When two frozen hearts collide…

Emma Reed closed her heart to love years ago after a lifetime spent getting kicked around foster homes and bad relationships. Now she’s on a mission to prove she deserves her recent award to paint a mural for a research base in Antarctica. Nothing and no one is going to get in her way.

After months working in recovery zones around the world, Hunter Wilson planned to escape everything this holiday season by rebuilding a lab at the Kiwi Research Base. Alone. No to family, no to fun. It’s isolation not intimacy he’s aching for. But when he sees the determined artist, that ache becomes an urge – after all, shouldn’t someone show her what two people can do with twenty-four hours of brilliant sunlight?

In the coldest place on earth, even the most frozen hearts can melt.

 

Information:

Title: Melt
Author: Natalie Anderson
Genre: Contemporary
Imprint: Entangled Ever Afters
Length: 97 pages
Release Date: December 19th, 2011
 

 
 
 
 

Excerpt:

© 2011 Natalie Anderson

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

EMMA DIDN’T KNOW whether it was nerves or excitement fueling her, but despite not bothering with breakfast, she was amped with energy. She jumped from the bus, calling a singsong thanks to the driver. Tomorrow she’d land in the world’s driest, coldest, most inhospitable place on the planet. The next twenty-four hours couldn’t tick quickly enough to keep up with her happy-dancing heart.

In Antarctica, there was no permanent population—only a few base camps clinging to the coastal edges, and only a select few people got to stay at them. She’d never been so lucky in her life. Nor had she been so nervous.

But at this second, excitement trumped those nerves.

She all but skipped toward the small purpose-built terminal a block or so from Christchurch’s main airport, the flash-card facts from her info pack pinging in her head. Her flight was scheduled for first thing in the morning, but right now she had to be issued with her ECW—Extreme Cold Weather gear. The jackets and pants weren’t available to the public for purchase—only those going on the ice, as it was known, were issued with them. She still couldn’t believe she was going on the ice at all.

A guy walked a few feet ahead of her, a huge bag slung effortlessly over his shoulder. He looked army with his short, tidy haircut and lean muscles—even from the back it was clear he was ripped. The bronzed biceps protruding from his gray tee were utterly fat free. No prizes for guessing they were headed to the same place, and she smiled as he held the door for her.

“You’re going down?” she asked, stepping through the doorway, her anticipation rendering her breathless.

A slow drawl followed behind her. “I sure hope so.”

Startled, Emma turned, replaying the question she’d meant completely innocently but that he’d answered with a distinct tease in his tone. He met her gaze expectantly, the glint in his eyes both suggestive and utterly amused.

She tried to suppress the scalding heat of her blood rushing to her face. She didn’t want to blush, but she felt the fire—yeah, she lost that battle mighty quickly. But any woman’s blood would warm when so close to such a male. Add the hint of sexual amusement, and she stood no chance. Her skin had to be stop-sign central.

She lowered her gaze and snuck in a rationalizing breath because, no, this wasn’t happening. She refused to react so sensitively to a simple comment. She snapped her spine straighter, though the half inch it added to her height did nothing to counter his towering physique, and glanced back up at him coolly.

Now his vivid blue eyes were positively dancing.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” he added with the suggestion of a wink.

Good grief. “Yes.” Emma forced some vocal power to counter her breathlessness and cleared her throat. “I have a really big job to do there.” A life-changing one. Aiming to change her life—she wasn’t going down to muck around.

His smile widened. “Good for you.”

Emma watched as he approached the receptionist in the small vestibule and drawled “Hello.” He had the same lilt that Emma’s grandma Bea had never quite lost despite her fifty years’ residence in New Zealand, only his apparently mesmerized any female he turned it on. Emma nodded at the receptionist, too, but the woman didn’t notice. She was still busy smiling at the jaw-dropping hunk a step ahead of Emma. Yeah, he had that effect on every woman. And no doubt he knew it.

As she followed him down the corridor the receptionist had directed them to, Emma couldn’t help smiling inwardly at his unashamedly bold attitude—this flirt incarnate was definitely one to keep her distance from.

