Melt

“Then I’m afraid your little friend isn’t going to have very much fun in the next fortnight, because it never gets dark down on the ice this time of year. It’s always light and bright.”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek to stop her smile, but she’d gone too far to backtrack now and the spurt of flirt zinging in her veins demanded she try to win this round. So she parried the only way possible. “Who said anything about my friend being little?”

He chuckled.

“That doesn’t intimidate you?” she enquired with hammed-up amazement, really getting the hang of it.

“Not at all. Remember, I have the assets.”

Damn. The guy had way more experience than her at this. “You know, I think it’ll be good for you to hit the ice. You need cooling down.”

“You’re going to rub my face in it?”

“Not such a bad idea.” Except her fingers now itched to do more than rub.

“Well.” He sighed. “For your sake, I do hope you brought some spare batteries… You know the normal ones don’t last as long down there.”

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “However will I cope?”

He laughed. “Okay, you win that one.”

But she hadn’t, really, because now he edged even closer and talked some more in that gorgeous good-humor-laced tone, so close to her ear it tickled.

“Keen to get there, aren’t you?” he commented. “I bet you’ve wanted to see Antarctica your whole life, and you’re not up for any shenanigan distractions while you’re there. Am I right?”

“And you’re going to make it your mission to needle me about that?”

“Absolutely. I plan to tease you every instant I can.”

She fought down another of those wretched flushes—now fully regretting engaging in this talk. This guy was too sharp for her. “Why?”

“The temptation is irresistible.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re so pretty when you’re angry. Even more when you’re flustered.”

She rolled her eyes. “False flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not false. You’re the most beautiful thing on this plane.”

“Not much competition.” She was the only female on the flight. “I’m thinking you have lots of experience with picking up women in planes, bars, nightclubs, supermarkets…pretty much anywhere, right?”

Everyone onboard must have heard his laughter, then, despite the endless rattle and roar of the engines, because a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly staring at the two of them.

“See, here’s the difference between you and me,” he said, seeming happy to ignore the curious looks. “We’re both on the trip of a lifetime, right? Now the rest of the year—I’m working very hard. Long hours, difficult conditions. Not a lot of time for fun. So on this trip of a lifetime, do I want some fun? Hell yes, if there’s someone like-minded. Fun all around. But you’re on this trip of a lifetime, too, and yet you’re determined—absolutely determined—not to have any fun, right? So does that mean you’re getting around good back home?”

“Yeah,” she cooed. “I’m here to rest my weary body.”

He sent her an oblique look. “Not if you’re on painting detail.”

CHAPTER TWO

SIX HOURS LATER, Emma was over the airplane. She’d read. She’d shed her jacket, like all the other passengers. Now she was desperate for them to land. She wanted to see the ice continent, she wanted to step away from the master flirt next to her, and she wanted to get to her wall and work on it. She needed to retain her focus.

“Ensure you have your ECW on, please. Conditions on the ice are deteriorating, but we’re past the point of no return.” The pilot’s voice came loud and crackly through the speakers. “Everyone buckle up. This might be a bumpy one.”

Emma froze for a moment and watched the activity burst in the cabin. Everyone zipped up their jackets and their belts. Past the point of no return? Did that meant they didn’t have enough fuel to return to Christchurch should they not be able to land on the ice?

Yeah. So they simply had to land on the ice.

Emma’s stomach clenched as a foreign, claustrophobic feeling pressed inward, and all of a sudden it seemed the cabin didn’t have enough oxygen. Mentally she remembered that she had resigned herself to the fates and that there was nothing she could do about the situation she was in. Except panic. Yeah, that was still possible.

“It doesn’t snow that much in Antarctica,” she muttered, not for anyone to hear or to answer her. Just reminding herself of the facts she knew, trying to keep herself calm.

