He held up his hands as though to prove his innocence. And his blue eyes, more beautiful than the cloudless sky overhead, were filled with sunshine. “Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Because you’re treating me like a fine, breakable teacup.”
“Or maybe it’s because I want to be the one to owe you a prize.” His tone dipped in his seductive, smooth-talking way.
It made her stomach dip too. “If I’m the winner, I get to pick the prize.”
“No. I get to give it.”
“That’s not fair. What if I don’t like my reward?”
“Oh, you’ll like it.” He did it again. Lowered his voice and made her feel as though she were walking a high mountain trail with thinning air that made her lightheaded.
She pushed against his chest, needing to somehow diffuse the tension pulling more magnetically with each passing moment.
At her light shove, he pretended to tumble backward. At the same time, he latched onto her arm and pulled her with him. With a grin, he allowed himself to fall down into the snow. And he didn’t release her, so that she found herself landing backward in a soft drift close by.
“This is your prize.” He began to move his arms and legs, shifting them in and then out. “Making snow angels.”
Her backside was soaking in the wet snow, but she pushed herself up to her elbows and watched him. After a moment, he gingerly crawled away from his spot on the ground, leaving behind an imprint—one that did, indeed, look like that of an angel.
“Your turn.” He waited expectantly above her.
She hesitated only a moment before she lowered herself back to the snow and began to shift her arms and legs the way he’d done. When finished, she inched away and then stood and examined her snow angel. Hers was directly beside his, giving the impression that the two were holding hands—or wings.
“Our guardian angels are watching over us.” He was staring down at their indentations in the snow, his expression almost tender.
It truly was beautiful to see his larger imprint and her smaller one beside it, both looking like angels.
“Let’s do it again.” She tugged him toward an untouched patch of snow only a few feet away. Before she could position herself, he reached for her hand and slipped his fingers around hers.
Her body halted its forward momentum, and she felt as though she stood in front of a narrow tunnel where he was the only thing she could see and his hand was the only thing she could focus on.
He hadn’t held her hand before. Yes, he’d tugged at her arm or guided her by her shoulders or poked at her playfully. But he hadn’t purposefully held on to her for any length of time.
Of course, he’d deliberately grazed her on a couple occasions. And those occasions had seared into her, rendering her a quivering bundle of nerves. Even though she couldn’t deny how much she liked his touch, she was also relieved he’d been a gentleman and hadn’t taken advantage of her or their being snowed in together.
But now, holding her hand? What did it mean? She opened her mouth to question him, but no words came out.
He held himself precariously, starting to tip backward into the drift. “Ready?”
“No—” She was too late. He was falling and taking her with him.
His fingers were surprisingly warm, even though he’d been throwing snow at her. And they were strong with a hint of gentleness.
With her thoughts focused on the feel of his hand holding hers, she didn’t pay attention to where she was landing. And a moment later, she fell backward directly into him, almost squarely on top of him.
“Oomph.” He flinched at the impact.
For a second, she couldn’t fathom anything else and lay unmoving on top of him. Her whole focus was on the feel of his hand against hers, their palms touching, his long fingers draped around hers possessively, his grip tightening.
He didn’t move or say anything either. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Umm, I guess you missed the snow.”
Something in his tone penetrated her mind. And suddenly she was keenly aware of his solid body beneath hers—his broad chest, his sinewy arms, and his long legs tangled with hers.
Ugh. Mortification swept through her at the indecency of her position. She was directly on top of him, likely cutting off his breathing.
She tried to roll off, but because of the way he was holding her hand so tightly, she found herself flipped over, and this time her chest—instead of her back—pressed into him.
More mortification swept through her. She was still on top of him but this time staring down at him, his face inches from hers, his wide eyes peering up at her.
“Oh, dear heavens.” She tried to make herself move but didn’t make it far. “I’m sorry, Philip. I didn’t mean for this to happen—”
He cut her off with a finger to her lips from his free hand.
The caress sent a needy surge through her middle. And suddenly her senses were overwhelmed with not only his hand in hers but also his finger against her mouth. He held it there for a moment before moving it away.
“You should have warned me you wanted to tackle me instead of make snow angels.” His tone came out teasing.
“I didn’t mean to tackle you.” Where was her wit? And why couldn’t she breathe?
“I think you did.” His lips turned up slyly.
“I wasn’t paying attention. That’s all.”
“Likely excuse—”
“It’s not an excuse.”
“Just admit it. You tackled me because you want to kiss me.”
He’d teased her about kissing before. And while those conversations had warmed up her insides, she had always been able to tease him back.
This time, she couldn’t find a retort. Instead, her attention dropped to his mouth. It was only inches away, his lips still curved. Firm and full. What would it be like to touch his lips the way he’d touched hers?
No, she didn’t want to kiss him. She wouldn’t even think about it. But she could touch him, couldn’t she? And find out exactly how those lips of his felt beneath her fingertips.
She lifted her free hand to his face, and then before she could talk herself out of it, she brought her fingers down lightly against his lips.
His smile disappeared.
Had she made a mistake?
She tore her attention from his mouth only to find her gaze colliding with his. The mirth was gone, and the blue was quickly darkening and his pupils widening. She wasn’t an expert on reading emotions, but she had no trouble deciphering stark desire in those dark depths.
What had she done? He’d been keeping the moment light and full of teasing as he always did. She should have joked back, should have smiled, should have rolled off like she’d been trying to do.
Instead, she’d parked on top of him as if he were a mountaintop and she intended to stay for a while and have a picnic. She couldn’t. She had to disentangle her fingers from his. That was the first place she had to start. Then her mind would be clearer, and she’d be able to make better decisions.
She tugged at her hand, loosening it from his hold. But before she could extricate it all the way, he lifted it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
All of time stopped from the beginning of the world to the end.
His eyes caught hers again, refusing to let go. And this time, as he laid another soft kiss on her hand, her pulse halted, and all that mattered was this man. Philip Berg was everything she’d ever wanted—kindhearted, giving, self-sacrificing, caring, decent, good, and a dozen other qualities that she couldn’t find words for at the moment.