CHAPTER ONE
EMMA DIDN’T KNOW whether it was nerves or excitement fueling her, but despite not bothering with breakfast, she was amped with energy. She jumped from the bus, calling a singsong thanks to the driver. Tomorrow she’d land in the world’s driest, coldest, most inhospitable place on the planet. The next twenty-four hours couldn’t tick quickly enough to keep up with her happy-dancing heart.
In Antarctica, there was no permanent population—only a few base camps clinging to the coastal edges, and only a select few people got to stay at them. She’d never been so lucky in her life. Nor had she been so nervous.
But at this second, excitement trumped those nerves.
She all but skipped toward the small purpose-built terminal a block or so from Christchurch’s main airport, the flash-card facts from her info pack pinging in her head. Her flight was scheduled for first thing in the morning, but right now she had to be issued with her ECW—Extreme Cold Weather gear. The jackets and pants weren’t available to the public for purchase—only those going on the ice, as it was known, were issued with them. She still couldn’t believe she was going on the ice at all.
A guy walked a few feet ahead of her, a huge bag slung effortlessly over his shoulder. He looked army with his short, tidy haircut and lean muscles—even from the back it was clear he was ripped. The bronzed biceps protruding from his gray tee were utterly fat free. No prizes for guessing they were headed to the same place, and she smiled as he held the door for her.
“You’re going down?” she asked, stepping through the doorway, her anticipation rendering her breathless.
A slow drawl followed behind her. “I sure hope so.”
Startled, Emma turned, replaying the question she’d meant completely innocently but that he’d answered with a distinct tease in his tone. He met her gaze expectantly, the glint in his eyes both suggestive and utterly amused.
She tried to suppress the scalding heat of her blood rushing to her face. She didn’t want to blush, but she felt the fire—yeah, she lost that battle mighty quickly. But any woman’s blood would warm when so close to such a male. Add the hint of sexual amusement, and she stood no chance. Her skin had to be stop-sign central.
She lowered her gaze and snuck in a rationalizing breath because, no, this wasn’t happening. She refused to react so sensitively to a simple comment. She snapped her spine straighter, though the half inch it added to her height did nothing to counter his towering physique, and glanced back up at him coolly.
Now his vivid blue eyes were positively dancing.
“I’m really looking forward to it,” he added with the suggestion of a wink.
Good grief. “Yes.” Emma forced some vocal power to counter her breathlessness and cleared her throat. “I have a really big job to do there.” A life-changing one. Aiming to change her life—she wasn’t going down to muck around.
His smile widened. “Good for you.”
Emma watched as he approached the receptionist in the small vestibule and drawled “Hello.” He had the same lilt that Emma’s grandma Bea had never quite lost despite her fifty years’ residence in New Zealand, only his apparently mesmerized any female he turned it on. Emma nodded at the receptionist, too, but the woman didn’t notice. She was still busy smiling at the jaw-dropping hunk a step ahead of Emma. Yeah, he had that effect on every woman. And no doubt he knew it.
As she followed him down the corridor the receptionist had directed them to, Emma couldn’t help smiling inwardly at his unashamedly bold attitude—this flirt incarnate was definitely one to keep her distance from.
When he hit the door to the kit room, he paused and waited for her to pass through ahead of him. She cursed his good manners because, in a step, he was right beside her and giving her a sidelong look that she was acutely aware of despite determinedly keeping her gaze front and center. His matching strides made it feel like they were together, not random strangers. But “together” wasn’t a word in Emma’s vocab; she was on her own in this one, more than ever before.
“You two are heading down?” An efficient-looking woman dressed in casual slacks bustled to meet them, and behind her was the biggest walk-in wardrobe Emma had ever seen.
“We are.” The American answered with a devastating smile and more than a hint of laughter in his voice. “Really looking forward to it.”
Emma’s blood bubbled back to simmer level at the way he’d put the two of them together, but she scotched the resurgence of warmth by thinking of icebergs and blizzards.
“I’m Pam, in charge of all this gear—lose it at your peril,” the woman threatened good-naturedly. “You’ve got your details?”
Emma handed over the document detailing her itinerary, and so did the gorgeous guy standing a little too close beside her.
“Okay.” Pam quickly scanned both lists. “No problem. What’s your shoe size?”
“Big,” he answered.
“Little.” Emma couldn’t help sassing back. She shot him a glance to gauge his reaction and got slayed by the gorgeous smile directed at her.
Pam laughed. “Follow me.”
To stop herself from staring at him, Emma focused on the racks and racks of clothing, the open shelves on which she could see boots, gloves, socks, gloves, goggles, jackets, and yet more gloves. Ten minutes later she had two pairs of boots, the American had three, and they were on to overalls.
“The giant and the pixie,” Pam joked as she went from one end of the rack to the other to get the opposite sizes for them. “Try these on.”
The American stepped into the overalls right where he was. A quick glance around showed Emma there was no such thing as a changing room here. And honestly, one wasn’t needed, given they were putting the gear over the clothes they were already wearing. She looked back at the man and caught him staring at her with a sardonic grin. Stiffening, she stepped into the legs of her overalls. He probably thought her prudish, but there was something oddly intimate about dressing alongside another person, even if they were completely covered up.
“You want them to fit well.” The woman frowned at Emma’s trouser length. “I think that needs to be longer in the leg but tighter at the waist,” she fussed. “You try this thermal.” She tossed a top to the guy on her way to the far end of the rack.
He slipped it over his head. “Perfect,” he said.
Emma glanced at him, and yes it was.
He pulled off the light layer to add it to his mounting pile, but his gray tee underneath got caught up with it, so for a split second his torso was almost completely bare. His bronzed, broad, muscled chest.
Just because Emma had sworn off men d
idn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate their form. She was an artist, after all. And this guy had a magnificent form to admire. She’d never seen anyone so fit in her life, not without the aid of Photoshop. Certainly not in the flesh and near enough to touch.
It took her far too long to realize she had her mouth open—wide open—as she stared. He pulled his shirt back down, and Emma quickly turned, looking away in time to catch a wink from Pam, who was as pink in the cheeks as Emma felt.
“Hot in these overalls, isn’t it?” Emma muttered, waving a hand in front of her face to cool her burning skin.
“Sure is.” Pam nodded.
Emma bent to pull them off, staying that way extra long so she could tell herself her reddened face was from hanging upside down and not from the thrill of gawking at a near-naked man.
Ten minutes later, she was even hotter from pulling on all kinds of gloves.
“How many pairs do I need?” she asked Pam.