“Okay.” His raised brows said he wasn’t convinced, but he turned and started walking again, a little more slowly.
She let out a breath and followed. Yes, this was better. It would work, as long as she didn’t put too much stress on her left—
“Oof.” The right binding popped, and she landed on her ass again. When Rose had indicated snowshoeing might be hard on her backside, she hadn’t envisioned quite this sort of punishment. “Dammit.”
Key hightailed back to her side. Trace turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Plan B?”
She shook her head. “I can do this.” She resecured the binding and planted both feet flat in the snow.
“Want some help getting up?”
“Nope. I’ve got it.” Yoga three days a week wasn’t for nothing. In addition to helping her manage stress, her practice ensured she could malasana with the best of ’em. Boosting her hips up by planting her hands behind her, she walked her hands close to her heels, rocked her upper body forward, and came into a squat. From there, she extended her arms and reached for the horizon. The counterbalance slowly tipped her forward until her hands sank into the snow. Then she straightened her legs. Once they were solidly under her, she rose to a standing position. Pleased, she dusted her backside off again, and sent him a triumphant look.
“Well, that was easy.”
When he turned away, she considered scooping up a snowball and hurling it at his back. No, she’d never thrown a snowball before, but surely even a novice snow-baller could hit the side of a barn. Or Trace Shanahan’s back.
Key nudged her into motion with a nose-butt and a howl. She continued her slog down the slope, trying her best to keep all her weight in her toes. It cost her speed, but it worked—sort of—until her shoes sank into a deep patch. When she tried to lift her foot, the heel popped free again. This time she fell front-first into the snow and inhaled tiny ice crystals for her trouble.
Trace said, “Key, airfield. Go.” By the time she maneuvered herself onto all fours, the dog was nothing but a puffy tail disappearing out of sight. Trace stood in front of her. He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “This isn’t going to work.”
She could, on occasion, admit defeat. “No.”
“Care to reconsider plan B?”
She did not. “Plan B is a hard no. Just leave me.” She struggled to her feet. “I’ll walk down in my own time.”
“I can’t just leave you. It’s thirty-four degrees out here. Maybe we’ll hit forty by this afternoon, but even so, it’s not, ‘linger outside and soak in the sun,’ weather. We’re moving to plan C.”
There was a plan C? “What’s plan”—a granite shelf of shoulder hit her low on her hips, her body folded forward, and her feet left the ground—“Ceeeeeeee?” She caught her sunglasses before they fell off her face. A big hand clamped over her butt and a masculine laugh provided the soundtrack to a view of the hillside whipping by at heretofore unattained speeds while her entire skeleton endured a bone-jostling decent. Somewhere beyond the chaos of the moment she registered that he’d hauled her over his shoulder and was now snowshoeing down the hill at a breakneck pace.
“Trace!” She thumped a gloved hand against his back.
“What?”
His vest absorbed most of the blow. Because it occurred to her that she might arrive at the airfield, ass-up, over his shoulder, she thumped again. “Put me down!”
“What? Sorry. Can’t hear you.”
Yeah, he couldn’t hear her over his laughter. “I said, put”—thump—“me”—thump—“down.” Thump.
He slowed as the hill leveled out. Her world whirled again as he dumped her into a snow drift. She landed with a whoosh of breath an instant before he landed on top of her, his grinning face inches from hers, both of them breathing heavy.
He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and gazed at her. “You’re down.”
“Ha. Ha. You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
His grin went crooked, tiny lines crinkled the corners of his eyes, and her hormones went wild.
“Actually, Izzy, I think you’re funny.”
She sniffed. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled.” Such a lie. Parts of her appreciated it a lot. The same parts that appreciated being pinned under a big, hard, heavy man.
“I think you liked it a little.” He worked an arm under her and pulled her tighter against him. “I’m sure you liked it better than being stuck on the hillside until two feet of snow melted enough for you to walk down under your own power. You may be in charge of the legal stuff, but when we’re in the great outdoors—or the air—I’m in charge.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, not sure if she intended it to keep him back or tug him closer. Wintergreen toothpaste flavored the cold air between them. “Be that as it may”—jeez, she sounded like she had a stick up her ass—“you could have run your plan by me before making the executive decision.”
“You’d already vetoed plan B,” he pointed out, and his grin went cocky, which was an irrationally irritating turn-on. “The time for negotiations had ended. It was time for action.”
God, every part of her from the neck down agreed—it was definitely time for action. Despite, or maybe because of the warmth of his body seeping into hers, she shivered. Hoping to cover the reaction, she licked her lips and tried for a haughty, “Is that so?” It came out weak and breathless. Oh, Izzy, we’re in trouble here.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you something else.”
“What’s that?” Also weak. Also breathless.
He leaned close and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
Somehow, without express permission from her brain, the hand on his shoulder moved to his jaw. She rubbed her gloved palm against his beard and stared into his blue eyes. “I-I’m not angry,” she protested, and her attention dropped to his mouth. “I’m…” Hard-up? Pent-up? Horny as hell?
Maybe she moved first, maybe he did, but the next thing she knew, warm lips sealed to hers. So warm. So sure. Her eyelids surrendered to gravity. Her fingers snuck under his knit cap and sank into his hair. She tipped her chin up slightly to intensify the pressure of his mouth on hers.
Something shifted. At first, she thought the snow supporting her had given way. A surprised squeak escaped from her throat and her arms instinctively clung to him for safety. But no, there was no danger. He’d simply rolled them to reverse their positions. Now he lay in the snow and she rested on top of him, her legs splayed around his hips, her upper body melting into his wide chest. She scooched higher and dove back into the kiss.