oor, the strange glow starting to disturb him. ‘This wasn’t my idea.’
‘Oh,’ she said, the smile dying—and he felt mean for ruining her moment of joy. Then annoyed with himself for caring.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked, her eager expression only increasing the pressure in his chest. ‘I could cook us some supper? I had a job as a short-order cook in a diner not so long ago. I’m pretty good.’
He frowned. Why would she have needed a job?
‘You go ahead, the fridge should be fully stocked. I’ve already eaten,’ he said, stifling his curiosity. He needed to get a handle on the feeling crushing his ribs.
‘Is something wrong, Leo?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said, and watched the light in her eyes die. He refused to feel guilty about it. They were here to get through the next seven days, do the damn pregnancy test, hope to hell it was negative, then leave and never see each other again. Satisfying the chemistry between them was one thing, encouraging an emotional connection something else entirely.
Keeping things cool tonight made sense. They needed to establish firm boundaries before they enjoyed any fringe benefits. Juno Monroyale was a force of nature—wild and undisciplined. She’d captivated him without even trying when he’d thought she was a queen. He wasn’t about to let her do the same now he knew she wasn’t.
‘I’ve got work to do,’ he said, picking up his own bag. ‘I’ll take the bedroom at the back. You can have the master. Do you want me to take your luggage in there for you?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ she said, extending the handle on her case.
He could see the confusion clouding her eyes.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then,’ he said.
He was going to get through tonight without touching her, just to prove he could. Whatever happened in the next seven days, he was going to be calling the shots from now on. Not her.
But as he lay on his bed twenty minutes later, staring at the wooden rafters on the lodge’s ceiling, and heard her moving around in the cabin’s state-of-the-art kitchen, the delicious scent of herbs and grilled lamb making his stomach growl, the memory of her bright smile and her little gasp of joy when she’d seen the Christmas decorations was still doing strange things to his chest.
Juno awoke the next morning to a white-out. The snow was falling outside the cabin in fat, fluffy chunks, covering the trees in a blanket of pristine white.
You never got pristine snow like this in Queens, and she’d missed it.
She showered and changed into her outdoor clothes and made herself some coffee, then headed out into the living room. She’d heard Leo the evening before in the kitchen making himself a midnight snack, had debated whether to surprise him. Then decided to let him sulk. Something had spooked him, something about the Christmas decorations. And it had made her sad to see it. Was it something to do with his mother’s death?
She’d wanted to ask him more about it. But ultimately she’d decided against it. She didn’t want to break her ‘no heavy emotions’ rule on the very first night.
She switched on the Christmas tree lights—which she realised Leo must have switched off.
After rinsing out her coffee mug, she found a carrot in the fridge and headed outside.
Juno breathed in the clean, clear pine-scented air, the peaceful morning. The beauty of the snow-laden forest was a gift she wasn’t sure she deserved but was determined to make the most of.
She formed a snowball, then began to roll it across the ground in front of the cabin. She hadn’t made a snowman since she was eight years old, and she’d still lived in Monrova with her sister. They’d escaped from the palace every chance they got that Christmas, to escape from their overbearing governess and the sound of their parents arguing in the adjoining suite. They hadn’t realised at the time it would be their last Christmas together. The snowman they’d made just before the thaw had been the last they would ever build. But Juno hadn’t forgotten how.
‘This one’s for you, Jade,’ she whispered as she set to work.
Thirty minutes later, she had lost the feeling in her fingers and toes, her jeans were soaked through at the knees, she’d discarded her hat and scarf and her anorak and was only wearing a thin camisole, because the sun was warm and building a snowman was a lot sweatier than she remembered it.
After perching another snowball on top of the larger, misshapen lump she’d made earlier, she retrieved the carrot and screwed it into the middle. She tilted her head to one side, to admire her handiwork, then grabbed her discarded scarf and wrapped it round where the head and torso joined together—calling it a neck would be a bit ambitious.
She stood back to check him over again.
He looks kind of grumpy.
‘What is that?’
She swung round to see Leo standing on the porch, wearing nothing but a pair of sweat pants, some boots, a T-shirt, and a frown.
Heat infused her already sweaty body—and all the pheromones she’d put on hold the night before went into party mode.