Chapter Seven

Izzy had a bad feeling about this. Well, about many things pertaining to her stint in Captivity, but most strongly, at the moment, about the metal-toothed torture device Trace had borrowed from the inn and attached to the toe of her boot with two bindings.

“Are you sure I can’t just walk to the airfield?” The air smelled cold, which had never qualified as a scent to her before arriving in Captivity, but now it did. Cold and slightly piney, with a faint, nostril-tickling whiff of chimney smoke. From her perch on a split log bench under the covered sidewalk outside the inn, she squinted at the cloudless blue sky and crisp morning sun refracting off the sloping expanses of blinding white snow. The red shingled terminal blazed in the distance. The not-too-distant distance. Two miles, maybe two and a half, by her guess. Within her walking capabilities.

Crouched at her feet, he shook his head, and she tried not to admire the inky-blue halo of morning sunlight bouncing off his black hair. “You’ll be knee deep without the shoes.” He looked up at her. “The roads will be clear by noon. If this worries you, why don’t you enjoy the hotel for a few hours? I’ll drive back at lunch, pick you up, and show you around the operation.”

“No.” She lowered her voice, even though they had the sidewalk to themselves. “I’d like to get started right away.” She touched her leather messenger bag containing a printout of Skyline’s document request and her laptop. “It’s a pretty extensive list of requests.”

“All right, but just so you know, these”—he jiggled her other foot—“aren’t really the kind of boots snowshoes are designed for.”

Really? Her brand-new winter boots with, for her, low heels and grippy soles had seemed like perfect cold weather gear when she’d spied them in a store window in L.A. “Will it attach?”

“It will, but—”

She watched, fascinated and slightly turned on as he deftly secured the binding around the back of her boot. “But?”

He tapped the thick, two-inch heel. “I think it’s liable to slip off once you really get going. It wasn’t made for high heels. Sure you didn’t stash a pair of hiking boots somewhere in that big trunk of yours?”

In her book, stocky two-inch heels hardly qualified as “high,” but she didn’t see the benefit of explaining that to him. “These are my hiking boots.”

His mouth kicked up into a grin. The sad-eyed guy was nowhere to be found right now. “Just a shot in the dark here, Izzy, but I’m guessing you haven’t done a lot of hiking in the snow.”

“None. But I walk. I’ve been doing it since I was ten months old. How hard can it be to do it in snow?”

He simply clamped on the other snowshoe. “Practice here on the sidewalk for a few minutes and see if the bindings hold. I’m going to get my shoes from the car and spring Key from the kennel.” He held out a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. She tested one snowshoe, then the other, then gave him a thumbs up.

“Okay. Practice. I’ll be right back.”

Bundled in her puffy, rose-pink parka, ears cozy under her coordinated cashmere headband, she waited until the door of the inn slammed closed. Then she took a couple experimental steps. Not too smooth, but not too clumsy either. The trick, she discovered, was to really lift her feet and take wide steps, because the snowshoes had to clear each stride. Walk like a clown, basically.

Behind her, the inn door swung open. She managed an awkward turn, and discovered Rose and Lilah standing there, watching her and smiling encouragingly.

“It’s fun, yes?” Rose commented.

“Um. Yeah.” She forced a smile. “I can’t wait to…uh…” What was the verb? She decided to improvise. “Shush off into the snow and explore.”

“Good day for it. Good exercise, too,” Rose added, pumping her arms. “You might find your legs and”—she gestured toward her trim backside—“are a little sore later. I’ll put a bottle of our Captivity Cure Lotion in your suite.” She winked at Izzy. “Ask Trace to show you how to use it.”

She blushed. She knew she did because she felt the heat in her cheeks. Was the entire inn envisioning Trace giving her a rubdown later? “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I like your jacket,” Lilah said.

“Thank you. I didn’t know exactly what to pack,” she admitted. “Based on my research, March is a tricky month.”

“Yes,” Rose agreed. “Last night’s blizzard was not typical. Don’t judge Captivity by this.” She gestured at the drifts of snow. “A few short weeks from now, we’ll have bleeding hearts and primroses shooting. There’s more here than snowstorms.”

“I like your boots, too,” Lilah said. “They’re…” She broke off and blushed a little, and Izzy’s mind time-traveled back to her first semester in college, where all those SoCal kids had seemed so much more mature and stylish than she.

“Impractical,” she supplied, knowing Trace would agree with her assessment.

“They’re hot,” Lilah confessed. “But I’m not sure they’re best for snowshoeing.”