When he hit the door to the kit room, he paused and waited for her to pass through ahead of him. She cursed his good manners because, in a step, he was right beside her and giving her a sidelong look that she was acutely aware of despite determinedly keeping her gaze front and center. His matching strides made it feel like they were together, not random strangers. But “together” wasn’t a word in Emma’s vocab; she was on her own in this one, more than ever before.

“You two are heading down?” An efficient-looking woman dressed in casual slacks bustled to meet them, and behind her was the biggest walk-in wardrobe Emma had ever seen.

“We are.” The American answered with a devastating smile and more than a hint of laughter in his voice. “Really looking forward to it.”

Emma’s blood bubbled back to simmer level at the way he’d put the two of them together, but she scotched the resurgence of warmth by thinking of icebergs and blizzards.

“I’m Pam, in charge of all this gear—lose it at your peril,” the woman threatened good-naturedly. “You’ve got your details?”

Emma handed over the document detailing her itinerary, and so did the gorgeous guy standing a little too close beside her.

“Okay.” Pam quickly scanned both lists. “No problem. What’s your shoe size?”

“Big,” he answered.

“Little.” Emma couldn’t help sassing back. She shot him a glance to gauge his reaction and got slayed by the gorgeous smile directed at her.

Pam laughed. “Follow me.”

To stop herself from staring at him, Emma focused on the racks and racks of clothing, the open shelves on which she could see boots, gloves, socks, gloves, goggles, jackets, and yet more gloves. Ten minutes later she had two pairs of boots, the American had three, and they were on to overalls.

“The giant and the pixie,” Pam joked as she went from one end of the rack to the other to get the opposite sizes for them. “Try these on.”

The American stepped into the overalls right where he was. A quick glance around showed Emma there was no such thing as a changing room here. And honestly, one wasn’t needed, given they were putting the gear over the clothes they were already wearing. She looked back at the man and caught him staring at her with a sardonic grin. Stiffening, she stepped into the legs of her overalls. He probably thought her prudish, but there was something oddly intimate about dressing alongside another person, even if they were completely covered up.

“You want them to fit well.” The woman frowned at Emma’s trouser length. “I think that needs to be longer in the leg but tighter at the waist,” she fussed. “You try this thermal.” She tossed a top to the guy on her way to the far end of the rack.

He slipped it over his head. “Perfect,” he said.

Emma glanced at him, and yes it was.

He pulled off the light layer to add it to his mounting pile, but his gray tee underneath got caught up with it, so for a split second his torso was almost completely bare. His bronzed, broad, muscled chest.

Just because Emma had sworn off men didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate their form. She was an artist, after all. And this guy had a magnificent form to admire. She’d never seen anyone so fit in her life, not without the aid of Photoshop. Certainly not in the flesh and near enough to touch.

It took her far too long to realize she had her mouth open—wide open—as she stared. He pulled his shirt back down, and Emma quickly turned, looking away in time to catch a wink from Pam, who was as pink in the cheeks as Emma felt.

“Hot in these overalls, isn’t it?” Emma muttered, waving a hand in front of her face to cool her burning skin.

“Sure is.” Pam nodded.

Emma bent to pull them off, staying that way extra long so she could tell herself her reddened face was from hanging upside down and not from the thrill of gawking at a near-naked man.

Ten minutes later, she was even hotter from pulling on all kinds of gloves.

“How many pairs do I need?” she asked Pam.

She couldn’t help glancing at the oversized gear laid out alongside hers. He had eleven pairs already—all different styles.

“It depends on how long you’re on the ice for and the work you’re doing,” Pam explained.

So he must be going down for a good long while, then. That sounded good. Emma battled the impish giggle. Since when did her humor get so smutty? But honestly, there was no looking at a guy like that without wondering what it would be like with him on the job.

She frowned. She had a job to do—the biggest she’d ever been given. Nerves swamped her amusement, and the sense of pressure returned. She still didn’t believe she deserved this opportunity. There were post-graduate artists who’d applied for the project. How had she—full-time receptionist and mere hobby artist—managed to be awarded an artist-in-residence opportunity in Antarctica? With her lack of formal training, she felt like a fraud, and in her gut, she feared it was only a matter of time before she was found out. Eleven days, in fact.