“There are some parts of the valleys where it hasn’t rained in at least two million years,” her neighbor added, shifting to get his jacket and belt done up. “But it gets windy. The wind picks up the snow that’s been lying around forever and blows that about so you can’t see a thing. Given the airstrip is coastal, it doesn’t take much to get too windy and too white to be able to land.” He watched her shrug back into her jacket and fumble with the zipper.

“And that’s what it’s like down there at the moment?”

“Hopefully not, because you heard the guy… We’re past the point of no return.”

“I thought these planes could do a round trip?”

“Some aircraft can.” He shrugged. “Apparently this one can’t. You need help with that belt?”

He brushed her fingers away from where they were failing to do the clasp. They were ice-cold, but regardless she felt heat zing as their skin connected. He glanced into her eyes, his brows dipping with concern at something he saw on her face.

“You’re sure you don’t want to hold my hand?” he leaned closer and asked quietly. “I don’t mean that in any kind of suggestive way. Just supportive.”

She shook her head and turned away. “I’m fine.” If only she believed it.

…

She didn’t look fine, but Hunter respected her answer. Yeah, she was more serious than sassy. It had just been talk before, because now she’d wholly retreated.

Painting walls? He didn’t think so. Too slight. Too serious. Too sensitive. If she wasn’t a scientist then she was an artist—here to paint pictures. He’d bet on it.

Thirty seconds later when he couldn’t resist looking at her again, he noticed her eyes were closed and her face was whiter than the ice they were flying toward. He didn’t attempt to talk to her more. He knew fear and he knew there was nothing she was going to let him do to help her. He’d seen it many times before, too. He sighed and gripped the straps of his safety harness.

Despite very occasional efforts to ignore it, buried within Hunter was an intrinsic need to help. Hell, it was why he was here. He hated Christmas and had no intention of being anywhere near family, so he’d come down to fast-track completion of a new laboratory. That was how he lived his life—going from project to project in flood- and fire-ravaged places and helping them reconstruct. He liked the larger, more impersonal effort. He liked the nomadic life. Roots weren’t for him, but he appreciated how other people wanted them, and rebuilding bricks and mortar was something he could do.

The plane banked and she bumped against his shoulder. Right here and now, his urge to he

lp felt that bit more personal.

The engines maintained their roar, but there were no half-shouted conversations in the cabin now. Everyone sat silently, staring ahead, waiting.

A voice broke through the collective tension. “We’re beginning the descend now. Conditions are not as nice as they could be, but not as bad as we first thought, either. Be ready to brace yourselves.”

Hunter breathed in and listened hard to try to gauge where they were at in their descent. He couldn’t take his eyes off his whiter-than-white companion. Screw not trying to help. He reached across and put his hand over her fist. Hell, despite the layers of extreme-cold clothing she had on, her hand felt colder than the frozen sea beneath them. And at his touch, her fist clenched tighter.

All of a sudden the plane seemed to bounce, bumping several times and shuddering. The engines screamed, and all the fittings rattled loudly as they skidded to one side. He tightened his grip on her, swaying uncontrollably like everyone else in their seats until the plane began to slow.

Finally the ear-splitting roar faded—only to be replaced by thunderous applause from passengers. Hunter released her hand and clapped with the others, but a glance at her showed at least the color was back in her cheeks.

…

“It’s a bit blowy, but we’re all good,” the pilot announced.

Emma opened her eyes and breathed deeply. Wow. That was a wake-up call—they really were in an unforgiving world. She couldn’t look at the guy already standing in the aisle, ready to get off the plane. He might have only meant it as supportive, but her hand still felt the imprint of his. And her skin still sizzled.

She unclasped her belt and grabbed her bag to pull on some gloves. Her excitement returned—more potent given the adrenalin still buzzing in her blood. She’d imagined this moment for so long—had been to the Antarctic exhibitions in Christchurch and researched on the Internet.

She’d seen pictures...but nothing prepared her for stepping out of the plane and breathing in the Antarctic air for the first time. Nothing prepared her for the overwhelming bolt of emotion as she stood on the frozen snow and slowly worked her way against the wind. Shocked at the cold, shocked in general. Was she really here?