“Hmm.” Rose stroked her chin and considered. “Size seven?”

“Um…yes.”

“I will call Annie at Watkins General Store and ask her to send some size seven hiking boots to your suite. Trace has an account.”

Oh dear. This was getting out of hand, already. “That’s not necessary. Really. I don’t expect to—”

“We want you to have what you need,” Lilah said. To her surprise, the younger woman came over, took her gloved hands and gave them a quick squeeze. “We want you to be happy here. To feel at home.”

Sharp tines of guilt stabbed at her. These people were bending over backward for her because they thought she was the love of Trace’s life. Now she had to find a way to accept the kindness but discourage them from making more special efforts to help her feel at home. This wasn’t home and never would be, no matter how welcoming the locals were. She dredged up what she hoped looked like the smile of a woman in love. “I do feel at home, and happy. As long as I’m with Trace, I have everything I need.”

Was that too over-the-top? Apparently not, since mother and daughter exchanged pleased looks. That made her feel guilty, too, but she did her best to shake it off. It was Trace’s lie, not hers, and his mess to straighten out once the deal was done. If anything she said or did in the course of maintaining their cover story made things messier in the long run, well—she mentally shrugged—he’d signed up for it.

Trace chose that moment to reappear, snowshoes in hand and Key beside him. The ladies greeted him, and then Lilah crouched to give the husky some love. Mutual love, she decided as she watched Key’s tail shift to high gear. His body stayed in constant motion as he nosed his way past Lilah’s arms to lick her cheeks. She laughed and whispered to the dog. It answered in soft chuffs, almost as if they were exchanging secrets.

With that odd thought stuck in her head, she returned to the bench and sat. Trace took the spot beside her and clamped a snowshoe on with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times.

“Will you go to the lighthouse?” Rose asked.

Trace looked up from a binding and pointed toward the water. “Just down to the airfield.”

“The airfield?” Rose spat the word with a mix of disgust and exasperation. She shook her head. “No. She has already been to the airfield. Take her on a fun trail, to a pretty view.”

Beside her, Trace released a long-suffering breath. “When I go snowshoeing with you, Rose, you can pick the destination, but until then—”

“I want to go to the airfield,” Izzy interrupted to assure the older woman. “We passed through so quickly last night, I didn’t really get to see the place where Trace invests so much of his time and talent.” She turned to him and rested her hand on his upper arm. Thick muscles leapt under her fingers, and muscles in her thighs contracted in response. “I want to see that part of him.”

“You see it in the daylight, you might decide to go home,” Rose grumbled. “Are you going to take her to the lake while she’s here? What about the museum? The reindeer farm? The sculpture garden?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe? What is maybe? You sound like a man with no plan,” Rose scolded.

“My plans are fluid,” Trace countered.

Rose responded, and she and Trace began to debate the merits of various attractions, but Izzy tuned them out because Lilah finished loving on Key and the dog padded over to sit in front of her. By way of greeting, he gave a low, “Woof.”

“Hi.” He was a handsome guy, with his snowy white face and black mask of fur across his ice-blue eyes. Shorter hair like white chenille lined his alert ears, bordered by a narrow perimeter of black velvet. She made a fist and extended her arm. “Fist bump?”

Key lifted his front paw and tapped her fist. Delighted she’d mastered the trick, she said, “Good boy, Key.”

He surged forward, put his front paws on her lap, and licked her face.

“Oh! Good dog.” She leaned away from him to avoid a second swipe. “Um, down?”

Lilah appeared, hooked fingers under his collar, and said, “Down, Key,” in a gently firm tone. The dog instantly obeyed, then raised his head and panted up at Lilah adoringly. “He’s a good boy.” She smiled. “Just enthusiastic, sometimes.”

Key barked his agreement. It rang out over the sound of Rose badgering Trace. “Bring her to the inn for dinner tonight. A nice dinner. Not burgers from a bag.”

“Yes, Rose,” Trace muttered, securing his other snowshoe. Straightening, he purposely checked his watch. “Much as I’d love to sit here and let you plan every nano-second of Izzy’s visit, we’ve got to go.” He stood and turned to her, broad and rough and ready in his gray knit cap, dark glasses, and dark blue insulated vest over a gray hooded sweatshirt and jeans. He slipped her messenger bag over his shoulder and then held out a hand to her. “You ready?” His tight lips silently urged her to say yes.

Behind him, the untouched snow spread out like a fresh, white blanket. She put her hand in his. “As I’ll ever be.”