She straightened her shoulders as she surveyed the pile of special clothing at her feet. Well, she wasn’t mucking it up. Pride made her determined to prove she did deserve it—that she could create something worthy of the prize. And she wasn’t getting sidetracked by anything or anyone.

The only person she could rely on down there—indeed anywhere—was herself.

#

Hunter Wilson watched the pretty girl trying to work her slender fingers into the thick gloves and idly wondered what it was about her that had made him launch straight into tease mode.

        Go down?

Admittedly that was the first thing that had sprung to mind when he’d seen the petite brunette with her excessively long legs. But he had no intention of fooling around. He was going on ice—escaping both world and dysfunctional family for the worst season of the year and doing something useful at the same time. And no woman—no matter how pretty—was on the agenda.

But this one looked so adorable. So prim yet so sparkly in the eyes and pink in the cheeks. Making her redden more had been irresistible and delightful. Seeing her disappear into her snow gear now was hilarious, especially because she made it obvious she was uncomfortable with him close by.

He wondered what she’d be doing down there. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the form she’d handed to the clerk getting their gear. He knew most of the domestic support had gone down a month or so ago at the start of the summer season, so he guessed she was a beaker, ice slang for a scientist. He also figured she was on a short visit, given how she now had all her gear and he was only halfway through the issue. She looked the science type with that intense, sincere enthusiasm. And that hint of seriousness.

He couldn’t help one last little tease when Pam disappeared off to find him a neck warmer. “You’re on the flight heading out tomorrow?”

She nodded as she stuffed her gear into the standard-issue bag.

“I must admit, I’m a nervous flier,” he said in his typically laid-back, I’m-all-easy way. “Will you hold my hand during the bumpy bits?”

Her bag-stuffing ceased, and she glanced up. “Little early in the day for flirting, isn’t it?”

“Never too early to flirt,” he answered unrepentantly. “I’ll look out for you tomorrow. It’s great we’re going down together.”

Hell, could he be less subtle? Even for him this was bad. But her reaction was worth it.

She thrust her last glove into her bag, her cheeks rosy again and her eyes a startling green glitter. Full of life and color and response—to him.

Realization slammed into Hunter. He actually meant every damn word.

#

Christchurch in December was hot and dry. While it was only the first month of summer, the water restrictions were already in place and the following morning dawned warmer than any before. With the added excitement of her trip, Emma was steaming. Out at the airport, the last thing she wanted to do was pull on the subzero safety clothing. But no gear on meant no seat on the plane, so she hauled on the ugly overalls and zipped up the giant jacket.

She went through customs, handing over her heavy bag with her supplies for the week and her precious plans. As she crossed the tarmac, she caught sight of her reflection in the terminal window. She looked like the Michelin Man’s twin sister—whose head and shoulders had been crazily sprayed with orangeade.

She drew a last breath of fresh balmy air and then climbed aboard the massive gray Hercules. The space was squished but even the prospect of seven hours of windowless noise and cramped conditions couldn’t kill her excitement. She deposited her daypack and spent a few minutes figuring out the webbed seat and the safety harness—until one of the other passengers came and clicked it in for her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled apologetically. She sat back and tried to steady her heartbeat. No point in bursting yet—there was a while to go before they even took off.

More passengers boarded, sharing easy smiles, their camaraderie instantly established by the shared privilege of their journey. She recognized a couple of politicians and a popular musician, a few media guys on a junket with their press passes slung around their necks, and then some definite science-looking types. Yeah, she was one of the very lucky few.

She couldn’t suppress her smile. She, Emma Reed, former foster child and high school dropout, was heading to Antarctica for just under a fortnight and doing her dream job for the duration. A full-time artist working on her first commissioned piece—miles from her everyday hotel receptionist routine and light years from her time as an unwanted, truant youth. Excitement surged again at the possibilities this project could bring. So long as she didn’t stuff it up.

As a few more men boarded, Emma couldn’t help wondering where the handsome guy from the kit room had gotten to. The seats were almost all full now and their scheduled takeoff time was only minutes away.

