Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 26

Twenty-Six

CAT

T he week flies by in a handful of minutes that slip through my fingers. Winter is everywhere: standing by my side, whispering in my ear, and starring in my dreams. We draw hearts on each other’s wrists daily, probably feeding the rumors about us for internet sleuths to find, but I just don’t care. It’ll be my job to disregard it in the media via press releases and PR statements when this is all over, anyway. Still, I hold on to the tiny looks he gives me as if my oxygen is running out. We haven’t spoken about what happened between us the night we were snowed in, but the kiss is constantly on my mind. His mouth on mine is all I can think about, I’m addicted to the memory, grasping for the details.

And the letters. Every day there’s been a letter in our mailbox.

He tells me he’s going to have my heart tattooed permanently on his wrist when this is all over. When I tell him he’s crazy, he tells me crazy’s been canceled—as if that’s supposed to make me laugh and soften the blow of the most romantic things any man has ever said to me.

In a hastily scrawled response on the back of his letter against the very mailbox, I slip and tell him I dreamed about him. About his mouth on mine, about his mouth in other places. I can’t believe my fearlessness. I drop it in and then run so I don’t second guess it, but I trust him with my truth regardless of it being impossible for us to act on it.

He tells me he’s dreaming of me, too, and then he tells me all the reasons he wishes I were a contestant on the show instead of acting as his PA. Wouldn’t that be the perfect solution ? he asks. I could date you, pick you, and give my people what they want—a responsible man with a remarkable woman on his arm to support him. Would you let me? In this dream world scenario where we never got off on the wrong foot and understood each other from the start, would you let me have you?

I only wish I could have him, keep him.

The crew is grumpy when I make it downstairs Monday afternoon. Like a bonafide princess, I took breakfast and my coffee in my room this morning. I didn’t want to run into Winter before we started filming the first one on one and have to face my confused bundle of feelings and insanely distracting attraction to him head-on.

Liam is at the front desk and I give him a questioning look, any mail?

He shakes his head no, but of course, that doesn’t include our mailbox. I spin on my heel and run outside. I am addicted to his letters, to him really, and I’ve got to figure out how to turn back time and make it not so. Still, I crave the letter that’s waiting for me like a Christmas present that’s been sitting under the tree for a month. Waiting for you to unwrap it and gobble it down.

When I reach the pretty house on posts nestled in the tall trees, I pull on the top, making snow slide off and fall with a satisfying plop .

Inside, two heart-shaped ruby earrings shine up at me. I gasp. I left the earrings at Vikingstrong after our slumber party of course, but here they are, heavy in my palm, glinting in the sunlight, blood red against the snowy white backdrop of the mountains.

My head tells me no, not to accept them and leave them here for him to find. But my heart, my heart tells me yes.

There’s no turning back when I clip them to my ears and open a cream envelope, heart in my throat.

Sod Bloomst,

Wear these and think of me. I’m always thinking of you.

Yours,

Winter

P.S.

I’m trying to wait patiently but, please, for the love of Pete, whoever he is, put me out of my misery and say you’ll be mine.

A squeal peels out of me, everything inside me begging to let go, so I do. I sound like Frannie when anything good happens to her, or Willow when she’s reading a book she really loves. And it’s euphoric. But then there’s a loud crack high in the mountains. It echoes around the tall trees and think randomly of avalanches, the tumbling snow, the power, the fall .

That’s exactly what I feel like when I think of him. My heart is falling, it’s been underway and unstoppable for weeks already. I plaster my hand to my mouth, breathing hard against my own palm.

“You ready, Bloom.”

A messy table is piled high with equipment, the production team is tired, and I can tell everyone is ready to wrap this project for Christmas break. I untangle two mic packs from a knot of cords as Winter strides by me and down a hallway leading to a back patio. Nonchalant, casual as if he didn’t just drop a bomb on me in the shape of ruby hearts and love notes.

“Are you ready, pretty man?” I toss his words back at him playfully, but my heart’s not in it. Instead, my heart is thumping a million miles a minute and I can’t feel my feet. Suddenly, his cut jaw and intense blue eyes are all I can think about as he pushes dark blonde hair from his handsome face.

He wants me, the feeling is so foreign. Say you’ll be mine.

He tips his head, assessing me. “Hey,” he whispers, coming to stand by my side while I pet a Christmas tree in the entryway, looking for anything to do with my hands so I don’t find a silly excuse to touch him. “Everything okay?”

