weekend.”
She laughed and pelted him again, prudently avoiding the zone below the belt. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Unfortunately, her battle position was inherently flawed. While Grant had the entire expanse of snow-covered ground to mine for ammunition, Maddy had quickly cleared the porch, steps and rail. Her base was wiped clean and her opponent was just getting started.
She backed toward the door. Grant made chicken noises. She stopped, her pride at stake. “I’m out of snow,” she pointed out.
He hit her shoulder with a thwack. “Should have thought of that earlier.” Then he fired with both hands at once.
Snow coated her hair and dripped into her eyes. She glared at him. “This is entirely outside the Geneva Convention.”
He shrugged. “Never been to Switzerland, myself.”
The next snowball hit between her breasts. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She peeled off her coat, her sweater and her bra in quick succession. Her skin was hot and damp from exertion. The cold air slammed into her chest, stealing her breath and furling her nipples into tightly peaked buds.
But any momentary discomfort was well worth it. Her attacker stood frozen, seemingly stunned, his mouth opened but mute, his eyes glazed. She walked down the four steps into the yard, sinking in snow up to her knees. She lifted her chin. “Open your coat.”
He seemed befuddled, but he cooperated, dropping the snowballs he still held. When he had unzipped his heavy parka, she waved a hand, scarcely noticing the cold. “Unbutton your shirt.”
He complied, more rapidly this time, revealing the golden brown skin of his chest. Her breath hitched in her throat. “Lie down on your back.”
He crouched and fell backward, letting his hood cushion his head. She lifted her knees and struggled toward him, her eyes locked on his. She straddled his hips and leaned forward, pressing her freezing breasts to the warm, hair-roughened planes of his torso.
He started to embrace her, but she pushed his arms back. “Make me a snow angel.” He held his arms stiff, moving them up and down as she asked. She smiled sweetly. “Now you can hold me.”
Grant slipped his arms from his coat, then snuggled her close, his flannel shirtsleeves rubbing over serious amounts of gooseflesh. He nuzzled her neck. “You’re certifiably crazy. You know that, right?” He arranged her legs on top of his, so no part of her body was touching the snow. “And just so you know, your dirty tactics would never hold up in military court.”
She licked his collarbone. “Are you complaining?”
“Hell, no.” He slid his hands beneath the waistband of her jeans. The feel of her tits on his chest was making him light-headed, but one of them had to exhibit some sense. “Come on, Mata Hari. I’m taking you in.”
“For questioning?” she asked demurely, sucking his bottom lip, and then nibbling on it.
He held her head in his hands to steady her, and drove his tongue into her mouth, perilously close to losing control. Only the knowledge that she was half-nude in twenty-degree weather kept him from taking her in the snow. He kissed her wildly, roughly, shaking with a level of arousal he had never experienced.
