by Heidi Rice
Juno awoke the next morning to a white-out. The snow was falling outside the cabin in fat, fluffy chunks, covering the trees in a blanket of pristine white.
You never got pristine snow like this in Queens, and she’d missed it.
She showered and changed into her outdoor clothes and made herself some coffee, then headed out into the living room. She’d heard Leo the evening before in the kitchen making himself a midnight snack, had debated whether to surprise him. Then decided to let him sulk. Something had spooked him, something about the Christmas decorations. And it had made her sad to see it. Was it something to do with his mother’s death?
She’d wanted to ask him more about it. But ultimately she’d decided against it. She didn’t want to break her ‘no heavy emotions’ rule on the very first night.
She switched on the Christmas tree lights—which she realised Leo must have switched off.
After rinsing out her coffee mug, she found a carrot in the fridge and headed outside.
Juno breathed in the clean, clear pine-scented air, the peaceful morning. The beauty of the snow-laden forest was a gift she wasn’t sure she deserved but was determined to make the most of.
She formed a snowball, then began to roll it across the ground in front of the cabin. She hadn’t made a snowman since she was eight years old, and she’d still lived in Monrova with her sister. They’d escaped from the palace every chance they got that Christmas, to escape from their overbearing governess and the sound of their parents arguing in the adjoining suite. They hadn’t realised at the time it would be their last Christmas together. The snowman they’d made just before the thaw had been the last they would ever build. But Juno hadn’t forgotten how.
‘This one’s for you, Jade,’ she whispered as she set to work.
Thirty minutes later, she had lost the feeling in her fingers and toes, her jeans were soaked through at the knees, she’d discarded her hat and scarf and her anorak and was only wearing a thin camisole, because the sun was warm and building a snowman was a lot sweatier than she remembered it.
After perching another snowball on top of the larger, misshapen lump she’d made earlier, she retrieved the carrot and screwed it into the middle. She tilted her head to one side, to admire her handiwork, then grabbed her discarded scarf and wrapped it round where the head and torso joined together—calling it a neck would be a bit ambitious.
She stood back to check him over again.
He looks kind of grumpy.
‘What is that?’
She swung round to see Leo standing on the porch, wearing nothing but a pair of sweat pants, some boots, a T-shirt, and a frown.
Heat infused her already sweaty body—and all the pheromones she’d put on hold the night before went into party mode.
How does he do that?
With his dark hair rumpled, the soft cotton outlining his impressive chest and his expression as sulky and imperious as it had been the night before, he looked good enough to eat. Or certainly nibble.
Relax, pheromones, and get a clue. He doesn’t want you.
‘Actually, I think it might be you,’ she shouted back. ‘He looks almost as sulky.’
‘He?’ came the distinctly unimpressed reply. ‘That thing has a sex?’
‘Yeah, I’m gonna call him King of the Grumps—sound familiar, Your Moan-esty?’
His brows rose, but then the frown was back. ‘I’m hungry. How about you come in here and make me some breakfast?’
‘Not until you ask me nicely.’
‘Stop being contrary,’ he demanded, as if she were one of his subjects. ‘You must be hungry after all your...’ he paused just long enough to be deliberately insulting ‘...hard work.’
How could he even sound suggestive when he was disparaging her perfectly good snowman? And why had her pheromones gone into party overdrive at the words ‘hungry’ and ‘hard work’?
That was so wrong. On so many levels.
‘Cook your own breakfast,’ she said. She’d wanted to cook for him last night, but she was through sucking up to him. Sulking Leo might be sexy as all get out, but that didn’t mean she was going to put up with his ‘I’m the King of Everything’ behaviour.
‘Now who’s sulking?’ he said and turned to go back into the cabin.
Her temper spiked and, grabbing a fist full of snow, she flung it as hard as she could.
Much to her astonishment, because she’d always been a terrible pitcher in high school, the missile hit its mark, smacking into the back of his head and showering him in snow.
Oops.
He turned slowly, flicking the already melting snow off his damp T-shirt, the sulky frown now catastrophic. ‘Are you mad?’
The giggle burst out of her mouth, part amusement, part shock, mostly hard-partying pheromones. ‘You have a problem, King of the Grumps, come get me?’ she said, then bent to grab some more ammunition.
Big mistake.
A freezing ball thudded into her chest, soaking the front of her camisole as soon as she straightened. And suddenly six feet four of enraged King was heading her way, stocking his own arsenal en route.
She shrieked and started pitching from behind the snowman.
It was a declaration of war.
Ten minutes of screaming, yelling, running, slipping, sliding, and some actual snowball-throwing later, and Leo scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.
‘That’s it, I’m putting you out of action,’ he declared as he headed back to the lodge, but she could hear the laughter in his voice.
She stuffed her last snowball down the back of his T-shirt.
‘You little witch!’ he roared, and shuddered violently, nearly shaking her off his shoulder.
She shrieked some more as he hefted her up the porch steps.
