Page 2 of Snow Bound (Odyssey #1)
He was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, the shirt stretched across a broad chest and shoulders, and the sleeves, rolled to the elbows, showed thick forearms dusted with dark hair.
There was something vaguely familiar in the angle of his head, the set of his shoulders, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to discern what it was that was tickling her memory.
But she couldn’t see his face, and after a moment she gave up.
She tapped a fingernail on the glass, amused at the little curl of heat that bloomed in her belly. “ What does it say about me,” she asked his image, “that just looking at you turns me on more than all the men I’ve dated in the last year?”
She shook her head and tapped the glass again. “ Nothing good, that’s what,” she decided and turned away.
She laid the quilt over the bed then crawled under it.
She bunched and punched and squished the pillow until she was satisfied, then opened her book.
After the conversation with her mother, she’d wanted a comfort read, and the romance novel she’d found on the shelf in the living room fit the bill perfectly.
Warm and cozy, she settled down to read.
She woke up hours later, the book open on her chest, with an urgent need for the bathroom.
Groggy , she shoved her way clear of the covers and stumbled to the bath.
It wasn’t until she was washing her hands that she realized she was horribly thirsty, and nearly ducked her head in the wide vessel of the sink to drink right from the faucet.
But there was a case of her mother’s favorite French bottled water in the fridge—ordered at Kimberly’s request—and it would be a shame to waste it.
She padded out of the bathroom and over to the bureau where she’d stored her clothes to dig out her makeshift nightgown, and dropped it over her head as she headed out and down the stairs.
She didn’t bother with the lights, letting the moonlight streaming in through the windows guide her through the living room to the kitchen.
Of all the rooms in this house to love—and she loved all of them—the kitchen was by far her favorite.
It had been renovated and modernized with gleaming appliances and bright white tile, but it still fit the house.
Built at a time when open concept living spaces weren’t yet the standard, the kitchen sat at the back of the house, accessible only through the wide hallway that connected it to the dining room at the front.
Anna imagined it had originally been closed off completely, but the doorway had been widened, the ceilings raised, and the result was an open and airy space that nonetheless retained its boundaries.
The floors were the same random width oak that graced the rest of the first floor, warming a room that otherwise might have appeared sterile and cold.
The only other color came from the bright accessories peppered throughout—a cobalt bowl on the marble counter filled with glossy green apples, colorful dishes on the open shelves.
The massive window over the farmhouse sink did double duty, not only letting in vast amounts of natural light but also bringing the outdoors into the room.
The landscape was white now, but during spring and summer, Anna imagined a riot of color would fill the view.
With the moonlight streaming in the room it practically glowed, and once again she didn’t bother with the light.
She pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and drank half of it in one go, then grabbed a second to take back upstairs with her.
She finished her water, then padded over to toss the empty bottle in the recycling bin under the sink.
Then she simply stood, staring at the view outside.
The snow sparkled under the moon, making it look somehow magical.
She forgot, living in the city, how gorgeous snow could be, and she stood staring at it, so enthralled she didn’t hear the front door open.
Outside on the wide front porch, Grant Snow dragged the knit cap off his head and carefully toed off his boots. After a full day of travel, all he wanted was a shower and the king-sized bed waiting for him inside.
But he knew if he left puddles on his mother’s precious wood floor, she’d shove a mop in his hands and blister his ears.
He was a grown man, but to Grace Snow , he was never too old to take to the woodshed—figuratively speaking.
He didn’t want the mop or the lecture, so he shifted his boots to the left of the door and with the cold seeping through his stocking feet, glanced at his companion. “ You know the rules, pal. Shake it off.”
He got a silly grin in response, then had to turn his face away as his friend gave a mighty shake, sending snow flying. He waited until he could no longer hear the rattle of metal, then risked opening one eye. “ Hey , you look like a dog again. Good job, buddy.”
Henry, the mostly mastiff mix Grant had adopted from the Cook County Humane Society three years before, responded by lifting one massive paw to scratch at the front door.
