------------------------------------
This document was converted by AportisDoc Converter(tm) from Aportis Technologies Corp.
Visit www.aportis.com for eBook readers, free eBooks and conversion tools.


ISBN 1-892520-06-0

A Dreams Unlimited Publication – electronically published in arrangement with the author

All rights reserved.
Copyright 1998 by Lois Bonde
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by copying, fax
or any other means, without permission. For information, contact:

Dreams Unlimited Dreams Unlimited
90 Village Street 21 Drummond Gardens
Northford, CT 06472 Epsom, Surrey
England KT19 8RP

or email: marketing@dreams-unlimited.com

The Dreams Unlimited website address is: http://www.dreams-unlimited.com

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 3

Friday evening 6 p.m.

"I'll marry you myself if I have to in order to stop you, but you are not marrying my brother
two weeks from Saturday," the stranger announced, his voice deep with anger.
Cynthia Kenward's mouth dropped open in surprise. Under the protection of her extended roof
originally meant to cover horse and carriage, she stood in the entrance to the Victorian Painted Lady
that housed her upstate New York wedding-attire shop, The Formal Place. Without taking her eyes
off of him, she managed to finish turning the ornate "CLOSED" sign.
In a black leather jacket and trousers that fit him as snugly as a second coat of paint, the tall
man dropped the kickstand and dismounted his now-silent motorcycle. He removed his dark helmet
and balanced it on the handlebar. His jacket glistened with rain and creaked as he lifted a duffle bag
from the storage compartment.
Cynthia shivered as she watched him walk directly toward her and knew her reaction wasn't
entirely due to the cold outdoors. She turned her back to him and stepped back into her shop,
wondering who he was and what he was talking about. He had to be at the wrong house, and she
hoped he didn't take a lot of her time. Not today.
Closing time Friday was something she looked forward to. The store was open on Saturday by
appointment only, and this weekend closing Friday meant the end of work until Monday.
She silently predicted that her "CLOSED" sign would not deter the stranger, and she was
correct. Accompanied by the cold damp wind, he entered behind her. She turned to face him as her
ankle-length skirt blew against her legs and exposed her high-laced shoes. She raised her hands to
protect her upper arms from the chill that passed through her lacey thin, mutton-chop-sleeved blouse.
He closed the door and dropped his bag on the floor beside the bench set there for her
customer's convenience. Despite knowing he was about to turn and find her unabashedly watching
him, Cynthia could not look away. She reached into the pocket of her black skirt and clutched her
ring of keys as if it were a life preserver.
Not wasting any more time, he raised his gaze to meet hers and redelivered his ultimatum.
"You are not marrying my brother."
His dark hair, sprinkled with a touch of gray, had broken free from any combed arrangement it
might have had, and fell across his forehead with a sexy casualness she was unprepared to notice in
such detail.
He shifted all his weight to one foot and raised his hands to his hips. "Well? Don't you have
anything to say?" he asked in an annoyed tone, goading her to speak.
But Cynthia couldn't move. She couldn't speak.
The man's blue eyes glared at her with an icy-hard certainty. She surmised from the expensive-
looking motorcycle, his clothes, and his authoritative manner that he was probably rich and definitely
used to getting his own way. She should have felt afraid and yet she did not.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 4