They were both breathless, laughing, covered in snow—well, she was covered, he was mostly dry, because her surprise pitching skills had totally deserted her as soon as war had been declared. He carried her into the lodge, scattering snow and ice onto the polished wooden floors. Then dumped her onto the large couch.
‘It’s payback time, Princess,’ he growled. And the partying pheromones joined forces with the giddy beat of her heart as his gaze dropped lower.
Even wet and sweaty and flushed she is irresistible.
Leo’s heart thundered as he took in the pebbled nipples under Juno’s wet shirt. Was she braless? Heat shot into his groin.
Her riotous hair tumbled down around her shoulders. And her green gaze blazed with emerald fire.
He needed her naked, like yesterday. He’d woken up grumpy as hell, she wasn’t wrong about that. After two nights of unfulfilled erotic dreams, was it any surprise? But he was through controlling his hunger—he’d established who was boss and that was enough.
He lifted her foot, tugged off one boot, and the other. Then kicked off his own boots as she watched him, the eager anticipation already firing through his system.
She hadn’t objected to sleeping with him on this trip, so what was he waiting for?
The mood changed, from playful to intense. But it didn’t matter. This was all about sex, always had been. Sex and chemistry and getting it out of their systems before they both went back to their real lives.
He lifted her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hooked her legs around his waist and buried her face against his collarbone, her lips finding the pulse point beneath the stubble on his chin. Her scent—citrus and spice and warm, playful woman—surrounded him, her kisses so artless and enthusiastic his heart stumbled in his chest.
He staggered towards the lodge’s master bedroom as he found her mouth. She shivered deliciously in his arms as they finally crashed into the bedroom together and he dropped her on the bed.
The frantic battle to divest themselves of their clothing took less than a minute but felt like an
eternity as he watched her wrestling off her wet jeans, socks and panties and then tug the sleeveless T over her head. Her bare breasts bounced, the flushed nipples sending the heat pounding straight into his groin.
He stripped off his sweat pants and T-shirt and kicked off his boxers in seconds flat.
At last, they were naked, her eyes locked on his rampant erection as he grabbed the sweat pants and pulled out a condom with trembling fingers.
He ripped open the packet and rolled on the protection, aware of her eyes on him.
But as he climbed on the bed, and she scrambled back to give him room before lifting her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, he could feel his control slipping again. Grasping her hips, he pulled her under him, but as her hands fell to his shoulders, her eyes dark with a longing that matched his own, the shaft of longing—and desperation—was so intense, the squeeze in his chest so sharp, it began to scare him.
What was happening here? Because what should have been simple and straightforward sex, and nothing but sex, felt like more again.
He could see the glow of affection in her eyes, could feel their hearts beating in unison. She opened her mouth and the fear sharpened.
‘Leo...’
He pressed a finger to her lips.
‘Don’t,’ he said, his voice so thick with emotion it was starting to terrify him.
Her eyes became shuttered, and he had the strangest feeling he’d broken something that might never be repaired. But the hunger, the longing, the physical yearning leapt in to take its place.
He gripped her hips and flipped her over, then lifted her, until she was positioned on all fours, ready to be plundered. Need surged through him, the desire so strong he could hardly breathe. He didn’t want to see her face, didn’t want to see the emotion that he was terrified might match his own as he took her.
‘Leo?’ she whispered, her voice thick with arousal, but also trembling with need.
He nestled the rigid erection in the swollen lips of her sex, not penetrating, but stroking the slick seam, playing with her, to refocus her mind on what he could give her. Instead of what he could not.
She jerked, and he tightened his grip on her hips. He found the font of her pleasure and exploited it with the smooth strokes.
She sobbed, the guttural sound thickening his shaft even more.
At last, he could feel her shattering, bucking against his hold. He reared back, unable to wait a moment longer, and plunged to the hilt. The tight clasp of her sex milked him as she cried out. He moved, his thrusts deep, branding every last inch of her, revelling in her surrender. As her orgasm pulsed around him, his own climax built from the very reaches of his soul, shocking in its intensity.
The orgasm rushed towards him then slammed into him with the force and fury of a runaway train. He shouted out, the pleasure wrenched from him, and clung onto her slender frame as he let himself fall.
Juno lay like a limp noodle on the bed, Leo’s big body covering hers, the scent of sweat and sex surrounding them, the imprint of him still humming in her tender sex. She closed her eyes tight, not wanting the blissful wave of afterglow to end. Not wanting to revisit the words she’d nearly blurted out.
Thank God he’d stopped her.
You can’t go there. He doesn’t want that.
She heard him shift, the words that had formed in her head, a declaration of need, longing, desire, replaying in her head despite her best efforts. But then a light kiss on her shoulder had her swinging round.
‘Come on,’ he said as he climbed off the bed. After discarding the condom, he reached down to lift her over his shoulder.
‘Leo? What are you...?’ She choked out a shocked laugh, pathetically grateful for his playful mood. ‘Put me down! I’m exhausted.’
