Page 34 of Love Under Snowfall

Chapter eighteen

Frankie

They continued in silence as the wind whipped a few wayward strands of hair around Frankie’s face. She ignored everything besides maintaining her breakneck pace. Nothing broke through her impenetrable focus and for the first time ever, the view of Stevens Pass ski resort didn’t take her breath away. The few lingering sunbeams glinting off the crystalline snow were only an obnoxious glare, making her long for a pair of shades.

They were up the next set of switchbacks in a flash. Sweat dripped down Frankie’s back and between her breasts. She knew she should slow down and remove a few layers. Staying cool and dry in freezing conditions was important. The moment she’d stop, her body heat would plummet, and the perspiration would remain damp against her skin—not exactly the ideal scenario for cold-weather hiking.

She desperately wanted to remove her coat and hat and stow them in her backpack then take a drink of water, but all of that would mean stopping. No doubt Benjamin would coast right past her and take the lead. She wasn’t racing him—that would be childish. She just didn’t want him to get to the lake before her. So, she continued, huffing through the steps and the sweat and the fire in her lungs.

Nearing an abrupt edge, they halted simultaneously, though Frankie would swear she got there a snowshoe or two first.

“Goddammit!” she spat, curling her fingers into fists andwishing she could throw something.

“Whoa.” Benjamin wisely took a little step back and held up his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“We missed the fucking turnoff,” Frankie grumbled and pulled off her hat, allowing her head to cool in the wisps of chilly air. She snatched the water bottle from her side pouch and drank half of it. “There was a fork in the trail about a quarter mile back that we blew past becauseyouwere distracting me.”

“I’m not sure if I should be amused or offended by your blame.” He drank from his insulated thermos and removed his scarf. A few snowflakes drifted around them, creating a soft speckle pattern on Benjamin’s coat and hat. One landed on Frankie’s nose, and she angrily swiped it away.

“If you’d given me space like I asked, then we wouldn’t have overshot the fork.” Fully aware that she might be—slightly—overreacting, Frankie couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that she’d gone off the planned route. She was a seasoned guide who had snowshoed this trail at least two dozen times, not some inexperienced rookie. Oh-ho, her brother was going to have a heyday making fun of her for the detour.

Awesome.

Frankie brushed past Benjamin, clipping his shoulder with hers, and started to backtrack.

“I think you might be overdramatizing the situation. Is it really that big of a deal?” He set his hiking poles aside and removed his gloves, placing them neatly on top.

That condescending tone.

Because of course the professor knew best.

Frankie shook with frustration. To be honest, the error probably wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if she’d been partnered with Lucy or one of the other bridesmaids, or hell, even with Zac sniffing around her like he does. But for some reason, thefact that Professor Clark led her astray . . . sidetracked her from a task she could have done blindfolded, seemed to flip just the right rage switch.

She stopped and swung around.

“Listen here, you pompous windbag. You have no right to tell me how I should feel in any given situation. Am I overreacting? Maybe. But it’s better than being a soulless”—she poked him with a gloved finger in the chest, shuffling closer—“uptight”—another jab—“sadist who gets off on his students’ misery.”

Benjamin stood there, accepting the verbal onslaught, his eyes darkening as she advanced. Her puffy coat brushed against his until her chest came up against solid resistance. The heady scent of cinnamon, sandalwood, and fresh sweat radiated off him, along with his overwhelming body heat. She felt lightheaded, nearly hypnotized, as his eyes tunneled into hers.

Compulsively, she pressed up.

His lips met hers halfway with ferocity.

One strong hand splayed across her lower back, fingers pressing divots into her skin through her warm layers. The other hand slid up her neck into the base of one loose braid and gripped. She gasped as he tilted her head to gain truer access to her mouth and plunged his tongue inside. Devoid of gentleness, the kiss was consuming, though Frankie didn’t know who was to blame. She’d short-circuited, and her brain zeroed in on the sensations of his touch. She gripped the collar of his coat, clinging tightly to him, desperate to release all the frustration she’d been feeling toward him into the kiss.

The way his prickly stubble scraped at her lips and his fingers tugged at her thick hair drove her mad. He tasted like hot apple cider. Sweet, spicy, sinful.

The falling snow did little to chill the heat between them. A needy moan slipped from her parted lips as Benjamintrailed his teeth and tongue along her jaw and down her neck. He pulled her hips toward his, nearly lifting her feet from the ground to compensate for their difference in height. A deep ache bloomed low in her belly as she felt his rigidity press against her through thick snow pants. A glimmer of rational thought niggled at her consciousness.

What am I doing?

“Francesca,” he rasped against her collarbone. The single word held so much depth, so many layers to peel away and study. She wanted her name on his lips again.

“Frankie.” The static of her walkie-talkie crackled at her shoulder. The abrupt blast jarred her, snapping her back to her senses. She pushed herself back and out of Benjamin’s reach, instantly feeling the icy sting where his lips had just been. “Frankie, where the heck are you?”

She watched his chest heave desperate breath as rapidly as her own, not daring to tear her eyes from his as she reached up with one hand.

“We . . .” She released the button and cleared the residual lust from her throat. “We overshot the fork and hit the end of the alternate trail.”

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