A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1)

by Hallie Swanson

“Snow!” I call out, but there’s no reply.

  Disappointed, I look back out across London. I can imagine starched-shirted men with leather briefcases clutched at their sides as they jump from black taxi cabs, checking the time on their watches before rushing to their offices for their nine till five day. In my head I can hear so vividly the sounds of the city: the shuffling feet of pedestrians rushing from pavement to pavement, the beeping horns of impatient drivers who shout out obscenities. It’s so fast down there, my head spins at the thought. They say New York never sleeps, but from what I’ve seen of London, I don’t think it does either. I’m so glad to be away from it all.

  I check my mobile for messages; there’s one from Jenny and one from work. Work’s on my case; my boss tells me if I don’t come in in the next couple of days, not to bother coming back at all. Whatever; I’ll sort it when I get home. I press delete, then open Jenny’s message. She says how nice it was to see us both yesterday, and that we’ll have to catch up again soon.

  I don’t feel like catching the lift and eating alone in the hotel restaurant, so I lift the phone and call down for room service. Ten minutes they tell me. Still feeling quite sleepy, I stretch and then get up from the bed. I take the ‘do not disturb’ sign off the door and jump in the shower.

  The water’s hot, and feels so refreshing; I’m hardly able to move as I stand encased in the steam. With my index finger pressed against the glass, I break the mist’s continuity by drawing a heart with both our initials inside. It’s quite ironic that I did the very same thing at school on the back page of one of my textbooks. It was always Snow; it was always his initials that I penned in the heart beneath mine. Thinking about it, I can hardly believe I’m here, that my girlish dreams have actually come true.

  I remember sitting at home on the bed, sobbing into my pillow, telling my mum how I felt about Snow. She had laughed while stroking my hair. I wonder if they would approve if they were still here. Tears well up in my eyes. Why are my thoughts taken back to the two open coffins in the chapel of rest?

  Although outwardly hot, I inwardly shiver as I picture their motionless bodies and that nothing expression on their faces. I close my eyes. Why can’t I see their smiles? Why can’t I bring more of the happy times we shared back to mind? It breaks my heart to think how much of my life they’re going to miss, and how much I’m missing them… I shake my head, shaking them from my thoughts. I really can’t do this; sometimes it’s easier not to think, and then it doesn’t hurt quite so much.

  The shower has lost its appeal, so I turn off the water and drip myself dry into its porcelain base. Droplets of water run down the glass; the heart I drew only moments ago now lies broken, and as I watch it fade, I realise it will soon be no more.

  A knock comes at the door, so I grab a warm towel and wrap it around my head. I slip my arms into a towelling robe, tie the belt around my waist and, as I pass through the hallway, grab a fifty-pound note from Snow’s wallet that he left on the table.

  I open the door to Walter’s smile. He passes me a silver tray with a selection of fruits and a large jug of orange juice.

  He turns to leave, but I lift my finger.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing him the note.

  Walter smiles, showing every one of his perfectly white teeth in thanks. What a different response from the first time I tipped him.

  Closing the door, my damp feet leave marks as I pad back towards the bed. I lower myself down next to the tray, lift the jug and begin to pour myself a drink. With the glass only half full, I stop and glance down at a white envelope part hidden by the jug; it has my name written on it in blue ink. I lean over, resting the jug and glass on the floor, and then flip up the seal. Pulling out a folded note, I straighten it and begin to read: Darcy. It’s your turn to play dress-up for me.

  It’s sad really; I’m on my own, yet I’m giggling. I cover my mouth and chew on my bottom lip as I think of that sexy cop stunt Snow pulled, and what a night we had after. I continue reading.

  You will be in the hotel bar at eight o’clock sharp. When I walk in and look around the crowded room, I don’t want to recognise you.

  Tonight I don’t want to fuck an upmarket brunette; I want to fuck a blonde. Not a classy blonde, that don’t turn me on; I want a fake dirty blonde. I want your hair long, thick, down your back, so that when I push myself inside you I can grab it between my fingers and pull it tight.

