Chapter Thirty

Tobias

B eau whines from where he lays at my feet, just as an icy gust of air slaps my face. Palming the mattress next to me, I come up empty as the cold wind whispers throughout the room, fully rousing me. It's when I open my eyes and see the source—the bedroom window wide open—that I jerk to sit at the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the freezing hardwood as I reach for my Glock. In the next second I'm struck, the sting lingering on my jaw as I realize by what.

Snow.

Relief covers me as I release my gun back in the drawer and narrow my eyes as a mittened glove appears briefly on the ledge. A second later another ball sails through the window, smacking me in the chest—the malicious act followed by my Trésor's maniacal laughter.

"You scared the fuck out of me, thanks for that. Your ass is mine ."

"Sorry," she calls from just outside the window.

"Not sorry enough."

I glare down at Beau, who begins lapping up the ice from the floor.

"You're useless," I scold. "Go eat her!"

Her laughter echoes through the bedroom as I walk over to the window, just as glittering dark-blue eyes clear the bottom of the frame. She smiles up at me from where she stands just below it, and I do the same just before I slam the window in her face and lock it, cutting off her, "Heeeey," protest before I make my way back to bed.

And wait.

Not long after, I hear the telltale creak of the back door before soft booted footsteps pad through the house. Beau gives her away fully when he joins her where she lingers at the bedroom door, no doubt locked and loaded.

"I am sorry," she says sincerely. "I wasn't thinking like that."

"You have to think like that ," I scold, "at all times, and you know this, and only today will I forgive you, but fair warning, Trésor, you throw one of those at me, I'm going to consider it a declaration of—"

I'm barely able to shield from the three speeding balls being hurled at me in rapid succession. I'm instantly on my feet as she screams, dropping the rest of her arsenal before turning on her booted feet and launching herself out of the door, hysterical laughter pouring from her lips. I can't help my own chuckle as I chase her through the house, catching up with her in the living room and tackling her into the couch. She yelps as she falls back and struggles against me, her eyes shining with mischief.

"You are going to pay for that, dearly ," I say, unable to help my smile as I gaze down at her.

"I let you sleep in long enough."

"You aren't going to work?"

"You should know, as a southern raised man yourself, that a quarter-inch of that white stuff," she says, nodding toward the window, "gives southern cities the chance to play ignorant to what it's made of and shut down."

"That so?"

"It's so," she nods, her porcelain skin flushed pink from the cold. Her beauty robs me momentarily as I press myself against her, and she paws me with freezing mittens. When I jerk against the discomfort, she giggles .

"We're going to have a proper snow day, Frenchman. There's enough for a good fight, a decent-sized snowman, and if you're a really good boy, I'll make you a snow cream ."

I wrinkle my nose. "What is a snow cream?"

"It's a treat for good boys, you'll see."

"What does being a good boy entail?" I dip and press my lips to what skin I can reach beneath the layers she has on. "Will you settle for a skilled tongue? You know that's a lot to ask of me."

"Just going to have to give it your all, Frenchman."

"My all is ready," I murmur into her neck, grinding as much as I can into the quilt-thick clothes she has buttoned around her.

"Cool off, cowboy," she says, gliding her snow-crusted mittens down my sides, making me flinch.

"You want to battle me? You should know better."

Her eyes narrow at my challenge. "I can take you," she taunts.

"Think so?"

"Know so."

Abandoning the search for more skin, I pull myself away from her and the couch and lift my chin in acceptance of her battle. "Five minutes, Trésor. And you better hide well ."

My four-legged henchman sniffs her out in the garden within the first minute, and she screams like a banshee, tossing an arsenal of poorly made snowballs at me before darting around the house to the front yard. Gaining on her, she makes it all of two steps into the foot-deep blanket in her front yard before she loses her footing and faceplants.

I can't help my laugh as she lays there, her body shaking with laughter and defeat when I reach her and roll her over to see every inch of her outlined in snow. "The shortest war in US history lasted thirty-eight minutes, Trésor. I'm so disappointed in you."

I dust her off as she giggles beneath me. "Oh yeah, which war was that? "

"Anglo-Zanzibar, 1896."

"You're such a nerd, King," she coos beneath me. "I thought you'd be happy the war is over."

"If you're referring to our war, I'm more than happy. In fact, I'm willing to accommodate all demands for your surrender. But we're going to have to work on your tactics. You couldn't even evade my henchman." I nod over to where Beau lifts his leg, dotting the white powder with a line of bright yellow.

" Beau ," she scolds as he looks over at the two of us as if to say, "what?" She shakes her head, looking back over to me. "I don't think he likes it."

"No man likes being balls deep in ice. But those balls, we need to clip, and soon," I say, pulling her from the ground. "He's getting way too comfortable with my calf."

"Shhhh, he'll hear you," I swear Beau whines in agreement before trotting away from us, his curiosity getting the best of him. Cecelia pivots when she stands and tangles her leg with mine in an attempt to take me down. I balk at her shitty effort to get me on my back before I give in and take her intended fall.

"You let me win," she pouts, landing on top of me, knocking some of the air from me as she folds her mitted hands over my chest, her smile beaming. I pluck some of her newly wet and matted hair from around her neck and toss it over her shoulder.

"I find it's best to let you win at times. Makes life a lot easier for me. And you need a lesson in self-defense," I add.

She raises a brow before making a show of pulling a mitten off. "Do I?"

"You do."

In the next breath, I'm cursing as she strangles my cock in a vice-like grip through my jeans.

"You were saying?"

"Not to be messed with," I grit out as she briefly tightens her hold before letting go.

"It's a shame that men are so vulnerable there." She bats her eyelashes. "And I fight dirty . "

"As do I," I remind her, pulling her to her feet and surveying the whiteout.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nod. "I thought it was going to be just a dusting."

"A cold front came in, and so we got a lot more than anticipated."

I nod.

"We deserve a good snow day after the last one we had," she says softly, bringing me back to the day I confessed all in her father's back yard as heavy snow fell around us. The guilt resurfaces as I picture her, freezing, tears falling as she begged me to acknowledge us, to admit what we both knew was true. And I refused her, breaking apart the whole time, knowing I wouldn't outlive the truth or that memory.

"I'm sorry," she says, reading my reaction. "I didn't mean to play that dirty."

"I thought about that day the whole time we were apart." I slowly lift the hem of her knitted cap, pressing a long kiss to her forehead before tugging it back down. "We'll make this day far more memorable, so you'll never think of that one again."

She nods, the clouds in her eyes slowly dispersing as she slinks down to the ground, a curve to her lush lips as she gathers snow in her hand.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, right?"

"Don't even think about—"

She slaps the ice to the side of my face before she turns and makes a good showing of trying to get away. This time she makes it five steps.