Suddenly she wanted to see those eyes when he smiled because she knew they could be warm
and caring. In that moment she realized that her conclusion was based on more than mere conjecture.
She knew those eyes. Yes. And she'd seen them in a photograph when they were laughing and loving.
She clasped her hands at her waist. Her heart, beating rapidly with concern, now skipped a
beat. She knew who this man was. A smile curled up the corners of her lips. Knowledge gave her
confidence and the daring to toy with him for a few moments.
"Your proposal of marriage, Mister Bolten, is most unusual," she told him. "But I'll have to
decline." She smiled more broadly at his surprised expression. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that
I have no intention of marrying you, or your brother, for that matter. And now that we have that
settled, would you like a cup of hot tea while you give your jacket a chance to dry out before you
leave?"
Cynthia fought her inexplicable fascination with him as she slipped past him toward the door.
The keys clinked against her thigh as she moved. She reached in her pocket, this time to silence
them.
His gaze, like a slow soft caress, surveyed her Victorian-costumed body from the pointed tips
on her ankle-high shoes all the way to her long dark hair that she'd piled on top of her head. She felt
like a butterfly pinned to a display-case cushion. Her cheeks warmed when his gaze settled on her
lace blouse for several seconds. Her breathing became more rapid as her anger began to grow with
each passing second of his intimate perusal.
She could feel his silent gaze continue to follow her as she continued her closing routine and
locked the door. She tried to ignore the goose bumps that skittered down her spine when she realized
that she was now locked in—alone with this man.
Even concentrating on being angry for having reacted self-consciously to his appraisal of her,
she still could not stop herself from tucking in the errant hairs that had fallen from the roll that
framed her face beneath the chignon.
One corner of his lips lifted enough to tell her he'd noticed her primping. She crossed to the
light switches and turned out all the interior lights except the ones aimed at the manikins that stood in
front of each window. Those lights were more than bright enough for them to cross the showroom to
the steps that led to her living quarters upstairs.
Stepping back to the entrance, she heard the quick rasp of his jacket zipper. With quick easy
movements from years of experience running a formal wear shop, she reached up to grasp the wet
garment by the upper lapels and lift it off his broad shoulders. She inhaled the manly scent of wet
leather as she hung it on the coat rack.
When she fit men daily in formal wear for their weddings, she often lifted off their jackets. She
didn't remember ever feeling any warmth from their backs. Nor did she remember noticing the play
of their muscles beneath their shirts as they freed their arms from the sleeves. But just now she had
noticed that, and more about this man.
Her guest attempted to finger-comb his damp hair, leaving it more jumbled and more enticing.
Cynthia's fingers itched to slide through the errant strands. She looked away and took a deep breath.
She hadn't liked the feeling of being the butterfly in a case. When she turned back to him, she tried to
retain control of the conversation so she wouldn't feel that way again.
"If you would like to come with me, Mister Bolten, I'll make a pot of hot tea for..."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 5

He stopped her with his hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm. Her first reaction was to
pull her arm back tight to her side. Because he did not release his grip, her action forced the back of
his fingers against the side of her breast. Her skin felt branded. When she tried to pull away again, he
tightened his grip and stepped closer to let her know he would not free her. But his grip did not hurt
her.
And more oddly, she still did not feel afraid.
He glanced down at her breasts, straining the delicate fabric with each breath, and then locked
his gaze on hers. "I don't like it when someone has the advantage of knowing more about a situation
than I do," he said deliberately.
She wanted to say, "I'll just bet you don't," but her throat closed and she couldn't speak at all.
She could only stare into his eyes, inches above hers, while she absorbed the heat from the back of
his hand still pressing against her breast.
"Are you not Anne Berger, the young lady that my brother Neal is intent on marrying in two
weeks?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.
"I am not." A smile that she tried to stifle spread across her face. "Though I do thank you for
the dismissal of more years than I'd care to admit I have over Anne."
Without taking the time to consider the consequences of what she was doing, she thrust her
lower lip out in a very uncharacteristic teasing pout. "Does this mean your proposal of marriage is
off, Mister Bolten?"
A slow smile brightened his face. Cynthia tried unsuccessfully to steel herself to his caressing
touch as he moved his thumb in a lazy circle on her arm. She forgot how to breathe as he slowly
lowered his head and kissed her pouting lips.
Shocked by the kiss, she gasped. He took brief advantage of her open mouth to tease her with a
darting advance by his tongue.
"That was such a pretty pout," he murmured as he raised his head. Still holding her gaze, he
slid his hand down to her elbow and then dropped it to his own side. "But I haven't got the time to get
sidetracked, no matter how lovely the diversion would be."
Cynthia straightened. So kissing her was a diversion, was it?
"If you aren’t Anne, you can only be Miss Cynthia Kenward," he concluded.
Cynthia swallowed and tipped her head down once. He'd guessed her name correctly, right
down to the old-fashioned Miss rather than the modern Ms. that most women preferred nowadays.
But Cynthia knew she was not like most modern women, especially in ways that this man would
never know or understand.
His smile of success in their guessing game lit his whole face. His eyes sparkled for a few
seconds as she'd predicted they would. The sight nearly took her breath away all over again before it
disappeared all too quickly.
"My brother has spoken of you. He tells me you live upstairs. If you don't mind, I would like to
take advantage of what he assures me is your generous hospitality and get out of these wet clothes as
well as having that cup of tea you offered. I'm soaked to the skin."
She tried to tamp down the image of him without his clothes on. "Of course and I apologize.
I'm afraid I was surprised by..." By your kiss, she'd started to say. "By a stranger proposing marriage
to me that I quite ignored your damp clothes." She tried to laugh, but she thought she sounded

