Jackson felt an urge to power her back into the cabin and put some color into those pale cheeks. Instead he forced himself to step back and give her space.
“Santa’s not real? No one ever told me that. You just ruined my day.” He kept it light and saw her relax slightly.
“If you dump me in the snow, you’ll ruin mine.” She zipped the jacket to the neck and pulled on the gloves he handed her. “I hardly dare ask why I’m dressed like this. I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer. Does it involve bear or moose?” She turned to lock the cabin door.
“It might do. And you don’t need to worry about locking up. My mother hasn’t locked her door since she arrived here thirty-five years ago.”
“I live in a city. Force of habit.” Dropping the keys into her pocket, she stepped gingerly onto the deck, testing the surface. “These feel more stable than my other boots.”
“Anything would feel more stable than your other boots. Those should be fine on most surfaces, except for sheet ice. Here—” He handed her a helmet and she looked at it in alarm.
“I need a helmet?”
“For protection.”
“Protection from what?” Their feet crunched on snow as they walked down the path and she turned the helmet in her hands, looking at it from all angles. “I should have worn one of these last night when I met Walter. And maybe a bulletproof vest.”
He was impressed that she could treat it with humor despite feeling bruised. “Put the helmet on. We’re going to explore some of the Snow Crystal trails and backcountry.”
“How? I saw that picture of you jumping off a cliff, and frankly I don’t think I could— Oh—” She stopped at the gate and saw what was parked there. “What’s that?”
“That, Cinderella, is your carriage.”
She eyed the snowmobile. “We’ve been reading different fairy tales.”
“Cinderella would have loved a snowmobile. You’ve never been on one?”
“Er—no. There’s not a lot of call for them in London or New York.”
“They’re the most flexible mode of transport around here. They can cope with the forest tracks and the frozen lake. Guests love them. We have forty miles of groomed trails through the forest and the mountains.”
“The guests use these?”
“Tyler and a couple of the other instructors take small groups on snowmobile rides through the forest. We’re careful to stick to a defined route so we’re less likely to disturb wildlife, but it’s something most people enjoy around here. You need to put that helmet on and to do that you need to remove this...” He removed the clip from the back of her head and her hair slithered down in a sheet of tempting honey-gold. One strand curled across her cheek and brushed the corner of her full mouth.
Lust slammed into him.
Deciding he was in more trouble than he’d thought, Jackson took the helmet from her and pushed it onto her head. He secured it, noticing that she was avoiding eye contact. He might have thought nothing of it had it not been for the streak of color across her cheekbones and the fact she was barely breathing.
He knew the feeling.
“Are you ready?”
“Ready?” Her voice was a startled croak.
“For our trip.” Damn, he wasn’t doing any better than she was. All he wanted to do was pull off that helmet and kiss that mouth. “Through the forest.”
“You want me to drive that thing?”
“Not this time. This time I’ll drive ‘that thing.’” And the sooner the better, for both their sakes. “You’re the passenger.”
“Mmm—” Her eyes were fixed on the snowmobile now. “I’m not a good passenger. I prefer to be the one in the driving seat.”
He had no trouble believing that. From what he’d seen so far, Kayla Green was big on control, most especially when it came to her own emotions. “But you’ve never driven one before, so if we both want to live it would probably be better if I drove this time.” He pushed his own helmet onto his head. “I’ll teach you. But not today.”
She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it again. “Does it go fast?”
“Only if I make it go fast.”
“Tell me you’re not a speed fiend like your brother.”
Back in control, Jackson smiled and pulled on his gloves. “I could tell you that—” he flipped down the shield on her helmet and swung his leg over the saddle “—but I was raised not to tell a lie. Move when I move and lean when I lean.”
“Jackson—”
“Hop on, Cinderella, or that clock will be striking midnight before you’ve even arrived at the damn ball.”