“I know I am.”
“I think you’re dangerous.”
She shivers. “Why?”
My voice drops to a warning edge. Because I’m losing the battle I swore I’d win. Because she makes me feel things I’ve spent years trying to bury. Because she’s sunlight and warmth and I’m frozen solid half the time.
But I don’t say that. Instead: “Because,” I murmur, “I can’t tell if I want to throw you in the back of the engine or—” I stop. Her breath catches. She steps closer—just an inch, but I feel it everywhere.
“Or what?” she whispers.
I swallow hard. “Nothing.”
“Ash.”
“Lucy.”
We inhale at the same time. The air between us crackles—hot, melting, dangerous.
We are one heartbeat away—one breath—from crossing a line neither of us will come back from.
Then—
“Hey, Calder!” Boone shouts. “The machine’s still on!”
FOOOOMPH.
The snow cannon blasts again.
And this time?
It hits both of us.
Square in the face.
Lucy shrieks.
I choke.
The crew howls laughing.
She sputters and wipes her face. “Ash—I—I’m so sorry?—”
I look at her—dripping, shivering, glowing—and I can’t stop it this time.
The smile breaks through. Slow. Uncontrolled. Real.
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God. You smiled.”
I shake my head, defeated. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
She laughs again—bright and warm and impossible. And I know, standing there soaked and freezing and completely undone— I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Eight
Lucy
Devil’s Peak could host a bake sale and somehow turn it into a spectacle, but the annual Fire & Frost Charity Calendar? That’s a full-blown event.