A heavy but energetic tread on the stairs signaled a late-running passenger and sure enough, eleven pairs of gloves worth of gorgeous bounded into the gangway. He looked along the occupied rows, his glance locking on her for a searing second. She’d have thought it impossible for anyone to look sexy in the giant regulation jackets with their bright orange stripes, but it turned out orange was the ultimate in sexy… Who knew?

Begging her body to cool down, Emma looked hopefully for empty seats farther away from her, but this flight was full and the last vacant seat was the one next to hers.

He settled into the seat and had no trouble doing up the safety harness himself.

“Wouldn’t want to miss this.” He stretched out his legs as far as he was able in the cramped space.

Well, no, you sure wouldn’t.

He looked down at the way she was gripping her hands together. “It’s your first time?”

Why did she read something suggestive into everything he said?

“You’re nervous?” He followed up with a touch of concern.

“No,” she replied, making the conscious decision to relax. “I’ve resigned myself to the fates.” She glanced at him. “Are you really a nervous flier?”

“Not really.” He reached down to secure his daypack. “I’m a fatalist, too.” Sitting back in the seat that his shoulders were too broad for, he threw her another of those killer tinged-with-tease smiles. “So how long are you going for?”

“Only eleven days.” She tried to ease away a millimeter or so from him, but there was nowhere to go. A problem, as the safety-gear/hot-American combo meant she was cooking quicker than instant noodles. “I’ll be back home in time for Christmas.”

And with Grandma Bea having fallen and broken her hip only a few weeks ago, it seemed important to treasure the festive season this year.

Until that fall, Bea had always seemed ageless—like time had no noticeable effect on her. But overnight she’d weakened and suddenly Emma had seen how brittle and thin she really was. That hit Emma in the one spot where she was most vulnerable: she had no one else.

Grandma Bea’s drilled-in manners had her asking, “What about you?” But that was as far as manners would make her go; she was determined to restrict this guy to polite acquaintance territory. It didn’t matter how good-looking he was. Definitely not. Nor did it matter how he could infuse every sentence with a devilish double entendre. Nope. She was not going there.

“A couple of months. Till the end of summer.”

“Nice.” She nodded and said nothing more, hoping he’d take the hint and end the chatter.

“You’re one of those who’d do anything for a stint down there, right?” he asked—again with that hint of tease in his expression.

She studied the gleam in his eyes and answered carefully. “Almost anything. I don’t mind washing dishes.”

The creases at the sides of his mouth deepened. “That’s what you’re doing—washing dishes?”

“No, but I would if asked.”

“What are you doing?”

“Painting,” she said.

“Pictures or walls?”

“Both. You?” she asked, giving up on her earlier determination to ignore him.

No doubt, he was some incredibly intelligent scientist who’d been blessed with the best genes on offer—brains, body, charm, and looks.

“I’ve got a project to manage.”

Emma clamped down on her desire to ask more, and he didn’t offer more detail. Instead, she watched the big door shut and paid attention as final safety procedures were reiterated. And then the engines fired up.

It was like thunder clapping and clapping and clapping. They taxied for only a short time, and then paused. Emma’s pulse matched the engines’ roaring rise to a frenetic, all-consuming din.

It was weird zooming along the tarmac backward. All passengers faced the rear of the plane, and without windows to get a sense of their progress, the sensation of lifting off was even weirder. But so exhilarating.

She breathed out as the plane leveled and realized she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

The engines maintained their roar, so talking was no longer possible. Well, you could talk as much as you liked, but no one was going to be able to hear you. Something Emma figured was great, since it thwarted her urge to learn more about His Gorgeousness.

But that droning sound couldn’t stop her thinking about him. She shifted in her seat, wondering why foreign accents were so attractive. Several of her workmates had fallen for a marine or three.

The US Antarctic program was based in Christchurch—right next to the New Zealand one—and across the road from the hotel where she worked as a receptionist. Many of the Americans stayed there on their way back and forth from the ice. She’d never been swayed by any, but this guy had asked her a couple of questions and his voice alone had made her toes curl. Add the smile, and…

Not happening.

