The 48 Hour Hookup (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  He was laughing. Laughing.

  “What. Is. So. Funny?”

  “The last twenty-four hours of your life sounds like something someone invented around a campfire, that’s what.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused.” Actually she kind of was, because watching him laugh made it impossible for her feel any actual irritation, or to fear too much for her life with those match sticks on her feet, but she had to object on principal.

  “I’m probably the last person who should be amused,” he said, still laughing.

  “Are we going to ski or not? At some point a warm fire is going to sound fantastic, and right now, we’re woefully without the means to make that happen.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to ski.” He demonstrated what she was supposed to do, which seemed easy enough. “Tell me which way to go, and I’ll go first to cut tracks for you. That’ll make it a cakewalk.”

  Cake. Sure. Cake with an epic view of Hot HVAC Guy’s ass. Now that was something that should be on the menu of every bakery in America.

  Despite her misgivings, she managed to stay on her feet, and the tracks through the fresh snow meant she didn’t have to steer. Just propel herself, and she suspected he kept the pace slow for her. It was a lot of work, but she handled it, at least until about fifteen minutes in, when she was concentrating on staying upright and hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped ahead of her.

  At the last minute, she slammed her poles into the snow, wondering how it could be so hard to stop when pushing required such effort. Before the universe had given her an answer to that particular question, she ran over Liam. Literally. With absolutely no ability to steer, she rammed into him, knocking him off his feet.

  She jabbed the ski poles at the ground with force, slowing her down enough that she didn’t fall when she reached the end of his tracks. “Sorry,” she said, probably not sounding like it because she was immensely pleased with herself for staying upright. “Here, let me give you a hand.” She reached out and did her best to ignore the tingles zinging through her when he gripped her hand through two layers of thick gloves and allowed her to help hoist him upright.

  She hadn’t predicted how close they’d be when he stood, or that her gaze would drift to his mouth. She expected to see the corners quirk, threatening a smile, but they didn’t.

  “The, uh, cabin is ahead.” Somewhere. She couldn’t remember if it was a half mile or two miles. Just that they needed to be back on that trail, because she was having trouble remembering what a bad idea they were.

  He was slow to look away from her mouth. When he did, she nearly sighed with relief. They moved ahead on the trail, mostly silent but for the slice of the skis through snow. With the path obvious, she didn’t even need to provide directions.

  Several minutes passed before the old cabin came into view. Her heart sank. The place had fallen into such disrepair that gaping holes marred the roof, and the windows were busted out. “This it?” Liam asked.

  “It used to be.”

  “Do you think it’s okay to look around anyway?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  They stepped out of their skis, leaving them on the battered porch. He tried the knob. Unlocked. Inside they found no trace of supplies, or any sign there’d ever been any. The only things remaining inside were either nonflammable or nailed down, which made it a bust for makeshift firewood, too. “Well, this was a wasted trip,” she said.

  “Not so much. You skied.”

  “And knocked you down.”

  “But you didn’t hit me with a tree.”

  “We’re not back yet,” she said. They left the cabin, secured the door as best they could, and stepped back into the skis. At the thought of retracing their route, exhaustion hit, and so did the need for a nice hot bath.

  A few minutes into the return trip, the ground sloped downward. She wasn’t paying attention, and when she pushed off she managed to slide right into him, knocking him down a second time. Only this time she went down with him.

  Lovely.

  How he could be so warm through a layer of outerwear that was exposed to the same thirty degrees that touched her own skin, she didn’t know.

  They lay there, snow pillowed around them, skis somehow tangled. She probably should get up, but that would involve twisting her foot so it didn’t face nearly backward—an awkward, albeit painless, side effect of landing in a heap—and she wasn’t entirely sure she could do that. Or that she even wanted to.

  Although Liam would probably like that very much, because he was the one with his head in the snow. She started to mumble an awkward apology that would have ended with something like you were warned or I told you so, but she didn’t get the chance.

  “You know what?” He yanked off and flung his sunglasses, and for a moment, she thought he might be mad. But nope.

  He kissed her.

  He reached up, put his gloved hand at the back of her head, and dragged her mouth to his. And kissed her.

  Surprise pelted her like ice blown from the trees, but was quickly forgotten. His lips had been cold, but they melted into warmth almost the moment they touched hers. It was gentle and sweet, which did little to explain the riot of desire tearing through her.

  As soon as he broke the kiss, he nudged her sunglasses off her face. They fell to the side.

  “Are you going to hit me?” he asked, eyes dancing, so brilliantly green against the snow that they took her breath.

  This was her out. She should say yes, let him scramble to his feet, because they had a terrible habit for bad ideas. But she didn’t say yes. “No,” she said. “I’m not going to hit you.”

  “Good.” He drew her in again, this time pressing deeper, this time getting there. Though he touched every corner of her mouth, all gentle and probing and gentlemanly, she couldn’t help but feel he was teasing her. Like he was holding back.

  And still, it was the best kiss of her life.