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 6

nervous. "I need to finish closing the store before I can go up. It'll just take a minute or two. You go
on ahead."
With a sweep of her hand, Cynthia directed him up the curved staircase and lifted the bow that
kept the wide ribbon in place to block their use by her customers. "The bedroom just off the parlor at
the top of the stairs is empty. You can change in there. There are hangers in the wardrobe. If you
need a towel, they're in the bathroom, the next door down the hall."
He nodded, retrieved his bag, and started up the steps. She felt herself wanting to watch him
move, the tight leather hugging his muscles, but she made herself follow through her daily routine for
closing the shop without even another glance in his direction.
She welcomed the feeling of normalcy that the procedure granted her. She was able to control
her rapid breathing with a few deep breaths and slow her heartbeat that seemed to speed up the closer
she was to him.
When the main floor doors and windows were checked and the money locked in the safe, she
glanced at the antique watch that hung from the gold chain around the neck of her high-collared
blouse. Time enough for him to have changed. She could go up now.
Reaching the parlor upstairs, she suddenly felt quite breathless. Her thirty-five years showing
from the climb? No, the flight of stairs had not affected her. It was the sight of the devastatingly
handsome man dressed in jeans and a pullover sweater standing by the tall window where the table
lamp spotlighted him. This was Neal's forty-year-old brother, Michael, who ran a business of his own
creation that helped failing companies succeed. In today's economy he had to be a miracle worker.
Cynthia walked on into the kitchen, separated from the living room by a half wall and counter.
She kept the folding doors above the counter open all the time rather than closing off the kitchen
from view. "Tea won't take long. Are you hungry?" she called through the opening.
He followed her into the bright and efficiently arranged room. The walls seemed to be closer
together with him there.
"Yes, I guess I am. I didn't have time for lunch. Had meetings right up to the time I left. Once I
got on the road, I didn't dare stop because the rain was turning to sleet."
She set the kettle filled with fresh water on the burner and turned it on. "Neal says you drive
yourself too hard for your own good."
Cynthia looked over at him to ask about his preference for a meal and caught a flash of fury in
his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mister Bolten. I shouldn't have said that. What you do is certainly none of my
concern."
He shook his head. "No, it's okay. And my name is Michael. Isn't it odd to use Mr. with a man
you've kissed?"
"Oh, but I didn't..." She stopped and smiled. "Maybe we should start all over, Michael." She
liked the way his name felt on her lips and tongue—almost as much as she liked the kiss. "Please,
call me Cynthia."
"Not Cindy?"
"No, I always felt that was short for Cinderella." But then, she thought wryly, maybe that name
did fit her. She spent all her time in the house working, but she never went to any ball. And there had
never been a prince in her life.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 7

