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If there was such a thing as a dream room, this would be it for her. She imagined waking in the morning with the tips of snowy trees visible through the windows. She couldn’t decide whether she’d curl up right there and read one of the many books, or if she’d grab a blanket and snuggle on the window seat and simply watch the snow-covered world from her insulated vantage point.
She turned a slow circle, looking upwards to where the ceiling soared above them, the wooden beams meeting at a point in the middle.
Why wasn’t Mabel sleeping in this room? If Izzy owned this place, she’d live up here. And then she remembered Mabel mentioning that her room was on the other side. Presumably, she slept in the other turret.
Something tugged deep inside her.
She made a point of not dreaming about things she couldn’t have, but it was hard not to imagine life living in a place like this.
Unsettled, she turned and stared out the windows, gazing into the maniacal swirl of white as she tried to rein in her imagination and focus on the current problem.
Jason was right. The storm was getting worse. And they had one room.
One room, which she and Jason were expected to share.
And not any old room.
The most romantic room she’d ever seen. With possibly the biggest bed.
Were they supposed to sleep in it together?
She looked at the bed and then at Jason, whose attention had been focused on the same point in the room.
His gaze locked on hers and her nerve endings quivered. She knew she should look away. She knew from experience that it was a mistake to spend too long staring into those compelling blue eyes. She’d seen them crinkle with laughter when he was amused and turn cool when he was discussing business with her boss, and occasionally when he’d looked at her, she’d seen a spark of something electric that made her whole body heat.
If he kissed me, I wouldn’t close my eyes, Chloe had said one day during one of her many indiscreet moments. I’d want to look right back at him and not waste a moment.
Izzy wished that memory hadn’t chosen this exact moment to come to life in her brain because now she was seeing it, imagining it, and she wished, for a few indulgent seconds, that she was a different person. That she hadn’t learned to be wary. That she was the sort who could offer up her heart with a smile and trust someone not to break it.
“Izzy?” His deep voice interrupted her silent musings and she jumped, hoping that none of her wayward thoughts had been visible.
“Sorry. What? Did you say something?”
“You were miles away.”
“Oh, I was just—” imagining herself in bed with him “—thinking about the snow.”
“Are you all right? I’m worried you’re putting on a brave face.” He reached out and touched her shoulder gently. “How upset are you that we’re stranded here instead of being safely at home?”
Was that what he thought? That she was disappointed not to be able to make it home?
It wasn’t close to the truth, but why not let him think that?
“It’s not what any of us had planned, but I’ll cope.”
She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder and had to stop herself from leaning into him. It would have been so easy to do it. So easy to think oh, why not and take that next step. It took all her willpower to stay still.
“And what were your plans? You didn’t tell me.” He removed his hand from her shoulder but it seemed to her he lingered over it, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
She almost said, My plans were to grit my teeth and get through it, but it felt too personal and the air was already pulsing with a tension that made it difficult to breathe. She knew she wasn’t imagining it. And she also knew that any further revelations on her part might plunge them deeper into this deliciously dangerous intimacy.
“I decided this year that I was going to spoil myself so I’d planned to have Christmas on my own.” She stepped away a little. “Eat what I want. Watch what I want. Sleep when I want. Bliss.”
He gave her a long look. “Right. So—you’re not spending it with your dad?”
She imagined how her father and stepmother would react to that suggestion. Total horror. And she shared the sentiment. She would rather have shared Christmas with the mouldy cheese in her fridge. “Not this year. They’ll be in the Caribbean, I think.”
“You think?”
