Can't Fight It - Kaylee Ryan Page 0,55

the air as he whacks his hands down into the fluffy snow repeatedly. I plop down in the white stuff beside him, fall back and stretch out, moving my arms and legs to make a snow angel. I’ve never made one before, and I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I wave my arms and legs, just like I’ve seen done on television or the internet.

When I open my eyes, I realize I’m smiling so wide, my face hurts. Okay, it could hurt from the frigid air, but I’d like to think it has something to do with how happy and free I feel lying in the snow, making my very first snow angel.

My eyes connect with Colton’s, and it takes a few seconds before I realize what he has in his hand. He’s holding his cell phone, angling it down and tapping on the screen. But it’s not at Milo that it’s pointed. No, it’s at me. Something passes between us. Understanding, maybe. Acceptance. Joy. Probably a good mixture of it all.

When I turn my head, I burst into laughter. Milo is lying beside me in the snow, kicking his little legs like he’s running a race. “Milo, are you making a snow angel too?” I ask, crouching carefully next to him and moving his legs and hands until we’ve made a small baby snow angel.

“Buddy, look here,” Colton says as he snaps a few more pictures of us making the angel.

I stand Milo up in the snow and laugh at his eager little shrieks of delight. Glancing up at Colton, I see him still snapping photos. With my right hand, I hold Milo upright, but with my left, I reach for the phone. “Give it to me. I’ll take some of you two.”

His entire face lights up as he hands me the phone and gets down on the ground with his son. For the next several minutes, I take photo after photo of father and son frolicking in the snow. Colton demonstrates the building of the perfect snowball, to which Milo tries to eat. They build a few more and toss them off into the yard. When I slip Colton’s phone into my pocket, and the boys stand up, there’s a gleam in their eyes that gives me pause. Well, to be honest, I’m pretty sure the look in Milo’s blue eyes is because he’s trying to grab the snowball, but the one in his father’s eyes…?

That has trouble written all over it.

Carefully, I take a retreating step backward, followed by another, but Colton advances. I have about a half-second warning before the snowball hits me square in the chest. “What the…”

“It slipped!” he insists, though the sparkle in his eyes betrays him.

“Slipped? Seriously?” I ask, bending down and gathering up a wet ball of snow in my hand.

“I’m holding a baby,” Colton notes, moving Milo and using him as a human baby shield.

“I see that,” I reply, patting my snowball to keep it from falling apart.

“You wouldn’t,” he adds, dancing to the left.

I shrug. “Not while you’re holding Milo.”

Slowly, he crouches down and sets his son back against the backrest of the sled and straps him in securely. Then, he stands up and locks eyes with mine as a seductive smile spreads across his gorgeous face. Suddenly, he moves, throwing his arms around my waist and putting his shoulder into my chest. It’s not hard, but it catches me off guard, especially when he hoists me up in the air, throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I wail his name, which sounds odd considering I’m giggling too.

“Any final words you’d like to share, Holls?” he asks, dramatically spinning me around.

“Don’t you dare,” I start, but the rest of the sentence is lost when I start to fall. No, not fall, per se, because I’m still in Colton’s arms, but we do fall. Together. His body taking the brunt of the weight as we land and roll.

When we stop moving, he’s lying directly on top of me, my head cradled in his gloved hands as our bodies align so perfectly from head to toe. I shiver, but not from the cold snow pressed against my back. I shiver from the desire laced in his eyes, and the warmth of his breath tickling my dry lips.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I whisper, gripping the back of his coat.

“You were going to throw a snowball at me.”

“Allegedly.”

Colton smiles and presses his lips to my own, the heat