All hell broke loose.
She launched herself into the battle, giggling so hard her lungs ached. Rush was relentless, his aim too damn good, but she fought dirty, and years of dance and yoga had made her quick and limber. She twirled out of his aim and shot a handful of snow down his collar. Another perfectly placed shot to the back of his head when he bent down made her laugh out loud.
They were everywhere, snow flying in all directions, laughter spilling into the crisp air. Rush laughed—an actual laugh—low and unrestrained, and the sound made something flutter in her chest.
It was the most beautiful sound.
With a growl, Rush took her out by the knees, and she collapsed willingly back into the snow, happier than she could remember being in… maybe forever. Her lungs were tight, a warning she knew all too well, but the sheer joy of the moment distracted her.
Rush’s hands found the back of her head as she hit the ground, his strong grip guiding her down as his body followed, solid and unyielding as he pressed her back. She barely had a second to catch her breath before he was above her, flashing strong white teeth in a wicked grin. Lily sucked in her breath, her pulse skittering as she reached for more snow, but he was faster.
His hands shot out, catching her wrists and dragging them above her head, arching her back and pinning her firmly into the cold, pillowy snow. Defeated at last, she looked up, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline from the press of his body against hers.
“Say uncle,” Rush demanded, his voice huskier than before. His breath puffed against her, warm against her chilled skin.
“Never,” she whispered, her grin fading as she became aware of their position. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and she wondered if he could feel the hard points of her nipples through their layers.
Lily wiggled her arms, testing the strength of his hold on her wrists, but he didn’t budge. Her breath hitched.Oh.His thigh snugged up close between hers, and through her thin sweatpants and his jeans, she felt the solid thickness of him pressed tightly between her legs. She went still. A slow, liquid heat warmed her, pooling low and deep in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with a visceral response to the man settled between her thighs.
Instinctively, her legs drew up on either side of his hips, tightening and cradling his hardness. The laughter in Rush’s eyes faded, and his pupils darkened, flickering over her face lazily, down to her mouth and lingering there when her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips.
A nudge from Riggs’s cold, wet muzzle in the crook of her neck broke the spell. Lily laughed at the sensation, but Rush didn’t smile.
“Go play,” Rush murmured, his voice lower now, more gravel than words, his gaze steady on hers. Riggs trotted off, but Lily barely registered it, so focused on the intensity of his eyes. Her smile faded slowly, replaced with something much, much heavier. Hotter.
Rush’s fingers flexed around her wrists, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that her brain glimpsed what he was capable of. Power and submission. Control and restraint.
Strangely, the thought exhilarated her.
Her breath stuttered out unevenly while she studied his face. The sharp cut of his jaw and the storm brewing in his eyes,waiting. Testing her. He was a solid, unmovable weight on her, and it felt so good she let out a whimper and lifted her hip, pressing herself against him.
“Lily.” His voice was a rough warning.
A shiver shot down her spine. She should pull away. She should say something funny, anything, to break the charged silence stretching too long between them to be anything other than what it was.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
She swallowed hard. She should. She really should.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered instead.
Rush let go of one wrist. His thumb came down to gently swipe away the snowflakes from her cheek. The gentle gesture made her ache. She wanted more. So much more.
So she reached up, threading her fingers through his thick black hair—his hat was long gone—to brush the snow away, her fingers lingering to caress him. The warmth of his skull, the scratch of his beard against her fingertips—just as deliciously rough as she’d imagined. He smelled like icy-cold winter and the wood he’d been chopping and the smoke of the fire in the cabin, masculine and delicious enough to make her want to twine her arms around his neck to pull him closer.
A tight, electric feeling gripped her, curling deep in her stomach, unfurling through her limbs like a slow, smoldering flame. The laughter faded, leaving behind something wicked and heavy and inevitable between them. Rush bent his head, his breath warm against her chilled lips, and she let her eyes drift closed.
And her lungs gave out.
A wheeze tore from her throat, shattering the moment. She opened her eyes, watching almost mournfully as Rush’s expression shifted from molten-hot lust to a sharply clinical look.
“Where’s your inhaler?” he barked, already moving, his heat vanishing as he quickly got off her and hauled her to her feet.
Just like that, the fire was gone. Lily bent forward and tried to suck in air.
Of course.
All her life, asthma had intruded at the worst possible moments.