“Yeah, let’s go to bed.” Grant hefted his duffle bag in one hand and with his keys in the other, let himself into the house.
He stepped inside, waited for Henry to follow him in, then closed and secured the door. Moving quietly out of habit, he started to head upstairs, then changed his mind.
He looked down at the patiently waiting dog. “ You hungry, buddy?” he murmured and Henry’s ears perked in interest. “ Yeah , let’s get a snack before bed.”
He set the duffle down and strode down the hall, silent in his stocking feet.
Henry trailed along behind, pausing to sniff at the legs of the dining room chairs as they passed while Grant continued to the kitchen.
Moonlight from the big window over the sink filled the room, bouncing off the white tiles and gleaming appliances, so he didn’t bother to turn on the light.
He crossed the threshold, his focus on the large refrigerator and the sandwich he was already building in his mind. Then he saw the woman standing at the sink.
His tired brain kicked in half a heartbeat after his feet stuttered to a stop, trying to absorb the details.
Taller than average, five foot eight or nine, she wore an oversized white t-shirt and not much else.
Hair hung halfway down her back, a dark, thick curtain against that background of white.
It was hard to tell color in the moonlight, but he thought she might be a redhead.
He had a weakness for redheads.
The t-shirt was long enough to cover her butt, but it was thin and clingy, molding to the generous hips and lush ass underneath, and her long legs were bare.
He had a weakness for those, too.
Welcome home to me, he thought somewhat giddily, then shook his head.
Nobody knew he was coming, so it was a sure bet she wasn’t here for him.
Maybe she was a friend of Corrie’s ? He tried to remember his sister’s school schedule.
She had a break coming up at Thanksgiving , but as it was only the first week of November , she should be in her apartment in East Lansing .
His eyes narrowed when Red leaned over the sink to peer out the window. The shirt rode up just enough to give him a hint of—yes, that was indeed a world-class ass. Bare , no less, and despite his fatigue, interest stirred.
He ignored it. If she wasn’t a friend of Corrie’s , then she was his mother’s guest. Mom hadn’t mentioned anyone coming to stay with her the last time they’d talked, but that had been six weeks ago.
He’d been out of the country on a job, only getting back into Chicago early that morning.
He’d picked up Henry from the kennel, and with the okay from his boss to take a much-needed break, had decided to head north for a visit.
He hadn’t bothered to call ahead. His mother wasn’t expecting him until Thanksgiving , and he’d wanted to surprise her.
It looked like his appearance was going to be a surprise to more than one person tonight.
He hated to ruin the view, but he knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to announce himself. And even if his gut hadn’t been nagging him to do so, he knew his mother didn’t consider him too old to have his ears boxed if she thought he’d behaved poorly towards a guest.
He took one last look at long legs and barely covered bottom, then fixed his gaze firmly on the back of her head. “ Hello .”
Anna spun around, momentarily blinded when her hair flew in her eyes.
Almost before her vision cleared, she was moving.
The plastic water bottle winged out of her hand, instinct and her self-defense training kicking in.
It hit the man standing in the kitchen doorway square in the forehead and exploded on contact.
“Shit!”
He staggered back but didn’t go down, flinging out his arms to catch himself on the doorway as water rained down from the broken bottle.
She didn’t bother screaming, just grabbed apples out of the bowl on the counter and sent them flying.
The first hit the doorway, spraying chunks into the air and wrenching a curse from the intruder.
He ducked to avoid fruit shrapnel, and the second apple sailed through the doorway over his head.
But she took a second to aim with the third, and it hit him exactly where she intended.
Dead in the crotch.
His eyes went wide, all the color drained out of his face, and he folded like a cheap suit.
“Yes!” She thrust her arms into the air in victory as he curled into a fetal ball in the kitchen doorway, his hair dripping water into a puddle on the floor. Then she remembered all she wore was a t-shirt and hastily lowered them again.