One holiday fling had been one too many already, and it was pretty obvious this guy was used to the effect he had on women. His kind of sensual confidence didn’t come from nothing. It came from success—multiple successes. Emma had enough issues with trust, so a guy who no doubt liked to spread himself around was never going to be a contender.

What she needed was distraction. Her fingers itched to grab her pencil and journal. He had the kind of face that everyone took a second, if not third, look at and his kind of symmetrical perfection wasn’t common. Not those sculpted cheekbones and edgy jaw and perfectly spaced eyes with their unfairly long lashes. Then there was that almost dimple when he smiled and the faintest scar that ran into his right eyebrow. Frankly, the tiny imperfections only enhanced his jaw-dropping looks.

But she could hardly sit there and sketch him. That definitely wasn’t a distraction.

Fortunately her e-reader was tucked into her backpack, and she rummaged for it. She’d preloaded a number of books to see her through. In the land of eternal sunshine, keeping the routine of reading before sleeping might help her relax. Although if she spent the eleven days on almost no sleep thanks to staring at the view and penguin spotting, then that’d be great, too.

She switched the reader on and stared at the screen for a mortified moment before quickly exiting that particular novel. She couldn’t pick up from the passage she was up to—he could see the screen. If he it read over her shoulder? The tease he’d give her then didn’t bear thinking about.

#

Hunter had spent more minutes than he wanted to admit thinking about the blushing babe. When she’d stared at him earlier, he’d seen what it was that made her eyes so mesmerizing. They were green in color but one of them—the right one—was a different shade, paler. He’d never seen anything quite like it. She was using those eyes right now, seeming to drink up every detail in the plane and ignoring the e-reader she’d pulled out. Terribly serious, she was definitely a first-timer.

Intrigued by her combination of wary and cute, he couldn’t resist engaging her some more. While he wasn’t heading there to party on like a wild thing as some did, he didn’t think she should be going down with no thought of living it up just a little. And you know, seven or so hours was a while to have to sit still and do nothing. It was early in the morning, so he hardly needed a nap. And how could he when he had onboard entertainment right beside him?

One thing Hunter did know was that you took the good times when they were on your doorstep—you never knew what might happen the next day. He also knew the trick to managing conversation on these cacophonous planes. You had to lean close and speak right into the ear of the person you were chatting to. No hardship there when even from this small distance he was enjoying the scent of her shampoo.

“Are you really going to paint walls?” he half shouted in her ear and bit back a grin. She had the most delicate hands of any painter he’d ever seen.

“I really am.” She leaned her head closer and shouted back but focused her eyes firmly on her fake-zebra-skin-covered e-reader. “And I can drive a Hägglund. Bet you didn’t expect that.”

“No.” He mulled her possible skill with the massive vehicle that looked like a cross between an army tank and a bus. He shouldn’t be surprised; everyone who came to work down at the base had multiple talents—often unexpected ones. “How did you master the Hägglund when you haven’t been on the ice before?” It wasn’t like the all-terrain, tracks-instead-of-wheels carriers were readily used in cities.

“One of the operators of the Antarctic attraction near the airport taught me.”

“Was he allowed to do that?” And was Hunter feeling envious of the guy?

“I don’t think so, but we were never caught.”

He digested that with a wry grin, happy to learn she wasn’t quite as goody-two-shoes proper as she appeared.

“What about you? What’s your unique skill?” she asked with a shout in his ear, but she still kept her eyes on the screen as if she wasn’t all that interested in his answer.

He laughed beneath his breath. “No unique skill. I only bring my assets.”

“Which are?”

“Material and vast.”

“Money?”

“No.” He sounded as sly as he could to provoke her. “Other things.”

“You mean like physical ones?” She finally looked from the screen and hit him with her mismatched, beautiful eyes.

“You can’t see any use for a big, strong man?” he asked, unashamedly outrageous.

“You think you’re strong?”

“I know I am.” He leaned even closer to make extra sure she heard him. “Question is, are you going to be able to keep up?”

“I’m not the one with the keeping it up requirement.” She leveled him with an Antarctic-worthy, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “I find that the guys who need to talk themselves up don’t tend to live up to the rep they set themselves.”