He tugged her to her feet. “It’ll be fine. One way or another, we’ll get you there.”

One way or another? She looked down the moderate series of hills that sloped to the airfield and harbor. What was another, pray tell? She had an uncomfortable vision of losing her balance and rolling bodily down those hills, like a human snowball. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into? Nothing on the bar exam had prepared her for Captivity.

Trace gave a short whistle. “Go, Key!”

“Awoo!” The dog flew off the sidewalk and landed in a bank of snow that swallowed the big animal to his underbelly. No problem for the dog. Key barked happily as he leapt and bounded through the deep snow. After a few yards, he stopped and turned, as if waiting expectantly for the hoomans to catch up.

“Bye ladies,” Trace said to Rose and Lilah, and then turned to her. “Okay, Izzy, let’s put those L.A. hiking boots to the test.” With one long, graceful stride he stepped off the sidewalk and into the trampled down snow trail the dog had created, then took several long, effortless steps.

Trying to mirror his moves, she led with her right leg and stepped off the sidewalk.

Ugh. Despite the snowshoes, her foot sank deep into cold, heavy snow. The soft, sugary look of it had deceived her into thinking it would be a light, fluffy powder. Balancing on that leg, wobbling more precariously than she’d expected, she considered asking for help.

Come on, Isabelle. It’s just walking. A journey of a thousand steps starts with one.

She slid her left foot around and brought it out in front of her, planted it in the snow, and…tipped over sideways.

“Whoa, there.” A strong arm caught her around the waist before she landed in a snowbank. “Don’t put one foot directly in front of the other. Walk more side to side, like you normally would.” Carefully, he released her, and demonstrated.

Easy for him, obviously, but…she tried to emulate his technique, and managed a few halting steps. Snowshoeing in two feet of the fresh stuff was like the toughest setting on the elliptical, times ten.

“That’s it. You’ve got it. Follow me.”

He headed off at what he probably considered a beginner’s pace, but it challenged her shorter, inexperienced legs to keep up with his longer strides. After a few feet, though, she found a steady groove.

Up ahead, Trace turned to watch her progress. “Nice job.”

“My legs are on fire,” she admitted as she caught up to where he stood.

He extended an arm toward the harbor. “Good news is, it’s all downhill from here.”

“Is downhill easier?”

He smiled. “Easier on the quads. Harder on the knees.”

Great.

They started again, but a few steps down the mild incline, her heel slipped free of the binding and her snowshoe kicked out. She landed on her ass with an, “Oof.”

Key barked, bounced over, and danced around her. Trace backtracked as well. “Problem?”

“The binding popped.” She secured it in place the way she’d watched him do and accepted his outstretched hand. He brought her to her feet in one smooth pull.

“I think now that we’re on the slope it’s just going to keep sliding out. Why don’t we go with plan B?”

She dusted the snow off her jeans and considered him through her sunglasses. “What’s plan B?”

He shifted her messenger bag until he had the strap diagonal across his chest, turned and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Plan B. I’ll piggyback you down.”

Her, clinging to his back, with her legs threaded through his arms, her thighs clamped at his hips, and her arms around his neck? Yeah, Izzy, plan B—where you bump and grind all over the man while he lugs you around like a rucksack. And, sadly, it would be the most action she’d seen in a year. Just thinking about it got her hot and bothered. “Noooo. I’ll be fine. The binding will hold, as long as I’m careful.”

“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.

One hand slid under her ponytail to clasp the back of her head. Another cupped her ass. Her entire ass, as if his hand had been designed for the express purpose of holding her there. The heavy weight of it sent a rush of heat between her thighs. She moaned and plunged her tongue into his mouth, frantic to demonstrate what she needed from him. Needed it soon.

He closed his lips around her tongue, capturing it, and sucked slowly from base to tip. Her nipples turned to stinging points. A sharp ache settled deep between her legs. She squirmed against him, trying to relieve it by rubbing on the hard length of his cock running under the fly of his jeans.

He groaned. The hand on her ass tightened.

Not soon. Now. Right there in the snow.

His tongue delved into her mouth, forcing her lips wide, and stroked her everywhere. She nearly sobbed from the glorious pillage. Desire twisted low in her belly, wringing need out of her in a steady stream. If she could get her gloves off, tug his fly open, she could touch him—touch actual dick for the first time in forever. Stroke it. Pull it. Guide it—

“Oh, yah. Hellooo. Good morning to you.”