He nodded. "It's been a hell of a week and I'm beat. The prospect of spending the weekend
talking Neal out of getting married before he finishes graduate school and gets a good job doesn't
make it sound at all restful."
Cynthia strode to the table that stood between them and leaned both hands on its cool polished
surface. "You can't mean it!" she responded with vehemence, her eyes wide with surprise.
"If that means I don't look tired, I thank you."
"No, no," she said firmly, waving her hand in the air to erase his guess. "I meant that you can't
be serious about trying to talk Neal out of marrying Anne when it's obvious they're so happy
together, so very much in love."
"Love, schmuve! Love doesn't exist. You're old enough to know that by now. And if they
believe it exists, they'll get over it. They need to get a good start at earning a living before they even
think of getting married. They can't live on love. The only thing love does is blind you to reality."
Cynthia wanted to recoil from his verbal slap in the face, but she stood her ground. "I see. You
think they should pass up the chance at love, so they can reach the ripe old ages you and I have
achieved, living all alone, directing all our energies into our successes in the business world!"
As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She was furious that her atypical outburst had revealed
so much of herself to this stranger. Her hands curled into fists and she straightened.
And as for him, she doubted that he would be bothered by living alone. He probably had all the
women around him that he could want, whenever he wanted them.
She would have to be more careful in what she said to him. But there seemed to be something
about this man that made her speak and act without thinking first. That couldn't be a good sign or
bode well for the future.
"Neal and Anne at least could wait until next summer when they graduate and have jobs lined
up," he explained more reasonably.
Cynthia sighed. Caught in the middle, she was defending the absent couple against the
authoritarian Michael. And on an empty stomach. And on a Friday evening that was supposed to be
the beginning of a relaxing and enjoyable weekend—even with the beginning of an ice storm that
threatened to keep her home. It was the end of a long tiring week for her, too, and she didn't need an
argument with Michael to give her indigestion on top of it all.
"Look, let's call a truce," she proposed. "Why don't you go relax in the parlor? I have some
chicken I can broil and vegetables for a salad. I'll call you when it's ready."
She turned to select the vegetables for a salad from the refrigerator without giving him a
chance to object. As she closed the door to carry them to the sink, she was thankful to hear his
footsteps crossing the hardwood floor of the hall, heading for the living room.
Reprieve. She leaned against the sink and released the breath she hadn't been aware of holding.
What was it about that man that could make her react to him the way she did?
But by the time she had the dinner prepared, she still had not figured out what it was.
The meal wasn’t remarkable, but she hoped it would taste good to her hungry guest. She added
a bottle of Chardonnay and topped the meal off with microwave-baked spiced apples and cinnamon
ice cream.
"I haven't had a baked apple in years," he confessed as he scooped out the last of the sweet
juice from his dish. "Reminds me of how delicious my mother's kitchen always smelled when I was a
kid."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 8

"Apples are good and good for you," she said, rising to start the coffee instead of sitting there
picturing what he must have looked like as a child.
She felt pleasantly surprised when Michael rose from the table to help her carry the dirty
dishes to the sink. Expecting he would never feel at home in a kitchen, she must have looked
surprised enough that he noticed.
"I can cook, too, but I can see I'll have to prove it to make you believe it." His gorgeous smile
appeared and the butterfly wings, that had felt pinned in the case earlier, now fluttered furiously in
her tummy.
He seemed so positively human that she responded without thinking about it first as she should
have. "I should take you up on your offer the weekend of the wedding. Since the reception will be
over late in the afternoon, you could prepare dinner if you... Oh, dear. And dinner was so peaceful
until I brought up the wedding again. I never should have mentioned it. Sorry about that."
With little more than a disgusted glance in her direction, he took the small tray containing the
coffee things she had arranged and led the way to the couch. He set it down on the table in front of
where they sat, side by side, as naturally as if they had done it often.
Cynthia folded her hands on her lap to keep from fidgeting with the fabric of her costume skirt
that she had come to feel comfortable in. "Michael, you've made how you feel very clear, but there is
some information about Anne and Neal's plans that you need to know."
"Damn! She's pregnant! That careless..."
"No, she is not!" Cynthia inhaled deeply in order to calm down and lower her voice. "What I
want you to understand is that they're getting married in a ceremony to which they have invited you
and me as their witnesses because I... I talked them out of eloping."
She had his full attention, but used a few moments pouring his coffee, to let him digest what
she had said. Leaning forward made her knee touch his thigh. She wished she’d picked the easy chair
perpendicular to the couch instead of the spot next to him. Even sitting perfectly straight, she could
actually feel the warmth of his thigh. But she couldn't move away. While the cushion beyond him
was empty, her hip pressed against the arm of the couch.
"Cream or sugar?" She handed him the cup, and hoped he didn't notice the rattle of the spoon
on the saucer.
He shook his head so she poured her own cup, but left it on the tray. She crossed her legs at her
ankles, and shifted a little to face him more. At least now their thighs weren’t so close. She couldn’t
think when she was close enough to feel the warmth from his body. "Neal and Anne want and... they
deserve your blessing, Michael."
She held up her hand in crossing-guard fashion to stop his objections as she continued.
"They're both over twenty-one and they've dated for a year and a half. Their wedding isn't on
impulse."
Michael uttered a sound which she generously took to be an expression of doubt rather than the
oath it had probably been.
"You haven't met Anne?" she asked, knowing the answer already. Anne had told her that
Michael had planned on a few different occasions to come up to see them, but he'd had to change his
plans at the last minute when a business emergency had taken precedence over his trip. Lately, Neal
was the one to travel when they got together at all. They communicated often—by phone and by
email, just not in person because Michael was so busy.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 9

