Page 47 of Love Under Snowfall

His tone sounded briskly academic and did not invite additional questions. Gone was the aggravating man who seemedto take great pleasure in ruffling her feathers. Frankie was—once again—sharing a meal with her cold professor.

Suddenly, she felt the urge to give him space. Continuing with the same line of questioning wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

She rose, gathering the two practically licked clean dishes, and slid them into the blue enamel washbasin she’d been melting snow in by the stove. She fetched a towel and some biodegradable soap from the cabinet, when a large hand grazed the small of her back. Flames seeped through her thermal shirt and licked at her skin.

“You cooked. Let me do the dishes,” came his voice, thick with apology without actually uttering one.

“Suit yourself.” She sidestepped and handed over the towel, more to dislodge his large hand and the fever it caused than to concede to the help.

After handing off the responsibility to Benjamin, Frankie milled about the cabin, snooping in every container and cabinet. She grinned at what she found in the hope chest nestled in the corner of the bedroom. She scurried into the main room, wearing a broad grin.

Benjamin hadn’t heard her, which gave her a moment to watch the muscles bunch and flex under the knit of his black base layer. With a dish towel slung casually over one shoulder, he sang quietly, swaying gently as though he were somewhere else entirely. She couldn’t make out the words; however, she thought she heard him say something about a big butt and smile.

She slunk closer, trying to hear better.

Just above a whisper, he crooned “Poison” by Bell Biv DeVoe.

No.

That couldn’t be right.

Her stodgy professor wouldn’t recite asong so crass. And yet there he was, bobbing his head and subtly shimmying a shoulder to one of Frankie’s all-time favorite R&B 90s hits.

Chapter twenty-five

Benjamin

The bowl Benjamin dried slipped from his fingers and slapped into the washbasin on the counter. He yelped, jumping back as a splash of water drenched the front of his shirt. He turned to the off-key caterwauling behind him.

Francesca twirled and swerved her hips as she sang the chorus from “Poison”, the song he’d been murmuring while he washed. A laughing grin pulled hard at her rosy cheeks. He watched, mesmerized, as she lifted her arms languidly above her head and let her eyes drift closed while she swayed. Transfixed by her apparent witchcraft, his feet danced him forward until their hips met in a rhythmic cadence. He slid his hands down her ribcage and settled them on her rocking hips. Lavender and eucalyptus invaded his senses as her hair tumbled around her shoulders, shimmying with each wiggle.

More lyrics popped out of his mouth to match hers as they dueted and danced like fools. The performance wouldn’t have won them any awards. But something about letting go—completely abandoning his give-a-damn—swept Benjamin up in a heady thrill. He leaned into it until the last few lyrics echoed off the cabin walls.

Breath heavy, chests rising and falling in unison, the song faded from their lips. Benjamin squeezed, thumbs pressing divots into the silky flesh just below Francesca’s shirt. The light in her liquid gold eyes dimmed, becoming darker, more intoxicating.The soft femininity of her molded seamlessly against the hard masculinity of his tense body. He’d lost all rationality when he’d sauntered over, began dancing with her, and refused to allow sensibility to return—not yet, anyway.

Instead, he leaned down, and the moment his lips touched hers, she melted against him. She emitted a tiny groan and entangled her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. He ran the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, and she opened to him. Submitting, offering. He happily accepted, plunging his tongue into her hot little mouth. He gripped a fistful of wild hair, positioning her just so to gain the exquisite access he’d been craving for months.

She was perfection. He could have devoured her until the sun set and rose again on them the next morning had she not pressed a hand gently to his chest.

“Wait,” she managed to say as he untangled his lips from hers. “This is . . . we should . . . just give me a minute to think.”

“Of course.” Her palm remained against his sternum as his heart continued to wail against it. Loosening his grip on her hair, he toyed with a strand at the base of her scalp. She shivered in response. Oh, the delight he could inflict on her.

“A mistake,” she sighed. “We . . . we’re in this wild and dangerous situation and . . . and it’s only natural that we are at a heightened state of . . . of . . .”

“Arousal,” he offered huskily.

Francesca swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. It’s just like what Jon and Lucy went through. Shared trauma leads to attraction and then comes the bad decisions.”

“I highly doubt they view their decisions as bad. They’re getting married this weekend after all.” He chuckled, eyes flitting across her swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Is that a proposal?” she snorted.

“Ha!” He choked a little as a tightness clenched in his chest. “Not if we were the last two people on Earth.”

“Ouch.” She stepped back. His arms fell to his sides. “I was joking. You didn’t have to sound so disgusted.”

“It’s not personal, Francesca,” he huffed. He rammed a hand through his messy hair. “Marriage is the most asinine institution ever created. It has the capability todestroypeople. I refuse to enter into that kind of arrangement with anyone, let alone withyou.”

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