  Maybe it was her body’s jump to awareness, the encounter earlier that morning still tingling in her extremities. Maybe she was just grateful to have survived another winter sports incident. Or, more likely, it was him. Because wouldn’t that just be her luck?

  “If we hadn’t already agreed not to do that,” he murmured, “I’d love to do it again.” He pushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from her knit hat, every intense fleck of green in those eyes focused entirely on her. “Not that we’re going there.”

  She should really look away, attempt to find her feet. But she didn’t. “We’re definitely not going there,” she agreed. Sort of.

  “Actually,” he said softly, “I think you’re flinging me off one of those cliffs you mentioned.”

  God, what was with flinging? Had she really told him she’d thought about having sex with him? She thought she’d been dodging a bullet, and instead she’d buried a landmine under the snow, and every step she took put her closer to that thing exploding in her face. Like now. “I didn’t know guys ever felt that way,” she stammered. The body contact was killing her. And why was he managing to woo her with his every word? Had he gotten less awkward, or was she just getting sucked in?

  “Woman, you just destroyed me with that kiss. There’s no way I didn’t feel that.”

  She shifted, figuring she should let him up. Out of the snow. Maybe find a way to come to her senses. But he touched her arm. “I’d like to feel it again,” he said.

  “In the snow?”

  “Let it melt.” He touched her cheek with a gloved fingertip, and the idea of that contact being skin to skin had her eyes drifting closed.

  The gentle probing that followed was so deep and impossibly tender that she wasn’t sure she’d ever un-feel it. Not that she’d want to. It was like that soft mouth obliterated those walls she’d built, running as she did, and made her want so badly to find a place to stand still. Which was ridiculous, because despite being molten hot and a rescuer from raccoons, he was just a man. Of the same ilk that had broken her heart three times no
w, but that traitorous heart didn’t feel so broken right then. She felt…light. An endlessly free feeling she just wanted to capture and hold. Own it. Because whatever it was could only exist right there, on that mountain.

  However real, it would never be more than an illusion.

  Still, by the time she broke free, so reluctant, so seduced, she was ready to fling her clothes to the snow and let him maul her. Anything to feel him.

  “You’re so beautiful like this,” he said.

  “Like this?” She barely caught the oddity of the question through the haze that had fallen over her.

  “Natural. Not like on TV.”

  His words jerked her back to where she was. Who she was, and with whom. She thought he understood her, at least when it came to the fact that she wanted to leave that part of her back in New York City. His reminder had no more place on that mountain than she did in skis, and his mention of it left her feeling like she’d been slapped. She struggled away from him, fighting to get her skis re-attached where they’d come loose.

  “I’m sorry. Claire, I didn’t mean—”

  He scrambled to his feet, not quite making it there before he lost his balance and tipped sideways into the snow. He didn’t have any more luck getting to vertical than she did. Good. She jerked her ski out of the drift and managed to snap her foot into it. Maybe. It seemed secure enough. “I thought you, of all people, would understand I don’t want that here. We agreed we weren’t doing that here.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, sounding bewildered. “I just meant that you look pretty damned amazing like this, minus the part where you look like you want me dead.”

  She leaned to get her poles, managing to fall over again. He wisely didn’t say another word. Just sat there in the drift they’d all but flattened. “Watch for ravines,” she muttered, more or less competently getting up and taking off toward the lodge. The tracks made it easy, though she hated he was probably watching her ass as she left. Not that she could blame him. That was pretty much all she’d done on that trail.

  Why did he have to kiss her like that and then ruin it by mentioning what she’d gone there to escape?

  And why did she have to care that the connection was ruined? She should be grateful. She didn’t know who she was madder at. Him for tearing through her defenses and reminding her of who she really was.

  Or herself for wanting him in spite of it.

  Chapter Nine

  Liam watched Claire storm back down the trail. Her ass was phenomenal. Her anger was…justified. He got it. He couldn’t believe he’d opened his big mouth and reminded her of why she was running, but it had been a fucking compliment. Or maybe not. You’re gorgeous when you don’t look like your TV self probably wouldn’t have gone over well, had he succeeded in putting that all out there.

  Irritated with himself, he managed to get his feet underneath him. Through a small clearing, the snow-covered view sprawled endlessly. He’d wanted to tell her that was what he loved about getting on a mountain. The views. The air. The isolation.

  Instead, he’d kissed her.

  He hadn’t meant to. She was just too…irresistible, all flushed and aggravated and plowing him down like they’d been on a forty-five-degree slope instead of relatively flat ground. The skis hadn’t been waxed in ages. Cutting the trail hadn’t been easy, but out there, he was in his element. Or so he’d thought. He’d found a new element. One with pretty blue eyes and a soft mouth. One probably spewing profanity in his honor.

  Hell, he could do the same.

