Gus reached for car keys beneath the counter. “We’ll drop Ace off on the way home. Brought the truck today.”
“Thanks,” Brock replied. “Ophelia? Let’s get going.”
Her eyes wide, she surprisingly didn’t argue and instead plunked the knit cap onto her head and shoved on her mittens and jacket.
Ace turned. “Bye, Olly. See you tomorrow.” He brushed by Brock. “Take your time. I’ll help Janet get out provisions for tomorrow.”
Was there a hint of prodding in his brother’s tone? Brock ignored it and escorted Ophelia outside, grasping her elbow to lead her to the quiet machine. He should’ve grabbed a helmet on the way back. It was a good thing they only had to go a few blocks, just down Main Street. “You ever ride one of these?”
“No.” Her chin jutted out a fraction.
“You’ll be fine. Just hold on behind me, and we’ll be there in a second.” He straddled the seat and held out a hand to help her into place behind him.
She settled in, instantly grasping the sides of his jacket.
He started the engine, planted his feet on the warm slides, and pulled her arms all the way around his waist to clasp at his belly. The last thing he needed was her slipping sideways or off. She didn’t fight him. Instead, she let him position her the way hewanted. Was she always this pliable? Something told him there was no way in hell.
The feeling of her behind him, her chest against his back, her thighs tight against his legs, propelled warmth through him stronger than a good shot of Lefty’s whiskey. Even though the wind pelted sharp stabs of ice onto his face, he could swear he caught a hint of strawberries.
Then, just to make his life a living hell, she turned her head to the side, pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade, and sighed, her body relaxing and going soft against his.
Every nerve he had flared wide awake, his body taking over his brain with raw hunger. He tightened his grip on the handles and then opened the throttle, easing into the street and taking a wide U-turn. She held on tighter, and he felt her breasts against his back, even through her jacket and his.
Or maybe that was his imagination.
The sweet scent of strawberries wafted up, and he twisted the throttle, opening the engine and driving down the middle of the street, where berms would stay out of his way. He thought he’d experienced hell a couple of years previous in a desert with heat and pain, but this was worse. Cold and ominous with the forbidden smell of strawberries that he would never be able to taste. No matter how much his mouth watered, even in this blazing cold.
He drew abreast of Flossy’s B&B, smoothly reached for Ophelia’s arm, and gently tugged her out from behind him. “Have a nice night, Agent.” His back was suddenly freezing, and the scent of snowmobile fuel made him want to cough.
She blinked snow from her pretty eyes and secured his jacket sleeve with two gloved fingers, the snow reaching the middle of her boots. “You have got to be kidding me.” More snow landed across her dark hair, and standing in the storm, she looked like an avenging winter goddess.
Holy crap, his imagination was totally fucking with him. He had to get away from her. “Excuse me?”
She pulled on his arm. “You are coming inside and explaining all of this to me. I’ve been patient with you so far, but if I have to pull the FBI card, I will.”
FBI card? His temper, aligned with the urgency of the missing kid, uncoiled like a live wire. “Your card doesn’t mean diddly out here, and you know it.” Except it did. If she called in reinforcements, the town would be crawling with federal agents, and wouldn’t that just piss everyone off? He’d be on everyone’s shit list, considering he brought her here, and when a guy lived in the middle of nowhere, he had to work with his neighbors. Even if they wanted to bury him beneath an avalanche. “Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.” She pulled harder, her nose turning red from the cold.
He looked through the murk toward the other end of town. It’d be a suicide mission to go back out to search for Wyatt before the storm broke, or at least before natural light arrived, but he’d been considering it. With a curse that wasn’t quite muffled, he swung off the Polaris and stood so suddenly she took an instinctive step back, slipping on the ice.
He caught her arm before she could go down, tugging her and fighting gravity. She skidded across the icy walktowardhim this time, colliding with his body. She clutched his arms for balance, her jeans against his.
God, she really was going to kill him.
He warmed from his toes to his ears, the fire much hotter in certain parts of his body. She looked up, snow on her dark lashes, confusion in her sapphire eyes. Her lips, full and lush, parted.
Would she taste like strawberries? The thought tortured him, unbidden and unwanted.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and inevitability caught him. He leaned toward her, his head lowering, and the front porch lights snapped on, wide and bright.
Ophelia jumped. “Oh.” Red infused her face. She released his arms and turned, carefully picking her way across the snowy walk and up the three stairs, pausing and partially turning at the top. Tension showed in the line of her shoulders. “I mean it, Brock. I have a right to know what’s going on. Either you tell me now, or I’m calling DC.”
He’d almost kissed her, and she’d almost let him, and now she issued orders safely from the snowy porch. He willed all arousal into the abyss and decided to go with temper instead. “Fine.” He stomped up the steps.
Flossy opened the door and squinted out. “I just got off the phone with Delores. Many folks saw the blue flare, and the phone and radio tree is in full effect. Monica’s new sat phone is very helpful.” She opened the door wider, and heat spilled out. “Come inside. I have fresh scones and will make coffee, Sheriff.”
His stomach growled, and he gestured the stubborn agent inside before him. They shed their wet outerwear in the front alcove, hanging up their coats and moving into the floral living room in stockinged feet.