“Sure, yeah. Yes.” I can’t meet his eyes.

“Bloom.” He pulls my hand from the tree. “Did you check our mailbox?” I watch as he sneaks a red marker from his back pocket and begins marking me with his heart.

“Maybe.” My hair is down, hiding the earrings from him but more importantly, from everyone else.

His voice drops three octaves. “I wish it were you with me out there.” He nods out the door behind me where snowmobiles have lined up and horses are being saddled by Winter’s trainers.

“We both know that’s impossible.”

But he plows on as if he’s on a mission. “It wasn’t one thing that changed my mind about you, Cat. It was so many little things and now they’ve all piled up. And,” he replaces the marker cap and pushes two hands through his hair while I blow on my wrist. I don’t want it to smudge. “And why can’t it be you? I feel comfortable with you. You’re all I’ve thought about for weeks, invading my senses, and then I have to go out there and pretend . . . Fuck. ”

I open my mouth to say . . . I have no idea what. But my throat is tight with feeling, with words I want to say back to him if I could only find them, if I could only rationalize everything that’s happening.

Marco sticks his head through the door, letting a swift gust of cold wind hit my face, snapping me out of the moment. “You two coming, or not? Shall I get up on that horse and go on a date with this woman myself?”

My hand finds his, our fingers lace together, and that’s the best I can do as we follow Marco out the door.

Our hands pull apart when he’s motioned to take his place next to the horses, and when Winter glances back at me, a yearning in his eyes for a response he never got, I tuck my hair behind my ears—watching him, watch the rubies catch the light.

“Thank God the sun is shining. It’s fucking freezing out here,” Mandy grumbles. “When I get my show, I’m filming inside on a cute, homey set with nineties vibes and walls full of string art.”

“Okay, everyone listen up.” Marco’s boots crunch in new snow as we all huddle, waiting for his direction to kick off this date. “Winter and Mandy will saddle up while crew follows on snowmobiles?—”

Winter interjects looking directly at me, “Can you drive a snowmobile?” Everyone’s head turns on a swivel toward me.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, pulling my sunnies from my bag to hide my reaction to his concern.

Marco adjusts his sunglasses. “We’ll keep a good distance behind so the motor doesn’t interfere with sound. Turn your mic packs on, you two.” He points at Winter and Mandy, who’s fluffing her hair.

The two of them move toward the horses, Winter taking the reins from his trainers. We’re on the side of the mountain now, ski lifts and the lodge complete with smoking chimneys off to our right making a very pretty holiday picture for the backdrop.

I straddle a snowmobile and wish I had my phone so I could search a quick tutorial—the internet does have its charms. Robbie gives me a few quick instructions, and that’ll have to do.

“Would you mind?” Mandy shrugs out of her coat and pulls her shirt up her back so her mic pack is exposed. She looks over her shoulder at Winter, “And warm up those hands, please.”

Clocking them out of the corner of my eye as I start my motor and sit on the rumbly seat, Winter hesitates for a beat, or am I hallucinating? Then he cups his hands and blows into them. Marco, Robbie, and I watch from snowmobiles, rapt, as Winter’s fingertips graze her exposed skin, moving slowly and making their way to the mic pack clipped to the band of her bra.

“Damn, this is good TV,” Robbie murmurs.

Marco nods and shouts, “We’re picking up your sound now, Mandy. Winter, turn yours on, too.”

Mandy turns, “I got you.”

“Uh, thanks.” Winter glances in my direction and my head snaps up to admire the mountains. Then he says loudly, projecting as if he wants me to hear, “But I can do it myself.”

Robbie coughs next to me. “He lets you put his mic pack on.”

He lobs that accusation at me but I’m ready, it’s perfectly normal that I put his mic pack on. “Only because I’m his PA,” I respond as the horses’ whinny and nicker. It’s not because I have a secret crush on a prince who’s supposed to marry someone on this show in a matter of weeks.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Marco shouts.

Winter walks toward his horse, but Mandy whines, “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“Aren’t you from Texas, raised on a cattle farm, right?” Winter asks.

My head swims and I’m dizzy, I chug water because, altitude—it’s not his proximity to another woman making me want to lose my breakfast over the side of my snowmobile. I don’t want to see any of this, I also can’t bear to tear my eyes away.