He shook his head. "No, not yet."
"Anne has worked for me part-time while she's been at graduate school. She's very responsible.
After the first semester, she even rented a room from me. I had no complaints whatsoever the whole
time she was here."
"Was?" Michael's hand came down on his thigh with a sharp slap. "Was here? She doesn't live
here now? I just assumed that this being Friday, her absence at dinner was because she had a date
with Neal."
"Oh-oh. You didn't know they've been living together? Now I've said too much."
"I'm glad you told me. Neal failed to mention that little fact," he stated through clenched teeth.
"Michael, he must have expected you to object."
"Damn it. He could count on it. He knew from my..." Michael looked at her a moment and
then just shook his head. He’d obviously decided not to say whatever had popped into his mind.
"They moved in together to save more money for after they were married. They're not looking
to you for anything. And as I see it, you can go along with the wedding or you can turn your brother
against you."
He set his coffee mug back on the tray, rose abruptly, and went back to the window. The rain
had turned to sleet that bounced off the glass in an irregular staccato.
He slid his fingers into his jeans back pockets. As tight as they were, Cynthia hadn't thought
that would be possible. "Where are they now?"
"Hmmm?" she asked, having been distracted watching him. "Oh, at Neal's apartment, I hope.
This is no night to be traveling on the hills in this town."
He turned back to her abruptly like a man who had just made up his mind to do something. He
removed his hands from his pockets and they hung at his sides, ready for action. "Thank you for
dinner. You've been very kind and I'm sorry to have imposed. It's unfortunate we had to meet under
these circumstances."
"You sound like you're planning on leaving!" she exclaimed as she rose.
He nodded.
"You can't mean to travel in this storm on a motorcycle, for heaven's sake!" She closed the
distance between them.
"It's faster than walking to Neal's apartment," he said as he stepped around her toward the hall.
"It's faster only if you're heading for the hospital. The rain and sleet has frozen in a thick layer
on everything. You might get moving, but there's no way you could ever stop on ice-covered roads."
She knew this time that the bark she heard was supposed to pass for a laugh. Maybe she was
getting better at interpreting his brief vocal sound effects. If only she could figure out what he was
thinking, wanting to travel on a night like this.
"You know, you almost sound like you're concerned," he said, looking at her strangely.
She didn't understand why he would doubt her. He hadn't sounded like he was being sarcastic.
"Of course I'm concerned! Your brother is my friend."
"Is that why?" he asked, facing her.
She didn't want to consider any other reason for wanting him to stay there. "Please, Michael.
Wait here until the storm passes. I'll turn on the radio in the kitchen so we can hear when the sleet
should be over. And the phone's by the stairs there," she added, pointing to the phone stand in the

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 10

hall. "Go ahead and call Neal. You're welcome to talk all night, but you can't consider going out in
this weather!"
Not waiting for any further objection, Cynthia headed for the radio in the kitchen and left
Michael to do what he pleased. As she thought about it, she was sure that he would do as he pleased
anyway whether she left or not.
She concentrated on her anger with the chances he wanted to take and banged the pots that
became the objects of her frustration after she turned on the news broadcast. That was better than
considering all the other feelings that were swirling around inside her since he had stepped into her
house.