  He’d barely slept with her lying against him. Instead, he’d spent the night with his mind filled with all kinds of dirty thoughts, every drop of blood he had in his body congregated south. He was still kind of blown away by the way they’d lain there, tangled and talking, spilling life stories like they were old friends around a campfire. He still felt the arch of her foot resting against the top of his and the curve of her hip teasing his fingertips. He still heard those soft sighs she uttered in sleep and felt the way she’d snuggled a bit closer with each one. He wondered a time or two who she thought she was cuddling with, but he quickly pushed each of those thoughts away.

  Didn’t matter.

  Especially not that morning, when she opened her eyes and let him drown. He never meant to touch her, not so intimately, but he’d lost all control of control. Granted, he hadn’t mauled her, but he hadn’t been able to resist when she’d let him in.

  And now he’d blown it.

  He covered the trail half-heartedly. He didn’t have to cut it, which made the going faster, but he didn’t figure Claire wanted to see him right then. Their attempt to find anything to build a fire with had failed, but he noticed a low bough that blocked a dead branch and stopped to break off as many of the smaller branches as he could. The wood wasn’t dry like firewood should be, but it wasn’t snow-soaked either. With any luck, it would burn…if they managed to light a fire, that was. He crammed it into his backpack and headed down the trail.

  By the time he made it back to the shed, her gear was back inside, and she was nowhere in sight. She couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes ahead of him by then, but now that he’d seen she’d gotten back to the lodge, he figured he shouldn’t look for her at all.

  A breeze blew, chilling him. The sun was bright, and the air temperature on the rise, if the dripping ice was any indication. He glanced at the power lines heading into the lodge. Everything there appeared intact, not that that meant anything. There were probably a few miles of wires between there and the substation. He withdrew his phone. Upon discovering he had a signal, he called the local power company and reported the outage. No estimate on restoration, as they were still assessing damage.

  He suspected Claire needed space, and he didn’t mind giving it to her. He felt bad, but throwing an empty apology her way wouldn’t help things, so he figured it was as good a time as any to get to work. At which point he remembered he was missing the equipment he’d left in his truck and hadn’t been able to retrieve due to the storm.

  He shook his head. Without the bulk of his gear, he wouldn’t get much done in the basement with the furnace, but with the power out, it made more sense to start in the attic, where all he needed to do was check over the ductwork. Since there appeared to be attic windows, he’d have more natural light to work with up there anyway, which was convenient without electricity.

  On his way in, he checked the window on the service porch. It was open. He swore under his breath, then backtracked and walked to the front door. If the stupid raccoon was in the kitchen again, he didn’t want to run it to the front of the lodge.

  He stomped his boots on the wide porch, giving the soul- and truck-crushing tree a side-eye, just because he could.

  When he walked inside, Claire was stoking the ashes, no hint of a fire brewing. She spared a backward glance, but barely.

  He dropped the wood on the hearth. “The window is open again,” he said.

  That earned him good long look. “You’re kidding me.”

  “You didn’t go to the kitchen yet?”

  “I haven’t been here long,” she told him. “Thanks for the wood.”

  He nodded an acknowledgement. “I called the electric company. No clue when the power will be on. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to get started in the attic checking out the ductwork.”

  “Do you need any help?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer.

  “Just tell me where the access is.”

  “There’s actually a real flight of stairs. Follow the upstairs hall all the way to the back. There’s a narrow door on the left that leads up there.”

  He gave a brief nod. “Okay. That’s where I’ll be.”

  “Liam?”

  “Yeah.” That little knot he had in his chest loosened when she said his name.

  She wiped her hands on her pants and stood. “Do you mind going with me to the kitchen? I have stuff in the freezer, assuming it’s still cold, for a stew I
can make over the fire, provided I ever get it lit, but I’m not sure what’s waiting for me in there.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs and maybes, but if you’re going to make a stew over the fire, I’ll go with you anywhere.” His stomach rumbled at the mere suggestion. He was missing his mom’s Sunday dinner.

  “I never said it would be great stew. I’m not much of a cook.”

  Nevertheless, he gave her a grateful smile. “Camp rules. Anything cooked over an open fire is delicious.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warned as she followed him down the hall.

  He paused long enough to grin at her before he flicked the switch on the pocket door. Before he opened it, he slid it open just enough to grip the free side with his hand and kicked the bottom a few times. “Just in case there was anything near the door,” he said when she gave him a questioning look. He slid the door open a bit further. Nothing jumped out, so he stepped inside the kitchen. “What am I looking for?”

  “Meat and veggies in the freezer,” she said. “I can get them. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

  “I got it,” he said. “Hang out near the door just in case there’s any—ah, hell.” He rounded the island and found himself in a standoff with a growling raccoon. “Watch the door,” he warned. He spared the theatrics this time. The stupid thing hadn’t been frightened enough to stay away, so he wasn’t about to humor it. Instead of sticking to the walls, he opted for giving the critter a wide berth. He ignored the chattering or barking or whatever the thing was doing and opened the freezer. It was still cold, everything he touched still frozen. One by one, he held up the items that looked like candidates for a stew, then gathered them in his arms and retraced his steps back through the kitchen.

  “What’s he eating this time?” Claire asked.