“All talk, no action?” He held back his laugh. “I imagine that would be something you understand.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Maybe I’m just particular.”

“Yeah, I get that you’re fussy.”

She nodded as if now all serious. “And I’m not going to take my pick from what’s going to be a very small pool. Unlike some in our species, I can get by without getting any for a fortnight.”

He whistled low through his teeth. “A whole two weeks? You’d really go that long?” He shook his head as if in amazement. “How do you do it?”

She sighed. Then leaned close—he caught the lingering scent of her soap as well as the shampoo. Sweet it was, too.

“I have a friend,” she whispered right in his ear.

“A friend?” He almost choked, surprised at how she’d risen to his baiting—and trumped him. He was the one almost rising now, damn glad his survival trousers were on the baggy side because he needed the room in them this minute.

“Comes with batteries.”

He laughed delightedly. “Wow, I’d love to spend some time with you and your friend.”

#

Emma couldn’t believe she’d tried to take him on in the saucy talk, but she’d been provoked by his outrageous chat and less than subtle inference that she was some kind of square. Only now his gaze was trained right on her—fully focused and frankly lethal. And suddenly she was thinking all kinds of sassy thoughts. Worse, she seemed unable to stop the words tumbling from her mouth.

Of course, there was no vibrator in her pack. She’d never mentioned the word “vibrator” to any man before. In truth she hadn’t even held one. But she had some serious vibes rumbling in the nether regions this moment.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said oh-so-politely. “But my friend is very shy.”

“Only likes to play in the dark?” he asked oh-so-understandingly.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then I’m afraid your little friend isn’t going to have very much fun in the next fortnight, because it never gets dark down on the ice this time of year. It’s always light and bright.”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek to stop her smile, but she’d gone too far to backtrack now and the spurt of flirt zinging in her veins demanded she try to win this round. So she parried the only way possible. “Who said anything about my friend being little?”

He chuckled.

“That doesn’t intimidate you?” she enquired with hammed-up amazement, really getting the hang of it.

“Not at all. Remember, I have the assets.”

Damn. The guy had way more experience than her at this. “You know, I think it’ll be good for you to hit the ice. You need cooling down.”

“You’re going to rub my face in it?”

“Not such a bad idea.” Except her fingers now itched to do more than rub.

“Well.” He sighed. “For your sake, I do hope you brought some spare batteries… You know the normal ones don’t last as long down there.”

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “However will I cope?”

He laughed. “Okay, you win that one.”

But she hadn’t, really, because now he edged even closer and talked some more in that gorgeous good-humor-laced tone, so close to her ear it tickled.

“Keen to get there, aren’t you?” he commented. “I bet you’ve wanted to see Antarctica your whole life, and you’re not up for any shenanigan distractions while you’re there. Am I right?”

“And you’re going to make it your mission to needle me about that?”

“Absolutely. I plan to tease you every instant I can.”

She fought down another of those wretched flushes—now fully regretting engaging in this talk. This guy was too sharp for her. “Why?”

“The temptation is irresistible.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re so pretty when you’re angry. Even more when you’re flustered.”

She rolled her eyes. “False flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not false. You’re the most beautiful thing on this plane.”

“Not much competition.” She was the only female on the flight. “I’m thinking you have lots of experience with picking up women in planes, bars, nightclubs, supermarkets…pretty much anywhere, right?”

Everyone onboard must have heard his laughter, then, despite the endless rattle and roar of the engines, because a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly staring at the two of them.

“See, here’s the difference between you and me,” he said, seeming happy to ignore the curious looks. “We’re both on the trip of a lifetime, right? Now the rest of the year—I’m working very hard. Long hours, difficult conditions. Not a lot of time for fun. So on this trip of a lifetime, do I want some fun? Hell yes, if there’s someone like-minded. Fun all around. But you’re on this trip of a lifetime, too, and yet you’re determined—absolutely determined—not to have any fun, right? So does that mean you’re getting around good back home?”

“Yeah,” she cooed. “I’m here to rest my weary body.”

He sent her an oblique look. “Not if you’re on painting detail.”