Getting her onto the snowmobile behind me is an exercise in patience. She climbs on like she's afraid of touching me, maintaining a solid three inches of space between us.
"You'll need to hold on tighter than that," I say over my shoulder.
"I'm fine."
"Suit yourself."
I start the engine and pull out onto the trail. We're maybe thirty seconds in when I take the first turn and Avery gasps, grabbing my waist.
Her hands are tight against my jacket, her body pressed against my back, and—nope. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about how she's all soft curves despite the professional armor. Not thinking about the little sound she made when we hit that turn.
Focus on the trail, Shaw.
The morning is perfect with the powder-blue sky, fresh snow glittering in sunlight, mountains rising like sentinels. The other sleds follow in formation as I lead us through the backcountry, navigating terrain I know like my own heartbeat.
And slowly, incrementally, I feel Avery relax.
Her death grip loosens. Her posture softens. She leans into the turns instead of fighting them, trusting the machine and, whether she'll admit it, trusting me.
We stop at a scenic overlook twenty minutes in. The women dismount, exclaiming over the view, taking photos. Avery climbs off my sled, and her face is transformed.
Windswept. Flushed. Alive.
She's not beautiful in a conventional magazine way. She's striking. Sharp features, intelligent eyes, full curves that her expensive snow gear can't hide. And when she smiles, looking out at the valley—
Damn it.
"That was..." She trails off, searching for words.
"Fun?" I supply. "Exhilarating? Unplanned?"
Her smile fades. "I was going to say amazing. But sure, mock me for being impressed."
I feel like an ass. "Sorry. That wasn't fair."
She looks surprised at the apology. "It's fine. I'm used to people thinking I'm uptight."
"You're not uptight. You're..." I search for the right word. "Controlled. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. Uptight is being wound tight for no reason. Controlled is being wound tight because you're scared of what happens if you let go."
Her eyes widen, and I realize I've hit something true.
Before she can respond, one of the other women calls out, "Hey, you two! Smile for a photo!"
We turn, and I'm very aware of how close we're standing. Avery's looking at me like I just said something significant.
The camera clicks, and the moment breaks.
"Can I ask you something?" Avery says as we walk back to the sleds.
"Shoot."
"Why did you call me Ice Queen? You don't even know me."
Fair question. Complicated answer.
