Snowflakes and Silver Linings

Casey squatted down and slammed the lid, nearly catching Harper’s snout. The dog whined, perplexed at being thwarted, then while Casey struggled with the sticky latch, she noticed the keys.

“Harper,” Casey pleaded, “don’t—”

With a happy thump of her tail, the dog scooped up the keys. Holding them in her mouth as gently as she would have a downed bird, she delivered them to the shadowy figure in the darkness of the porch, forcing Casey, finally, to look at him.

Harper sat down, tail thumping, offering him the prize.

“Keys,” he said, in the voice that played music on Casey’s harp.

He took them, examined them, jingling them with a certain satisfaction.

“To the chambers of a lovely maiden? What a good dog. So much better than a newspaper or slippers.”

It was said with the ease of a man comfortable with his attraction, confident in how women reacted to him. Luckily for Casey, her guard was up. Way up. And luckily for her, she was intensely wary of men who were so smoothly sure of themselves!

Gathering her composure—it was a test of the gods, after all—she straightened, turned and glared in his direction.

His voice was deep and faintly sardonic. She tried to ignore the fact it felt as if his words had vibrated along the nape of her neck, as sensual as the scrape of fingertips.

Turner Kennedy was sitting on the railing that surrounded the covered porch, one foot resting on the floor, the other up, swinging ever so slightly as he watched her.

He had a cigarette in his hand, but it wasn’t lit.

She detested men who smoked. Which was a good thing. Coupled with his flirtatious remark, and the fact he had scared her nearly to death, Turner was at strike three already, and she had shared the porch with him for barely fifteen seconds.

Still, a part of her insisted on remembering he had not smoked back then.

Good grief! It had been years ago. He hadn’t smoked then, but they were both different people by now! She had been tried, tested and spit out by life since then. Plus she wasn’t a callow, stars-in-her-eyes girl any longer. She was a respected member of an important research team.

How long had he been there? Had he seen her exit the inn with determination, stumble through the darkness, put her key in the car door, only to come back with just as much determination?

Casey wanted to escape, dash in the front door of the Gingerbread Inn without another word. Over her shoulder she could give instructions for him to leave her keys on the table on the front entryway.

But that was childish. And that was not why she had come back. Her responses to him seemed very primal—flight or fight.

She was going to have to see him sometime. She was rattled, but she was not letting that show! She was ready to fight!

She had run from him once tonight, and she was not doing it again. Casey ignored the hammering of her heart and forced down her clamoring insecurities. She crossed the distance between them with all the confidence of the successful, purposeful woman she had become since their last meeting.

This was an opportunity to face her demons head-on. To rid herself of the pull of such men, so that she could be a better mother. Her own mother would say that such a coincidence was heaven sent, though as a scientist Casey didn’t believe in such things.

Smiling faintly, Turner watched her come.

He had been exceptional looking all those years ago: dark-chocolate hair, eyes the color of pewter, high proud cheekbones, straight nose, strong chin, sensual full lips. Now, he had matured into something even finer.

Though the night was frosty, his jacket was hanging over the railing beside him. Underneath a beautifully tailored dress shirt—a deep shade of walnut that set off the silver of his eyes—his shoulders were unbelievably broad, his chest deep. Casey could tell there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him. The shirt was open at the throat and he had rolled up the sleeves to just below his elbows. His forearms were corded with strength.

She could actually feel some masculine power heat the cool air around him as he gazed at her, that smile lifting one corner of his sexy mouth. He was a man who was way too sure of himself.

“Just keys,” she said, “to an ordinary room. Not a suite at the Waldorf.” She held out her hand for them.

* * *

The Waldorf Astoria with Casey Caravetta. When Turner had been lured here by the promise of endless ice, he hadn’t really thought of that.

Of who else might be here. He certainly had not thought she would be.

Casey had been a bridesmaid at Emily and Cole’s wedding. Turner had been the best man. Unknown to anyone, even his best friend, he had been on countdown.

The newly formed and top secret Tango unit had been shipping out on their first mission four days after the wedding.

Maybe it had been that heightened awareness that had made him see Casey in an entirely different light than he usually would have.

They had spent the night of the wedding together—and not in the way he was used to spending nights with young women. She wasn’t, after all, his regular kind of girl.

She had been almost comically uptight at first. Geeky and sweet. With just the tiniest nudge, she had poured out her heart to him. Her walls had come down and revealed a young woman who was brilliant and funny and deep. And damaged by life.

He’d found himself unable to say good-night, and feeling compelled to give her something. A break from herself—from the rigid control she exercised over herself. He wanted her to have some carefree, no-strings-attached fun, a taste of the life-lit-from-within intensity that predeployment was making him feel.

He’d had the means to do it. Settlements from his father’s death had left him with a whole pile of money that he wanted to get rid of. What if he used it to do something good?

He’d had four days before he flew off to an uncertain future. Everyone who signed up for Tango knew they were in for highly dangerous work. With no guarantee they were ever coming back.

It had been like adopting a little sister.

Except, before the days had come to an end, he had not been feeling very brotherly toward her. Looking at her now, he could remember jumping on the bed at the Waldorf, and painting her toenails, and laughing until his stomach hurt. He could remember the feel of her hand in his, the light that had shone, wondrous, in her eyes, the break from a self-imposed discipline that had made him crush the fullness of her lips beneath his own on the final night....

* * *

As Casey watched recognition darken Turner’s eyes, his smile faded. But not before she had noted teeth that were as white as the snow that fell around them. They drew Casey’s gaze, unwillingly, to the sinful sexiness of that mouth.

But it was not the smile she remembered. The one she recalled had been boyish and open. Now, despite his flirtatious tone, and the faint smile, she could see something ever so subtly guarded in him.

She met his eyes, and again noted a change. The once clear gray held shadows, like frozen water reflecting storm clouds.

She frowned. Her memory, from those days together after Cole and Emily’s wedding, was of eyes that sparked with carefree mischief.

Turner’s eyebrows edged up. He threw the cigarette away and got down off the railing.

He reached out with his right hand and touched, ever so lightly, the hollow of her throat.

“I did scare you,” he said apologetically. “Your heart is beating like that of a doe trapped against a fence by wolves.”

More like a deer in the headlights, because though she ordered herself to slap his hand away, she stood absolutely paralyzed by his touch. His fingers radiated a stunningly sensual warmth on the cold of her neck.

Still, by sheer force of will, she managed to keep her expression neutral. Better he think her heart was pounding like that from being startled, rather than from seeing him again.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure which it was, especially with his merest touch causing a riot of sensation within her. Which it was best he not know about, as well!