"Neal wants to talk to you," Michael said sometime later, stepping into the kitchen behind
Cynthia.
She jumped at the unexpected announcement. Her hand went to her heart as if she could
manually regulate its beat that seemed to speed up when ever he came near.
"Thank you." She tossed the dish towel on the counter and walked past him to the phone
without so much as a glance in his direction. "Hi, Neal."
"Cynthia, I'm so sorry that Michael showed up there. I never got around to telling him that
Anne had moved in with me. I should have, but he's really an overbearing boor sometimes and I hate
to see you catching the brunt of his anger."
"Not to worry, Neal. I won't let him hurt me," she responded with a laugh that sounded hollow.
Michael stepped past her on his way to the living room. Their gazes locked for a moment, but
Cynthia quickly turned away. The look on his face had made a lie of her words to Neal. She clutched
the phone with both hands and concentrated on what Neal was saying.
"As soon as the storm passes, he's coming over here. He can sleep on our couch. Do you mind
putting up with him until he can ride over without getting soaked?"
"You mean, without getting killed. Neal, the roads are a sheet of ice. And no, of course I don't
mind if he stays here. The room Anne rented is empty if it comes to that."
"You're a gem, Cynthia. We don't know what we'd do without you."
"Ah, Neal," she added with a dramatic sigh. "Too bad you're spoken for."
She said goodbye after their laugh and returned the phone to the cradle. It really hadn't
occurred to her before now that the storm might last all night. She looked into the parlor at the man
who very likely would be an overnight guest.
If only the circumstances were different. A stormy night. A very handsome and sexy man. A
woman alone. Two single adults marooned together...
Michael felt her eyes on him. He looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze. He could have
sworn she blushed before she went back to the kitchen.
Stretching his arms high over his head, he leaned backwards to relieve the tension he felt in his
back. He'd never had such a harrowing ride in his life before today. That was the last time he would
choose his cycle over his car when he hadn't checked the latest weather forecast. He still couldn’t
believe he’d started out on the road without hearing the updated forecast. So unlike him.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 11

But there had been no time. He had needed the freedom and relaxing exhilaration of speeding
down the highway on his bike, but he sure hadn't felt them today. Staying upright on the ice was as
close to impossible as he ever wanted to get.
The thought of going back out there on those roads before the sun or salt melted away the ice
didn't interest him in the least, despite wanting to confront Neal. Traveling by taxi, assuming he
could find one still running in these treacherous road conditions, wouldn't be much safer.
His nerves on edge from the ride, he had stepped into this huge old house and felt as if he had
entered a fantasy world. He smiled to himself. Cold, dripping wet and filled with anger at his brother,
he had almost forgotten why he’d come when he saw Cynthia standing there, looking like a Victorian
china doll, so fragile—as if she would break if he touched her.
Cynthia. Even her name was beautiful and old-fashioned. Her shiny black hair framed her
porcelain complexion. Long dark lashes highlighted light blue eyes and her pale natural-looking
lipstick was just right. His fingers itched to stroke her cheek to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
He’d been startled by her clothes at first. More like a costume, they made him feel as if he had
stepped back a hundred years when he walked through her door. She personified sweet innocence,
generosity and honesty. She almost looked virginal. Too bad he didn't believe in those traits anymore.
And especially not at her age.
She kissed that way too, he thought wryly, but then he knew he had surprised her. But when he
saw her lip jutting out, just waiting for him to suck it between teeth... Damn. He shifted his weight to
his other foot to make himself more comfortable.
Her innocent and naive appearance were as much a costume as the clothes she wore. All an
act—a performance she must put on daily for the sake of the business in order to sell and rent formal
wear. Well, it might be good for the business, but he would not let the act deter him from the reason
for his visit.
Now that he had thawed out and had something to eat, Michael wanted to get out of this house
and over to Neal's apartment. His plan to divide and conquer by talking to Anne first had failed
because she no longer lived here. His only recourse now was to talk some sense into Neal.
Anne would be there. He couldn't wait to meet the woman who had finally gotten her claws
deep enough into his little brother to get him to plan to marry her. She must be something, but she
was no match for Neal's big brother. Michael could handle her. