Sleigh Bells in the Snow(20)

It felt a million miles from Manhattan. A million miles from her life.

A million miles from the all-consuming madness of Christmas.

She smiled.

She could have been the only person on the planet.

And then she heard the car door slam and remembered she wasn’t the only person.

He was here.

The chemistry was a tight knot in her stomach and the frantic race of her heart.

She’d spent the journey with her head down, trying not to think about the man in the driver’s seat next to her, trying not to think about his hands, strong and sure on the wheel or his thighs, hard and muscular, dangerously close to hers. But Jackson O’Neil wasn’t easy to ignore. And he’d kept glancing at her, as if trying to work out who she really was behind the person she projected.

He made her edgy.

Striving for normality, she reached for her phone, but he shook his head as he put her bag down next to her.

“The signal is patchy here. It’s better in the cabin. I’ll leave you for a couple of hours to catch up on whatever you need to do, then I’ll pick you up and take you to the main house. I’ll do my best to keep the experience as painless as possible.”

It seemed an odd thing to say. Or maybe he thought she was nervous with no team to back her up. “It’s a meeting. I’ve taken plenty of meetings in my time.”

“This one might be a little different.”

“Different keeps things interesting. I’m looking forward to meeting your family and getting straight down to business.” She emphasized the word business as much for her benefit as his.

She didn’t want this to be about anything other than work.

As far as she was concerned, the chemistry was as unwelcome as Santa.

Telling herself that all she had to do was ignore it, Kayla turned to pick up her bag only to find he was already holding it.

“This path can be icy. You might want to hold my hand.”

What?

Certain that holding his hand would be a fast route to the dark side, she curled her fingers into her palm. “I’ll be fine.”

“We sweep the snow but there are always a few icy patches.”

She’d rather hit an icy patch than lay a hand on any of his muscles. That was a line she definitely didn’t want to cross. “I have natural balance.” Trying to look professional, Kayla adjusted her scarf. “I do yoga and Pilates.”

“Natural balance.” He watched her with a lazy, hooded gaze. “That’s good to hear.” Turning away, he unlatched the gate, carrying her bag as if it weighed nothing. “The place should be warm. There should be plenty of logs for the fire but if you need more, let me know.”

Kayla stared at those wide, powerful shoulders now encased in a warm, winter jacket.

It was obvious he’d chopped a lot of logs in his time.

Dressed in a suit, he’d unsettled her, but with a great deal of mental effort she’d managed to box him together with all the other men in suits she met on a daily basis.

Now he’d punched his way out of that box.

Given that he had his back to her she allowed herself one indulgent, entirely feminine glance of appreciation.

Stacy was right. He was insanely hot.

And because life had a way of doling out what you didn’t want at the most inconvenient moment, he turned and caught her looking. “Something wrong?”

“Just enjoying the view.” Hoping he didn’t guess exactly which view she’d been enjoying, she kept her head down and walked quickly past him. Too quickly. Her feet made brief contact with ice. There was a horrible stomach-swooping moment where she fought gravity, arms flailing like the rotor blades on a helicopter, but it was a useless battle and she landed flat on her back in the deep snow at the side of the path.

Cold oozed through the soft wool of her coat, which she hadn’t bothered fastening, and snow enveloped her. It tumbled on her face, on her chest and trickled down her boots. Snow crystals froze to the back of her neck and dampened her hair until she was chilled right through to her skull. Somehow, in the general indignity of the fall, her smart pencil skirt had managed to ride up high on her thighs, and she could feel ice numb her legs.

Kayla lay there, pinned to the ground by shock and snowflakes while Jackson strolled across to her, maddeningly secure on the slippery path.

She gritted her teeth. “If you so much as mutter ‘I told you so,’ I’m resigning the account.”

“You should have held my hand.”

“It would have felt weird holding hands with a client.”

“More weird than lying flat on your back in front of a client with one leg in Vermont and the other in New Hampshire?” He was laughing now, and the sensual curve of his mouth made her insides curl.