Page 45 of Snowed Inn

“You’re going down, Agostini!”

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

We run and duck and dodge and throw, laughing like idiots. Snow is flying everywhere. My cheeks are flushed, my nose is running, and I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Probably not since I was twelve.

He lobs a snowball that explodes at my feet, and I pounce from behind the tree, tackling him into the snow again. We land with a thump, both of us breathless.

And that’s when awareness crashes in . . . I’m straddling his hips.

Gulp.

“Truce?” I ask quietly, forcing the word out between quick breaths. Despite the cold I’m currently about to go up in a ball of heat. My heart is thumping so fast it hurts.

His smile is crooked and unfairly sexy. “I don’t know. You seem ruthless.”

“Only when provoked.”

We’re still tangled together. Close enough that I can see the flush creeping up his neck. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, even through our layers.

His gaze flicks to my mouth.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

It would be so easy.

Too easy.

The cold air vanishes. The world goes completely still.

Jesse pushes himself up—just enough—and my heart stops.

Do it.

Just do it.

Kiss me.

But at the last second—when his lips are barely a breath away—I get scared. I pull back.

Not much. Just enough to break whatever spell had taken hold.

Jesse notices. I know he does.

His expression shifts—not hurt, not angry, just . . . something unreadable.

I swallow and roll away, forcing a laugh that sounds too light. “We should probably . . . you know. Get up.”

Jesse watches me for a second too long.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing himself up and offering me a hand.

I take it, and pointedly ignore the feeling that I just dodged something impossible to escape.

Chapter 16

We don’t stop after one more run on the sled. Or two. We keep going for nearly an hour—climbing up, sliding down, laughing so hard I double over more than once, wheezing with delight like a kid on winter break.

Jesse tries to race me. He tries to spin his cookie sheet in a perfect circle. He tries to argue with me when I call him a “sledding menace to society.” He fails at all three. Every time we hit the bottom of the hill, we’re grinning, snow-covered disasters.