They’d stepped out into the sucker punch of the cold morning, both of them breathing hard and sharp as the reality of the chilly temperature made itself known. Like a full frontal assault. Michaela’s eyes had watered instantly, the exposed skin on her cheeks ached in that cold, dry way, and she tugged her warm scarf tighter around her neck. Jesse, by contrast, let out a sound that could only be construed as pure, male joy, and set off toward the motel office as if he found the weather exhilarating. He probably did, Michaela thought as she trudged after him, her boots—which were really more rain boots than snow boots, but were all she had with her—sinking through the icy crust of the snow and then down. And she tried not to think about how that sound he’d made was still reverberating inside of her, as if joy really was contagious. “Walk where I walk,” he called back over his shoulder, and she didn’t want to think about the way his voice moved in her, or the warmth that seemed to spread out from deep inside her at that evidence that he was watching out for her— Stop it, she hissed.