  I want you to lose that subtle innocence of yours, I want the make-up you apply around your eyes to be dark and bold and your lipstick to be a glossy crimson, one that I can smudge across your mouth and cheeks, and I want to wear it around the end of my cock when I take it from between those dirty lips of yours.

  You will be taken around all the boutiques in London with your own personal assistant who knows my taste. You’ll pick a black cocktail dress exactly two inches below your ass, and don’t rush, you have all day to try on as many as it takes until you find one that fits you like a second skin. When you walk I don’t want to see a single crease in the material; when you move, it must move with you.

  I hate bare legs, but fantasise about a woman wearing suspenders; therefore, you’ll wear nude stockings with a perfectly straight line from your ankles to your thighs. This, however, will be for my eyes only and will be covered by a pair of black leggings.

  On your feet will be open-toed stilettos and they too must be black. Three-inch heels, no more. I want to hear you walk towards me in the lobby, and feel those motherfuckers sink into my skin as you step down my spine wearing only your stockings and heels.

  My name will no longer be Snow, understood? And your name will no longer be Darcy. You will call me Sebastian, and as for your name, surprise me.

  You and I work for the same company. I’m the boss’s son, and you are my father’s secretary. I’m rough around the edges, which my father hates. I’m the son who’s supposed to be taking over this godforsaken business. I hate this line of work, but it has its perks. You, Darcy, God, you’re so fuckable, and you have no idea how much I want you. I’ve felt you pull away when I’ve brushed past you, and watched your eyes drop to avoid me. The kiss we shared at the Christmas party said so much. I’ve wanted to get my hands inside your knickers ever since.

  I know you’re married, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be happy in the knowledge that I’m fucking you behind your husband’s back, and happier still knowing you can’t get enough of me. You’ll be needing a wedding ring, so pick the most brash and disgusting ring you can find and wear it on the correct finger. When I’m deep inside you, I will smile thinking of the man you married while I’m shagging his slut of a wife.

  Go shop, Darcy, make sure you get everything on my list. There’s no need for money, everything will be credited to my account. A limo will be waiting outside the hotel at 10 a.m. sharp; be in it.

  Your fuck for tonight

  Sebastian

  PS Darcy, do not disappoint me.

  My fingers are trembling and I can feel myself heating up inside; the demands he makes are daunting. When he played the cop for me, he was so natural, whereas I haven’t a clue. At school I sucked at drama, hiding in the cloakrooms to get out of the lesson. But Snow knows what he wants in the bedroom, and tonight there’s no cloakroom for me to hide in. It’s kinda kinky, a turn-on, yet at the same time doubts run through my head; have I got the confidence to go through with what he asks of me? Can I really play the part, when all I’ve ever been is me? Feeling hot and flustered, I lean down, pick up my glass of juice from the floor and swallow down a large gulp, needing something to cool me. I scrunch my face at the bitter aftertaste it leaves in my mouth.

  I gaze across at his side of the bed; a couple of dark strands of hair stand out against the perfectly white pillowcase. I don’t know why, but seeing them and picturing him lying there with me last night, I know I want this to work.

  My gaze takes me out of the window and far beyond. I guess partly because of my birth mum, sex to me has always b
een a mishmash of misconceptions, probably the reason I put it off for so long. I’ve had so many opportunities to take the next step; I dated Sam for almost a year, and he was more than patient, but when it came to that crucial moment I always managed to make an excuse. His dreams of being a vet eventually took him to Edinburgh University, but it wasn’t the distance between us that destroyed our relationship, it was the lack of intimacy, and that was all down to me. Maybe my years of fantasising over Snow and knowing that was all it would ever be, was my excuse not to go there; all my feelings were held in my mind, somewhere my body had no reason to go. Fuck and sex sounded so dirty, and I wanted so much more; I wanted the romance, I wanted to find true love, and more than anything I wanted my very own fairy-tale ending. But Cinderella doesn’t exist; this is real life I’m living, and Snow is so much more than a fantasy. I shudder. Maybe I don’t like to admit it to myself, but sex, being fucked, is awesome when you’re with the right person. God, I want that feeling. I can’t wait for Snow to make me feel good tonight. I don’t feel dirty, I just feel loved. To hell with it, if he wants a dirty secretary, that’s what he’ll get.

