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288 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 5, 2016

We just don’t spend much time talking. Arguing, yes. Groping, fuck yeah. Talking, limited. I’ve glimpsed easygoing Shay. When we had to ride the lift with a couple of ski-school kids, she was sweet and charming and chatted with them the whole way. When the six of us went out last night, she joked with Raven and Lily, her quick wit and raspy laugh infectious. But with me, the second she relaxes and lets me in, I say or do something wrong. Then she bites and I bark, and we can’t grope each other fast enough.They grow to actually like each other and even manage to form a kind of friendship. By the time Shay and Kolton leave to go home, they find themselves wishing they had more time to spend together. And once they are home, they both find that they are constantly thinking about the other person. When a business opportunity comes up that will benefit both Shay and Kolton, they two of them are once again thrown together. Shay wants to keep things professional, but Kolton has other ideas. When he comes through for Shay when she needs some help, they find themselves in close quarters and the sparks REALLY fly.
I unlace my fingers from Kolton’s hand and write on his palm.And that is early in the book, when they don't really like each other. So just imagine what happens when they do! ;-)
A-S-S-H-O-L-E
He smiles, a dimple sinking into his cheek. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
I smile, too. My whole face, my body, feeling warmer than it should on the snow. “As a kid, I used to play this game with my mom. She’d spell words , and I’d have to guess what she wrote. Usually when I was sick. But I loved it. Loved her hands tracing along my back. It was the best part about having a fever. That and missing school.”
He takes my hand then, his cool fingertip gliding over my palm, my skin still damp and tepid from pressing against his.
B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L
Heat shoots through me, like I’m a Canada Day sparkler, colored flames burning bright. The sensation concentrates below my ribs, as if trying to expand. Not wanting to lose this feeling, I take control. I feather my index finger across the expanse of his upturned palm.
Me: S-E-X-Y
Him: F-I-E-R-C-E
Me: U-N-E-X-P-E-C-T-E-D
Him: F-A-S-C-I-N-A-T-E-D
I want to write all over him now, on his powerful forearms, his muscular thighs, the breadth of his chest. Is his heart beating as fast as mine? Has he turned into a sparkler, too?