Frosted (a novella)

Chapter 8

Morning light streamed into the room through the bank of windows to the left of the couch, made all the brighter from the snow and ice off which it bounced and sparkled. As Grace's eyes fluttered open, she remembered where she was, and sighed in contentment. Snuggled up against Tray, her back to his front, his arm held her securely against his body under the blankets and her head rested on his arm.

They'd kissed and touched long into the night, holding each other, trading stories about their kids, sharing little tidbits about their lives and giggling like teenagers. After the debacle with her ankle, they hadn't tried to make love again, though Grace knew, if she wasn't injured and they'd had more time, it would have been inevitable.

Time.

And therein lay the problem.

As morning light flooded the little room, Grace realized that they'd run out of time. They had no plans to see one another again once they left the cozy comfort of the cabin and headed back down to the resort. They'd made no promises. They had no plans to be together. They'd spent one passionate night in each other's arms, but Grace was still planning to leave for Manhattan tomorrow morning, and Tray's life, home, work, and family were all here at Deer Mountain.

She twisted in his arms, turning to look at him. She'd taken off his shirt last night as he clutched her to his body, kissing her until she was dizzy and breathless and her ankle didn't hurt anymore. His chest was bare against the thin camisole she'd been wearing under her sweater and turtleneck, and his jeaned legs were entwined with her bare ones.

"Morning, Red," he whispered without opening his eyes.

"How'd you know I was awake?"

"I can feel your breath on my lips," he said softly.

Her face softened as the rest of her body clenched with longing, and suddenly she didn't want to leave the little warming hut. Not ever. For just a moment she wanted to pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. She didn't want to go back to her lonely life in Manhattan—her children, her friends, her fortune, her charities, her penthouse apartment, her needlepoint group.

Who do you want to be, Grace?

Answering that question would be confusing and difficult. If she decided that the new version of herself didn't like her old life, it would require change and compromise. It would mean leaving the comfort zone of her life as Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III and having the courage to venture forth to find out if there was another version of life waiting for her. A life based on...what exactly? A one-night (almost) stand? A pair of pretty blue eyes? She hadn't been invited to stay, nor had she invited him to come to her. Either option would be insanity after knowing each other for a single day. And Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III was not crazy, she was sensible. She'd always been sensible.

Who do you want to be?

Her heart thumped painfully as fear coursed through her veins, making her feel skittish and way too self-aware for her own comfort. That fear made her back away from the edge of change, made her retreat to what she knew, to what was unexceptional, but comforting.

You're Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III, she thought, just as you've always been. Regardless of the Grace you've been for the last twenty-four hours, you are Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III in real life. That's what you know. That's who you are.

"Good morning," she answered crisply.

He opened a blue eye and peeked at her before closing it again. "Yes, it is."

"It's stopped snowing," she said, edging away from him just a little. "I expect we'll leave for the resort soon?"

He tightened his arm around her and drew her closer, nestling his nose in the warm curve of her neck. His voice was scratchy and tender. "No rush."