  The digital clock catches my eye: 9.45 a.m. I haven’t time to dry my hair, and I dash to the wardrobe, tripping over my feet.

  At 9.55 a.m. there’s a knock at the door. Pulling on a pair of flats and grabbing a fifty-pound note, I amble over to answer it.

  “Your bitch for the day.” Chase beams in at me.

  “You what?” I laugh.

  “Bitch, assistant, whatever you choose to call me, I’m here, and your limo awaits.”

  He puckers his lips and holds out his arm for me to take.

  “You daft sod.” I chuckle, linking my arm through his.

  I gaze up into his light brown eyes as he presses the button to call the lift. By crossing that line with Snow, I’d lost the big brother I always wanted, but Chase, with his humorous ways and loving nature, has somehow filled that gap. For the first time since Mum and Dad died, I’m actually starting to feel a tinge of happiness, and more complete.

  My eyes dodge the coloured optics and bar staff until I’m gazing into a curved mirror that sweeps round behind them. It’s a blonde girl’s reflection looking back at me as I bite down on the maraschino cherry that I plucked from my dry martini. I gasp, almost choking on its acidity.

  He’s here; I can feel his dark eyes seeking me out. God, he looks hot! I hardly allow myself to blink. There’s no tailored suit like I was expecting; he’s wearing black leathers, a loose jacket and tight trousers. His usual sleek hair is a mass of messy waves, as though I’ve spent hours in the bedroom running my fingers through it.

  I push my shoulders back so I’m sitting up straight on the barstool. My leggings rub as I cross one leg over the other and I shuffle slightly, repositioning my skirt; then, in a lady-like manner I swivel round to face him. As soon as our eyes meet he breaks into a smile, and I can see straight away that he’s not fooled by my disguise. He walks down three narrow steps and makes his way between the closely laid tables until he stands at my side.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen you out of the office.”

  He says no more, but raises his brows. I feel it’s a prompt for me to speak, and know he awaits my introduction.

  I have two or three names in my head, but decide on, “Mercedes.”

  “I haven’t seen you here before, Mercedes,” he emphasises, tilting his head.

  He lifts my left hand, which rests in my lap, and holds it up to his lips. His warm breath runs across my skin as he places a soft kiss, then just as quickly his lips are gone. His focus is now on my wedding finger and the overly sized amethyst that sits upon it. I see his eyes move as very slowly he looks me up and down.

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing strands of my platinum blonde hair from my neck. “I’m surprised your old man lets you out alone.”

  I’m taken back; his acting skills are second to none. I’m way out of my depth here. What the hell do I say? Calm down, Darcy, think. I neck my entire martini, order a treble and neck that too.

  I take a deep breath, hoping with it I will gain some confidence.

  “He’s away,” I tell him.

  “Away?” Snow leans towards me, raising his eyebrows.

  I swallow hard. “Yes, away,” I say shakily. “For a month on the oil rigs.”

  His eyes soften, their corners creasing as he smiles.

  I lift my head, flicking my hair over my shoulders and smile back.

  “A girl can’t just sit and wait you know; she needs something to do with her time.”

  “Or someone?”

  I watch his teeth graze his bottom lip. As I look up to meet his eyes, they are already on their way towards my breasts.

  “There are some things you see every day, but don’t take the time to notice.” He smirks, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “Maybe you could reconsider your dress code for work, give the clients something to talk about, and give me something to look forward to when I walk into my office each morning.”

  I feel my cheeks redden. “Snow.”

  He shakes his head.

  I grin. “Sebastian, you’re incorrigible.” I flash my ring in front of his face. “Have you already forgotten I’m a married woman? How come you’re dressed so casually? Where’s your suit, your tie? And what’s with the leathers?”

