minutes, I said!’
About to reiterate that this was madness, the words died on her lips. He’d abandoned the pinstripes for jeans, a jacket similar to the one she was wearing. The focused, controlled businessman had been replaced by a caged tiger scenting escape.
‘Yes, boss,’ she said cheekily, pulling on her gloves as they used the private lift which took them straight to the underground car park.
He boosted her up into the seat of a black Range Rover, climbed up beside her.
‘Better duck down,’ he said as they approached the barrier.
‘You don’t think…?’
‘Unlikely, but better safe than sorry.’
The traffic was light; no one with any sense would be out in this weather unless is was absolutely necessary.
‘I think you might be optimistic about it thawing by morning,’ she said.
‘Want to risk leaving it for another day?’
‘No way!’
‘Thought not.’
Neither of them spoke again until he’d driven through Hyde Park and parked near the Serpentine Bridge.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said, staring across the utterly still, freezing waters of the lake. The acres of white, disappearing into the thick, whirling snow. ‘Just…wow,’ again as she unclipped the seat belt, opened the door, letting in a flurry of snow.
She didn’t stop to think, but slid down, spun around in it, grinning as Nathaniel caught her hand and they ran across the blank canvas, leaving their footprints in the snow.
She picked up a handful and flung a snowball at him, yelling as he retaliated, scoring a hit as snow found its way inside her jacket.
Lucy was right, Nat thought as they gathered snow, piling it up, laughing like a couple of kids. This was crazy. But in the best possible way. A little bit of magic that, like the kids visiting the grotto, was making a memory that would stay with him.
They rolled a giant snowball into a body, piling up more snow around its base before adding a head.
Drivers, making their way through the park, hooted encouragement but, as Lucy waved back, he caught her hand, afraid that someone might decide to stop and crash their snowman party.
He wasn’t afraid that she’d be recognized. They were far enough from the street lights and the snow blurred everything. It was just that, selfishly, he didn’t want to share it, share her, with anyone.
She looked up, eyes shining, snowflakes sticking to her lashes, the curls sticking out from beneath her hat, clinging for a moment to her lips before melting against their warmth.
‘Are we done?’ he said before he completely lost it and did in reality what he’d imagined in his head a dozen times: kiss her senseless. Or maybe that was him. The one without any sense. ‘Is it big enough?’
‘Not it. She. Lily.’
‘A girl snowman?’
She added two handfuls of snow, patting it into shape, giving her curves.
‘She is now.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Equal opportunities for all. Fairy godmothers. Santas. Snowmen. I wish we’d brought some dressing up clothes for her.’
He removed the pull-on fleece hat he was wearing and tucked it onto Lily’s head.
‘Oh, cute,’ she said and draped the scarf she was wearing around her like a stole. Then she took her phone from her pocket and took a picture.
‘Give it to me. I’ll take a picture of both of you.’
She crouched down, her arm around the snow lady, and gave him a hundred watt smile. Then she said, ‘No, wait, you should be in it, too. A reminder of how much trouble you can get into when you catch a stranger on the stairs.’
‘You think?’ he said, folding himself up beside her, holding the phone at arm’s length. ‘Closer,’ he said, putting his arm around her, pulling her close so that her cheek was pressed against his and he could feel her giggling.
‘We must look like a couple of Michelin men.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ he said, turning to look at her. Her eyes were shining, lit up, her mouth just inches from his own in a rerun of that moment on the stairs when the world went away.
Had it ever come back?
He fired off the flash before he forgot all his good intentions.
‘How’s that?’ he said, showing her.
‘Perfect,’ she said, looking over his arm. ‘Can I send them to my diary?’
‘As a reminder of a crazy moment in the snow?’
‘As a reminder that not all men are mendacious rats,’ she said. ‘That once in a while Prince Charming is the real deal.’
‘No…’ Not him. Wrong fairy tale. He was the Beast, woken by Beauty from a long darkness of the soul.
But she had fallen back in the snow, laughing as she swept her arms up and down to make a snow angel.
‘Come on. You too,’ she urged, laughing, and he joined in, sweeping his arms up and down until their gloved hands met. He looked across at her, lying in the snow, golden curls peeping out from beneath her hat, laughing as the huge flakes settled over her face, licking them from her lips.
‘What do they taste of?’ he asked.
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Happiness.’ And then she looked at him. ‘Want to share?’
She didn’t wait for his answer, but rolled over so that her body bumped into his, her face above him.
There were moments—rare moments, perfect moments—when the world seemed to pause on its axis, giving you an extra heartbeat of time.
It had happened when he’d caught her on the stairs and, as her laughing lips touched his, a simple gift, and cold, wet, minty-sweet happiness seeped through him, warming him with her passionate grasp on life, it happened again, more, much more than any imagined kiss.
The world stood still and he seized the moment, lifting his hands to cradle her head, slanting his mouth against hers as the warmth became an inferno hot enough to touch the permafrost that had invaded his soul.
Her kitten eyes were more gold than green as she raised her lids. Then touched her lips to his cheek, tasted them with her tongue.
‘One of us is crying,’ she said.
He rubbed a gloved thumb over her cheek. ‘Maybe we both are.’
‘With happiness,’ she declared.
‘Or maybe it’s just our eyes watering with the
