Sarah Morgan - Snow Crystal Trilogy

THE CHEMISTRY SWIRLED between them, brushing over her skin and darting through her body, sharp and terrifying. It drew her in, drew her to him . And she knew the source of the attraction was more than a pair of blue eyes and strong shoulders. His strength wasn’t restricted to the physical. It went deeper.

Even after a comparatively short time in his company, it was easy to see why he was the one his family turned to in a crisis. Another man might have chosen to focus on his own business. Jackson O’Neil had chosen to come home and do what needed to be done. And from what she’d seen so far, it was a thankless task.

He glanced at her. “Inside or out?”

“Outside.” She was breathless, and she didn’t know whether it came from the sheer exhilaration of speeding through deep snow along a forest trail or being near him.

“You’re not cold?”

“I like looking at the trees.” She picked a table near to the cabin and breathed in the smell of wood smoke and forest. Sunlight filtered through the trees. The sky was a Caribbean blue, the temperatures Arctic. The contrast fascinated her. “I had no idea winter could be this pretty.”

“It’s the best time, providing you’re dressed for it.” Jackson put his helmet down on the table next to her and trudged through the snow to the door of the cabin.

She shouldn’t have watched him, but she couldn’t help it. He was in his element here, outdoors in the mountains, confident and comfortable in the harsh surroundings of snow and ice. And she wasn’t alone in her appreciation of his qualities. Two women at the adjacent table were looking at him, too, gazes lingering.

Kayla looked away and focused on the snow-laden trees.

She couldn’t remember ever being anywhere so peaceful. The only sound was the occasional dull thud as deeply piled snow tumbled from a branch onto the snowy forest floor.

It was a million miles from Manhattan.

A million miles from her life.

“Here.” A large mug of hot chocolate appeared in front of her. Jackson pulled out the chair across from her and straddled it. “People ski for miles to sample Brigitte’s Belgian hot chocolate. It’s legendary around these parts.” He’d pulled down the zip of his jacket and the neck of his jumper brushed his darkened jaw.

She rarely noticed men because she was too busy thinking about other things, too busy rushing through her life to ever take a second look, but Jackson was a man who deserved a second look. And a third. In fact the women at the table next to her hadn’t stopped looking.

It bothered her that she didn’t want to stop looking, either.

Instead, she focused on the swirls of cream that topped her hot chocolate. “So this is a special recipe? What’s in it?”

“Calories,” he said drily. “Brigitte guards the exact combination with her life, but I think it involves milk, chocolate, vanilla, fresh whipped cream and cinnamon. You might want to call your cardiologist before you take a sip.”

“Is it worth the extra hours in the gym?”

“You’re going to work off those calories fast enough. I’m taking you skiing this afternoon.”

“I haven’t already humiliated myself enough in the snow? You want more?” Kayla paused with the mug halfway to her lips. “Can’t we just explore on the snowmobile?” She was surprised by how much she’d enjoyed being outdoors—the crisp fresh air and the sting of cold on her cheeks. Then there was the feeling of being pressed close to Jackson, but she wasn’t going to think about that… .

“You’re getting the whole Snow Crystal experience, Kayla Green. No wimping out.”

He had a way of persuading people to do exactly what he wanted them to do, she thought. He knew when to push hard, when to back off. When to employ a steely look and when to smile. He had his mother’s warmth and interest in people. He was a man who took the trouble to look beneath the surface.

It unsettled her.

She didn’t want him looking beneath the surface. She wasn’t looking for depth. She didn’t want depth.

“Just as long as the whole Snow Crystal experience doesn’t include bear and moose.” She sipped her chocolate and closed her eyes. It was the best thing she’d tasted, the hot velvety sweetness made even more perfect by the freezing temperatures biting through her clothing. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Good, isn’t it?”

She opened her eyes and saw that he was smiling. “Worth two solid weeks on the treadmill.”

“You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tasted Brigitte’s hot chocolate.”

“It’s wicked.” She tasted cream, chocolate and the burst of cinnamon and savored it all—flavor, scent and texture. As she licked cream from her top lip, she saw that he was watching her.

“I get the sense you don’t usually indulge.”

Kayla curled her fingers around the mug, warming her hands, staring down at the chocolate flakes sprinkled onto swirls of whipped cream. “That depends on what you mean by indulge.”

“Doing something just for the sheer pleasure of it.” Somehow the atmosphere had shifted. There was tension where tension shouldn’t exist. Heat where there should have been cold.

“Work is my indulgence.”

“Work can’t be an indulgence. Not even if you enjoy it.”

“Of course it can. There’s nothing like the high you get from winning a big account, or getting a client profiled in their target media.”

“Nothing?” He leaned across and brushed his thumb over her mouth, and she stilled, feeling that touch right through her.

“What are you doing?”

“Removing chocolate from your lips.”

“I could have done that.”

“I guess you could.” He lowered his hand slowly. “But I did it.”

Heart pounding, she touched her fingers to her mouth where his had been only moments earlier. “Do all the O’Neils touch a lot? Last night your mother wanted to hug me, and she’d only just met me.”

“My mother has always known how to give a warm welcome. Does it bother you?”

Yes, it bothered her . “I suppose I’m not used to it.”

“You don’t come from a family of huggers?”

“Why are you so interested in my family?”

“Just a friendly question, Kayla. But if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer.”

It made her uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable.

She tried not to look at the width of those shoulders or the warmth of his gaze. “My family wasn’t tactile.”

“Wasn’t?”

“I mean isn’t.” Unused to talking about her family, she handled it clumsily, but he let it go.

“How did you end up in public relations?”

The shift in conversation was a relief. “When I graduated, I went for an interview with an advertising agency in London. They had a sister PR agency and during my interview they decided I was exactly what they were looking for. It took about six months to discover I had an aptitude for finding media angles and selling them to the press. After that I was promoted pretty quickly.”

“It must have been hard, moving to the U.S.”

“Not really. I didn’t have anything keeping me in London.”

“Your family isn’t there?”

And, just like that, they were right back to that question. “My mother lives in New Zealand. My father, in Canada.”

“So you were on your own in the U.K.?”

She’d been on her own for as long as she could remember. “It’s fairly common for families to be scattered these days.” Scattered was a good word. Lost might have been a better one.

She thought about the envelope waiting for her back in the cabin. Last year, the envelope had stayed untouched until February when she’d finally cleared out the bottom of her in-tray.