“I can’t understand that, either.”
She grinned at his back, and then, not being one to waste an opportunity, she began to ball snow. She had a good-size pile of ammunition when he came out again, and she sent the first one sailing smack into his forehead.
“Bull’s-eye.”
He wiped snow out of his eyes. “You’ve already lost at one game.”
“That was poker.” She picked up another ball, weighed it. “This is war. And war takes skill, not luck.”
He dodged the next throw, swearing when he nearly overbalanced, then caught the next one in the chest. Dead center.
“I should tell you I was the top pitcher on my softball team in college. I still hold the record for strikeouts.”
The next one smacked into his shoulder, but he was prepared. In a move she had to admire, he came up with a stinging fastball that zoomed in right on the letters. He’d pitched a few himself, but he didn’t think he would mention that he’d been captain of the intergalactic softball team three years running.
“Not bad, Hornblower.” She sent out two, catching him with the second on the dodge. She had a mean curve, and she was pleased to note that she hadn’t lost her touch. Snow splattered all over his coat. One particularly well-thrown ball nearly took off his hat.
Before her pile began to dwindle, she had him at eight hits to two and was getting cocky. It didn’t occur to her that he had closed half the distance between them.
When he took one full in the face, she doubled over with laughter. Then she shrieked when he caught her under the arms and lifted her off her feet.
“Good aim, bad strategy,” he commented before he dropped her face first in the snow.
She rolled over, spitting out snow. “I still won.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
With a good-natured shrug, she held out a hand. He hesitated. She smiled. The moment he clasped her hand, she threw her weight back and had him flying into the drift beside her.
“What does it look like now?”
“Hand-to-hand.”
He grasped her by the shoulders. They only sank deeper. Snow worked its way, cold and wet, down the collar of his borrowed coat. He found it, and the way her body twisted and turned against his, impossibly stimulating. She was laughing, kicking up snow as she tried to pin him on the icy mat. Breathless, she managed a half nelson, and she nearly had the call when she felt herself flying over his shoulder.
She landed with a thump, half buried, and lay there for a second, dragging in air. “Nice move,” she panted. Then she dived at him again. She scissored, dipped and managed to slither out of his hold. Working fast, she twisted until she was half-sitting, half-lying on his back. Using her weight, she dunked his face in the snow.
“Say uncle.”
He said something a great deal ruder, and she laughed so hard she nearly lost her grip.
“Come on, J.T., a real man admits it when he’s licked.”
He could have beaten her, he thought in disgust as his face numbed. But twice when he’d tried for a hold his hand had skimmed over particularly interesting curves. It had broken his concentration.
“Two out of three,” he mumbled.
“If we try for two out of three, we’ll freeze to death.” Taking his grunt for agreement, she helped him turn over. “Not bad for a scientist.”
“If we took it indoors, you wouldn’t have a chance.” But he was winded.
“The point is, I came out on top.”
He lifted a brow. “In a manner of speaking.”
She only grinned. “I wish you could see your face. Even your eyelashes are white.”
“So are yours.” He lifted a gloved hand that was already coated with snow and rubbed it on her face.
“Cheat.”
“Whatever works.” Exhausted, he let his hand drop again. He didn’t know the last time he’d been taken—or when he’d enjoyed it so much.
“We’d better get some more wood.” She braced a hand to get up, slipped and landed with a thump on his chest. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’ve got a few ribs left.”
His arms had come around her. His face was close. It was a mistake, she knew, to stay this way, even for a moment. But she didn’t move. And then she didn’t think. It was the most natural thing in the world for her to lower her lips to his.
They were cool, and firm, and everything she wanted. Kissing him was like diving headfirst into a cold mountain lake. Thrilling, exhilarating. And risky. She heard her own sound of pleasure, quick and quiet, before she threw what was left of caution to the winds and deepened the kiss.
She winded him. Weakened him. Loss of control meant nothing. Control was meant to be given up in passion. But this . . . this was different. As her lips heated his, he felt both will and strength drain away. There was a mist in his brain as thick and as white as the snow they lay in. And he could think of nothing and no one but her.
The women who had come before her were nothing. Shadows. Phantoms. When her mouth slid agilely over his he understood that there would be no women after her. She had, in one heady instant, taken over his life. Surrounded it, invaded it. Consumed it.
Shaken, he brought his hands to her shoulders, prepared, determined, to hurl her aside. But his fingers only tightened, and his need only grew.
It was like a rage in him. She could feel it. It was building in her, as well. A fury. A driving hunger. And his mouth, his mouth alone, was dragging her over the rocky border between heaven and hell. So close, she thought, that she could feel the flames licking at her skin, tempting her to tumble recklessly into the fire. For it would be all brimstone and heat with him. And she was afraid, very afraid, that she would never be satisfied with less.
She lifted her head, an inch, then two. She was amazed to find her mind spinning and her breath uneven. It had only been a kiss, she reminded herself. A kiss, however passionate, didn’t alter lives. Still, she wanted distance, and quickly, so that she could convince herself she was the same person she had been before it.
“We really have to get that wood,” she managed. Suddenly she was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to stand. It wouldn’t do her ego a bit of good to have to crawl back to the house. Cautiously she rolled away from him. Then, using every ounce of will she possessed, she dragged herself to her feet. She made a production out of brushing the snow from her coat and wished he would say something. Anything.
“Look.”
Wary, she turned. But he was only pointing to the feeder, where a few hardy birds were enjoying breakfast. It helped her relax a little. “Well, I’ve done my duty by them.” Because she was suddenly and brutally aware of the cold, she gave herself a quick shake. “I’m going in.”
She waded across the snow. They didn’t speak again as they gathered wood, as they tromped snow from their boots or as they carried the logs to the woodbox. Sunny banked down an urge for a steaming cup of tea. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to think.
“I’m going up for a shower.” Feeling miserably awkward, she watched him toss logs on the fire.
“Fine.”
She made a face at his back. “Fine.”
He waited until he heard her climb the stairs before he straightened. The woman was scrambling his brain, he decided. It was highly probable that he was still disoriented from the trip. That was why she was having such a profound effect on him. All he needed was a little more time to adjust. Data or no data, it would be best if he took that time aboard ship.
He took a long, thoughtful look at the cabin. Still, he’d promised to do the dishes. It would be an interesting experience to try his hand at it.
Upstairs, Sunny stripped off layers of clothes, letting each item fall carelessly to the floor. Naked, she turned the shower on, letting it run until the hot water was steaming. She winced as she stepped under it, then let out a long, lazy sigh.
Better, she told herself. It was certainly a better way of getting her blood moving than kissing Jacob. No, it
