Snowed In

“What, you’re suddenly modest?” he quipped. “It’s not like your underwear covers much of anything anyway.”

He was right about that. Still…

“Want me to turn around? I’ll turn around.”

He spun in the water, until he was facing the back wall. Even from the back he looked gorgeous. I hesitated for a second longer. Two seconds. Three…

Then I unclipped my bra, stepped out of my panties…

And leapt into the watery arms of the most blissful hot tub in the entire fucking world.

Twenty-Three

MORGAN

The swirling water of the hot springs welling up around my naked body didn’t just feel good — it was orgasmic. Like being born again, as an all new person. Rejuvenated. Refreshed…

Reset.

All the dirt and grime fell away from my skin, even the caked-on soot I’d picked up in the chimney. For a moment or two I just lay there, letting the heavenly heat soak into my body. It drove out every last remnant of the bone-numbing cold, even the chill that seemed to reside in my very marrow. Nothing ever felt as good as this. Not even the dozens of hot tubs I’d sunk into at the end of a long, hard day of skiing.

“Holy shit, this is baptismal.”

Boone merely smiled back at me from across the pool. He was in a deeper area, near the back of the cave. Eventually he motioned me over, and I swam to him.

All at once my feet no longer touched the smooth tiled bottom. Instead, they were ensconced in mud.

“What the—”

“The front half of the pool is man-made,” Boone explained. “The other half is where the springs well up.” He reached down with one arm and came back with a handful of mud.

“Yuck.”

“No,” he said. “Not yuck.” Using his fingers, he smeared two streaks across his stubbled cheek. It somehow looked fitting there. Fitting and masculine, like war paint.

“These places are popular around here,” he said. “People think the mud has healing properties. They smear it all over themselves.” He held his hand out, offering some mud in my direction.

“No thanks,” I smiled.

Boone shrugged his massive shoulders. “Too bad. It’d look cute on you.”

Again I flushed, even under the tiny compliment. This time though, there was no way to tell.

“Listen,” I said, floating awkwardly before him. “I haven’t really thanked you for saving me.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Well… thanks.” I fumbled for more words. “If you hadn’t gone out there, and pulled me off that roof…”

“There would be one less cute girl on this ski trip?”

My stomach fluttered. If this guy — this amazing, incredible guy — was actually flirting with me…

“Besides,” he said, “we’re gonna need a buffer between me and the bozo-brothers. If they come back that is.”

“Aw, come on,” I sighed. “They’re not that bad.”

“They’re not?”