“You wrote on your questionnaire you were comfortable with riding,” Marco shouts. “We prescreened everyone for optimal safety before we planned dates. Streamflix is not liable!”

“Oh, I’m totally comfortable,” Mandy rephrases, “but I can’t jump in the saddle all by myself. Plus, this is one of those fancy English saddles, no pommel.”

“I got her,” Winter hollers and my back goes rigid. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Mandy where to shove her foot.

It’s hard to watch him wrap his big hands around her waist and whisper in her ear. Make her laugh. I know exactly what a whisper from those lips feels like. I gulp and lift my face to the sun.

Marco pulls a laptop from his backpack and fires it up.

“Is that the show?” I lean over to view his screen as his snowmobile rumbles.

“Yeah, there’s a bit of a lag but we can check audio, visual, make sure we’re getting the shots we need.”

Now I have the pleasure of honing in on every detail, all zoomed in with what I now realize is absolutely a hawk-eye lens in Robbie’s camera.

Damn, that thing can really pick up details from a distance. No wonder we have a shipping situation. If his camera has been on us like this, viewers have seen everything.

Winter whispers in Mandy’s ear. “On the count of three, okay?” Oh God, now I can hear them perfectly, too. “Bounce a little with me, keep your knees soft, and on three you jump.”

She leans back into him, stretching her neck and twisting to look up. “Okay, thanks Win.”

Win? Who the hell is Win? Does she think she’s on a nickname basis with him?

“You got it,” he says, strong and sturdy. “Ready, one, two,” they bend their knees together, Robbie’s camera zooming in on Winter’s grip around her hips, “three.”

She jumps and he lifts her easily into the seat. His hand slides down to check the saddle, dangerously close to her ass as he says, “You on? ”

“I’m on,” she breathes. “This is amazing. The power between my legs . . .” Her eyes glitter as she looks down at him, “You know?”

Oh, fucking hell.

He grabs the reins and hands them to her. “Are you comfortable using these?”

She shakes her pretty head up and down, brunette hair laced with highlights flowing to her waist. She’s already refused a helmet. Winter refused, too, of course, stating he’s fallen off horses plenty of times and another knock to his head would be a drop in the bucket.

At least we agree on that.

Winter places the leather reins in her hands. “When you ride English, you generally hold the reins in two hands.” He fits each leather strap around her fingers. “Pull in the direction you want him to go, gently. Let the reins drop and push a bit on his neck—don’t choke up on them too much—and he’ll know exactly what you want.”

“And how do I stay on? It feels real high up.” I’m not buying any of this as Robbie’s camera zooms in on her ass, again.

I look up from the laptop. “Robbie!”

He shrugs. That’s the job on a show like this.

Winter’s hand drops to her thigh. “Squeeze here, as hard as you can.”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” I make a gagging noise for comedic effect, like come on, this is grade A crap we’re filming here. Right? But no one pays attention to me. They’re all glued to the scene unfolding with fresh snow on the ground, the smell of horses and nature in the air, the lodge’s massive Christmas tree adding holiday whimsy to the shot.

“Like this?” She lifts and flexes in the sleek black saddle, her thighs actively squeezing.

Days ago, it was me in that saddle, squeezing my thighs and riding behind Winter. Holding on to his middle, his muscles hard under my hands as we flew, somehow naturally in synch in the saddle. He took me home. He fed me, and I slept in his clothes, and he kissed me like I’ve never been kissed. Like I was his world. Why did I stop him?

He ran away from all of this with me, just him, and me, and one horse.

As if she’s read my mind from yards away, Mandy says, “I’m not sure I’m steady. Maybe I should ride with you?”

Oh, hell, no. “Hey guys, we’re losing light here!” I shout.

Marco covers his ears. “Cat! You wanna cause an avalanche?”

Robbie sniffs and holds in a laugh.

“Sorry, but we need to get this show on the road. Or rather, on the trail,” I’m trying to keep it light for Marco, j ust doing my job, smiley face! “Right, Robbie?” I’m unhinged and I pray they don’t know it.

Why didn’t I let him kiss me all night long?

Robbie grins at me. “Yeah. Can’t lose the light.” It’s one in the afternoon and I dare him with my eyes to comment.

The last thing I see on Marco’s screen, all zoomed in so I can’t miss it, is Winter’s Larsen’s knowing smirk, aimed straight at the camera.

Possibly, aimed straight at me.