The intruder let out a low groan and propped himself up against the door jam. A string of impressive curses spilled out and he pinned her with a vicious glare, one hand cradling his crotch.
“What the fuck, lady?” His voice was a ragged growl, full of pain and insult that absurdly had an apology leaping to her lips. Swallowing it down, she fixed her most ferocious scowl on her face and snatched up another apple.
“Don’t move,” she warned.
“I can’t move,” he retorted. He lifted one shaking hand to shove at the hair dripping in his face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the apple in her hand. “ Don’t you throw that at me, dammit. I’m already on the damn floor.”
“You make one move and I’ll put you in the ground ,” she countered, a little unnerved by the outrage blazing from his pale blue eyes. They shone nearly silver in the dim light, and something niggled at her memory.
She narrowed her gaze, searching his face as the niggle got stronger, then every single thought flew out of her head.
She scrambled back, unable to hold back the shriek as the biggest dog she’d ever seen lumbered into the room. His feet looked to be the size of dinner plates, and she was sure her entire head would fit in his mouth. “ Jesus Christ , what the hell is that?”
The man rolled his eyes, exasperation replacing wounded outrage, and lifted the hand that had been cradling his crotch to scratch the beast behind the ears. “ Now you come in,” he griped at the dog. “ Where were you when she was pelting me with apples?”
The dog snuffled at the man’s face, and he let out a huffing laugh. “ Idiot ,” he said with amused affection and gave the dog a last scrubbing pat before turning that blazing gaze on her again. “ If I get up to get a towel, are you going to throw something at me again?”
She cocked her arm back, apple at the ready. “ Yes .”
“Jesus Christ .” He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering water that the dog tried to lap up out of mid-air. “ Get one for me, then. They’re in the drawer next to the stove.”
Anna automatically took a step toward the drawer, the command in that whiskey voice impossible to ignore even with the exasperated disgust coloring it. Then she froze. How did he know where the towels are?
“How do you know where the towels are?” she demanded.
He lifted a hand to shove at the dog, who was trying to chew on his hair. “ Because that’s where they go.”
“How do you know where they go?” she asked, more bewildered now than suspicious.
“Because I live here,” he retorted. “ Dammit , Henry , get out of my hair.”
The dog— Henry —gave an offended woof and slapped a giant paw on the man’s lap. He lurched forward, frantically shoving it away. “ Fuck ! Do I have a target painted on my balls or something?”
“You do not live here.” She lifted the apple again. “ I will throw this at your head this time.”
“Jesus Christ . I’m Grant Snow , and if anybody should be throwing apples, it’s me,” he snapped, voice rising in irritation. “ I come home in the middle of the night, find a half-naked woman in my mother’s kitchen, and get my balls busted. Literally .”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Grant Snow . This is my mother’s house.”
Something akin to horror was beginning to seep through her outrage. “ Grant ?”
“That’s what I said. Henry , come on .” He shoved at the bulk of the dog until the beast plopped down next to him with a plaintive whine, and when he turned that burning blue gaze back on her, the pieces tumbled into place.
Her hand fell limply to her side, the apple hitting the floor. “ Oh , my God .”
Ignoring her, he leaned over to pick up the rolling apple just as the dog made a grab. “ No raw fruit,” he said firmly. “ I’m not putting up with raw fruit farts all night.”
“Grant,” she said numbly. Grant , from the BDSM club she’d joined last summer. Grant , who’d charmed her with his slow, sexy smile and piercing blue eyes and calm, confident demeanor. Grant , who’d made a date with her for her first ever scene, then ghosted her.
“That’s what I said.”
“From Odyssey .” The numbness was wearing off, burned away by the beginnings of rage.
“I know—what?” He shoved his dripping hair off his forehead, narrowed his eyes. He raked them down her half-naked form, then back up. Recognition and surprise flashed in his eyes. “ Anna ?”
“In the flesh,” she replied and with a red haze coating her vision, grabbed another apple and let it fly.