Snowed In
1538 Words
"Are you actually kidding me right now?" Ivy Lancaster screamed.
The French Alps offered no sympathy. The wind roared back, hurling sharp shards of ice against her frozen cheeks.
"This is perfect. Just perfect," she yelled into the blinding white abyss.
She dragged her suitcase through snow that reached her knees. The tiny wheels were completely useless. Every step up the steep, winding mountain path to the luxury estate felt like a physical punishment.
"I should be on a beach," she muttered, her teeth chattering so violently she could barely form the words. "I should be drinking a margarita. But no. Mark just had to sleep with his receptionist on Christmas Eve."
"Five years," she continued to shout at the empty frozen world around her. "Five wasted years. And what do I get? A holiday pity invite from Juliet and a literal blizzard."
The mountain air was impossibly thin and brutally cold. Chamonix was supposed to be a picturesque winter wonderland, a pristine playground for the elite. Tonight, it looked like a frozen wasteland.
"Just a little further," she coaxed herself, squinting through the falling snow. "Juliet said it is the third property past the main gates. Black timber. Stone pillars."
She spotted it. The Clarke family chalet was a sprawling architectural masterpiece of dark wood and massive glass panes. Right now, the windows were completely black. The house was unlit.
"Of course she is not here yet," Ivy grumbled. She hauled the suitcase up the stone steps. "Flight delayed in Paris. Typical Juliet."
She dropped the luggage and shoved her numb hands into her coat pockets to find her phone. The screen was cracked and the battery flashed a red two percent. She pulled up the text message.
"Four, nine, two, six," she recited.
She punched the numbers into the glowing brass keypad. The heavy lock clicked open.
"Thank God," she breathed out.
Ivy pushed the heavy oak door open and dragged her bag inside. She pushed the door shut, instantly cutting off the deafening roar of the storm. The sudden silence inside the house was heavy.
"Juliet?" she called out.
Only the echo of her own voice answered.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Nothing. The air inside was warmer, but the central heating was clearly set to an empty house setting. The living room was a canvas of deep shadows. She could just make out the massive stone hearth in the center, surrounded by plush leather couches.
"Okay, Ivy. Priorities," she told herself. "Do not get hypothermia. Get out of these wet clothes. Light a fire. Wait for Juliet."
Her thick wool coat was soaked through from her hour long trek from the valley train station.
"Stupid taxi drivers," she mumbled, struggling with the frozen buttons of her coat. "Who refuses to drive up a mountain just because of an avalanche warning?"
She managed to undo the buttons and let the heavy coat drop to the hardwood floor. Next came the scarf, the gloves, and her damp sweater.
"I am going to destroy Mark," she whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "I am going to take the apartment. I am taking the dog."
She shivered violently. Her jeans were stiff with ice around the calves. She kicked off her ruined boots and unbuttoned her denim pants, shimmying them down her numb legs.
"This is rock bottom," she declared to the empty room. "Standing in my best friend's dark living room in my underwear. Talking to myself. This is my life."
"Are you quite finished?"
The voice was deep. It rumbled like a low earthquake from the darkest corner of the room. It was thick with gravel, authority, and unmistakable irritation.
Ivy froze. Her heart stopped beating entirely.
Her damp jeans were tangled around her ankles. She was standing in the middle of the room in nothing but a matching burgundy lace bra and panty set.
A heavy click echoed through the room. A brass reading lamp turned on next to one of the oversized leather armchairs. The sudden pool of warm amber light illuminated a man sitting in the shadows.
Sebastian Clarke.
Juliet's father. The legendary, retired pro hockey enforcer. The man she had harbored a deeply inappropriate, shameful, and consuming fantasy about since she was nineteen years old.
He was massive. Even sitting down, his broad shoulders seemed to take up half the room. He wore dark sweatpants and a tight black long sleeve shirt that stretched tightly across his chest. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his sharp jaw was covered in a thick layer of dark stubble.
His piercing eyes raked over her. The look was entirely instinctual. His gaze started at her bare shoulders, dropped down the curve of her waist, and lingered heavily on the burgundy lace. For a fraction of a second, Ivy saw his pupils blow wide. A raw, potent flash of arousal darkened his expression, and a sudden, illicit thrill shot straight to her core.
Then, just as quickly, the professional athlete masked it. His jaw clenched tight, shutting down the temptation with brutal efficiency.
"Mr. Clarke," Ivy gasped out. Her voice was trembling, and it was not just from the cold.
A pathetic, desperate part of her brain actually wanted him to stand up, cross the room, and wrap those massive arms around her freezing body. She wanted him to hug her, to tell her everything would be okay after the week from hell she just survived. The other, rational part of her brain violently shunned the idea. She was half naked in front of her best friend's dad. She wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
"Ivy," he stated. His voice was dangerously calm, yet it vibrated with a heavy tension. "What exactly are you doing in my house?"
"I... Juliet invited me," she stammered. She crossed her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to cover her cleavage. "My holiday trip got ruined. She said I could come here. I thought the house was empty."
Sebastian took a slow breath. His eyes locked onto her face, pointedly refusing to look down again.
"Juliet is stuck in Paris," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I came up early to get some peace and quiet. Just me."
Ivy felt the blood drain completely from her face. "She did not tell me you were here."
"Clearly," Sebastian replied. He leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on his knees. "So. Are you going to stand there freezing to death, or are you going to put some clothes on?"
"My clothes are wet," she whispered. She was completely unable to look away from his intense stare. "The blizzard soaked everything."
Sebastian sighed, a harsh, rugged sound. He stood up in one fluid motion. His sheer size was intimidating. He towered over her, radiating a ridiculous amount of body heat.
"Let me get this straight," Sebastian said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You walked all the way up from the valley station? In this storm?"
"I did not have a choice," Ivy argued, her defensiveness spiking to cover her extreme embarrassment. "The driver literally kicked me out. He said he was not risking his life for a fare."
"He should not have," Sebastian countered sharply. "It is a whiteout condition outside. You could have died out there, Ivy. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I needed to get inside before I froze!" she yelled back at him. "I was thinking my entire week has been a disaster and I just wanted to get to the cabin!"
"And strip in my living room," he pointed out.
"I thought I was alone!"
"You are not alone," he said. His voice dropped low, sounding almost like a territorial warning. "You are very much not alone."
"Can you please stop looking at me?" she pleaded. Her face was burning hot despite the freezing temperature of the room.
"I am looking at your eyes, Ivy," Sebastian grumbled. He turned his head away, his jaw clenching again. "It is difficult when you are standing in the middle of my floor looking like that. Stay here. I will get you a robe. Then I am calling a private car to take you to a hotel in town."
"You cannot," she said, her voice shaking as realization hit her. "The driver said the avalanche patrols completely blocked the main pass. The roads are closed."
Sebastian stopped walking. His broad back tensed up. A muscle ticked in his cheek as he processed her words. He looked toward the massive windows, where the blizzard was violently thrashing against the glass.
"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered.
He looked back down at her. The air between them suddenly felt suffocating. The reality of the situation crashed over both of them at the exact same moment. They were completely snowed in. Alone. And she was practically naked.
- Writer