Not entirely true—getting a bird’s-eye view of his naked butt from her position on his shoulder was having a restorative effect. And helping her forget about everything other than the sex.
‘Tough,’ he said. ‘Now stop wiggling or I’m going to drop you.’
Pressing her hands against his back, she lifted up and twisted. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Outside.’
‘You’re... What?’ She shrieked and began to wriggle in earnest as he pulled open the porch door and stepped out onto the snow-covered porch.
‘Leo... Are you nuts? We’re naked.’ She carried on shrieking and wiggling, with him laughing until she was dumped unceremoniously into a pool of steaming bubbling water. She slid under the delicious jets, letting the water envelop her body, her senses as alert as the rest of her. When she popped up, he was sitting beside her on the ledge of the wooden hot tub, the steam bubbling up to guild his handsome features in a luminous film of moisture... And smugness.
She slapped the water, covering him in the steamy froth. ‘You jerk,’ she said, but couldn’t resist the smile at his outrageous behaviour.
‘Hey,’ he said as he caught her wrist and tugged her towards him. ‘It’s Your Moan-esty to you, Princess.’
She laughed as he dragged her up and over his lap, until she was straddling him. Her shoulders above the water felt the bristle of cold air, but it only heightened the sensations rioting through her body as his erection pressed against her belly, and his heavily muscled thighs tensed beneath her butt.
‘I can hear you thinking,’ he murmured as he cradled her cheek with his palm, threaded the wild spray of hair behind her ear. ‘Stop it.’
She glided her thumb down the side of his face, felt the delicious rub of stubble already beginning to darken his cheeks.
‘Could I ask you a question?’ she said as the curiosity overwhelmed her—she’d never seen him so relaxed or so open and it enchanted her.
He had forgiven her and there were so many things she wanted to know about him. Just small things, nothing major, maybe if—
‘No questions, Juno,’ he said, cutting off the eager thoughts. ‘Unless they’re about what I want for breakfast or how to construct a snowman properly.’ He captured her hand, bit into the swell of flesh beneath her thumb. ‘Or when you want me to ravish you next.’
She could see the fierce determination in his gaze and hear what he wasn’t saying.
They had six days together. Six days to explore this intense physical connection. But deepening the emotional connection that had begun in the past week was out. Because all that would achieve was to hurt her more when they parted.
She swallowed past the lump of regret in her throat, forced herself to concentrate on the exhilaration of being in this beautiful place with this super-hot guy. And not the feelings threatening to hijack her breath and destroy her equilibrium.
It was Christmas, they had a week to enjoy this gift and she was not going to ruin it.
Or forget that by the time Christmas was over, what they had together would be over too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JUNO STUCK RELIGIOUSLY to the no questions rule as if her life depended on it in the days that followed, and developed a rhythm of sorts. She did all the cooking, because she loved to cook, especially for Leo, who it turned out had a voracious appetite, not just for her, but also for food.
The sex too was a revelation for her. She had never believed her body was even capable of this level of pleasure... And each day Leo ramped up the demands he made on her and she found herself meeting those demands with demands of her own.
For a woman who had always been outspoken, she’d never realised she’d had so little awareness of her physical needs, but with Leo there to tempt and tease and tantalise her, to wring every last drop of pleasure out of each encounter—whether it be fast and furious on the kitchen counter, or slow and languid in the shower—she began to realise what she’d been missing.
The more she fed the craving for him, though, the more she seemed to need—but what scared her the most was that the questions just kept
multiplying.
And the more she contained them, the more desperate she became to know the answers.
To stop herself from breaking the rules, she badgered him into snowmobile rides into the forest, evenings in front of the fire, or card games to fill up the time when they weren’t making love.
But even so, each night when he left her bed to return to his, after their last sex-capade of the day, it became harder and harder not to ask him to stay. And tougher still to wake up alone.
She knew why it had to be this way. Increasing the intimacy between them would be a lie, and she had to keep those questions at bay, to deal with the longing that clutched at her chest each morning when she woke to her empty bed.
Activity helped. So she established a routine for those empty mornings. Get up, get dressed, then head out to make another snowman.
Who knew she would discover she could be a morning person after all?
She loved the cold crisp mornings and building a snowman meant she didn’t have to dwell on all the unproductive thoughts, all those questions she wasn’t allowed to ask or all the emotions Leo stirred, which she couldn’t acknowledge.
There were no more snowball fights. And she suspected she knew why, as each day the intensity of the sex, and the agonising tension of tiptoeing around all the things they weren’t allowed to talk about, increased.
Leo didn’t want to give her another opportunity to blurt out her feelings.
As those feelings had begun to terrify her, she was on board with that. Avoidance was definitely the answer.
Christmas morning arrived, and she built her last snowman—but there was no sign of Leo. She tried not to get upset or anxious that he was sleeping away this special day, when it was their last full day together.
Not a big deal, Ju. This is just an epic booty call. You’ve got no claim on him and the good news is he has no claim on you.
Luckily, she’d spotted a project that should keep her busy for most of the day.