  He glances down and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Maybe I have a life outside the office, and there’s a side to me that nobody ever sees. It’s so easy to think that you know someone, and yet you only see what they want you to see.” His lips curl at the edges.

  I frown; I can’t think of a witty reply. I know this is all an act, though his words seem far too deep, far too meaningful to be just that. I look down, playing with the big ugly gemstone on my finger. I guess he picks up on my change of mood. I’m so close to throwing in the towel tonight and telling him this game of his is off.

  “Snow—”

  “Mercedes, I bet you’ve never felt anything hard vibrating between your legs, and the breeze streaming its way between the lips of your pussy.”

  He doesn’t whisper these words under his breath, there’s no subtlety in his voice. My eyes open wide, and I nearly forget to breathe.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, leaning into my neck.

  I lean away. “Snow, no more, I’ve had enough.”

  He places his finger on my lips. “As I have done with Snow, maybe you should leave Darcy and all her reservations behind.”

  I move his finger and he takes my hand, clasping it against his chest.

  “There are times you can have so much more fun being someone else. Relax,” he says, squeezing my fingers just that little bit tighter. “Enjoy the ride. It’s a ride Sebastian can take you on, but one I know you could never take as Darcy. Well?”

  He releases me and takes a step back.

  “Are you out, or do we play on?”

  “What say you buy me another drink?” I say, rocking forward on the legs of my stool.

  “Mercedes, what say you come with me?”

  I jump as he unexpectedly grabs my wrist and I drop my empty glass on the bar mat.

  He leads us and we snake our way between tables. I trip up the three small steps, and Snow laughs at me as the door opens to let us through.

  I’m almost deafened by loud voices and blaring horns. My gaze flits up and down the busy road for Chase in the hire car or limo, but all the cars at the curb are stationary; the only movement I see is from a stream of black cabs. Snow beckons me to follow him.

  “I said about something vibrating between your legs, and I wasn’t speaking about this,” he says, grabbing his crotch. “How do you fancy a ride on this big boy?”

  “Seriously? A motor bike, dressed like this?”

  He slaps my arse.

  “I think you’re dressed pretty damn perfect,” he says, looking from under his eyes. “In those leggings there’s no
things stopping you opening those legs of yours nice and wide.”

  I put my hand to my mouth and try to look shocked, imagining how a married woman would react if put in such a compromising position. But then he never said I was the doting wife. I know my acting skills are crap, and I throw a gaze from the corner of my eyes. Snow in leathers… I pause, thinking how sexy he looks. Infidelity doesn’t seem quite so bad; maybe I won’t play too hard to get.

  I glance over the bike’s shiny black frame as he lifts the large seat and tosses me a helmet and leather jacket. I lift it to my nose and sniff along the seam of one arm; it smells so strong.

  “Put them on and get on the back.”

  I glance up. Snow’s already seated on the bike, which he kickstarts and waits. I zip up the jacket.

  “Snow, I’ve never ridden on one of these before.”

  “No worries, I’ll take it easy, being as it’s your first time.”

  Before his helmet covers and hides his face, he peeks round and winks. I place my helmet over my head; it’s tight and I struggle to pull it down. My hands are clammy, so I wipe them down the sides of my dress before grabbing Snow’s broad shoulders and attempting to mount behind him. I part my legs, press my knees into him and clamp my arms round his waist. I stretch, but although the tips of my fingers meet, they can’t quite link together, so I clasp the front of his jacket instead. He wheel spins, dodging between lanes of traffic; it takes my breath away.

  His fingers trail teasingly under my chin; with the strap undone, he pulls the snug helmet from my head. I glance down and chuckle at the blonde wig lying on the grass between us. I shake my head, releasing my long dark waves into the breeze.

  He grins across at me. “Didn’t think you’d have the bottle to colour it.”

  I bend down to pick it up, and as I do so his fingers curl around my ass. I tilt my head, looking up at him.

  “No, leave it,” he says, pulling me back to my feet. “It was just that little bit too perfect. I much prefer your hair as it is.”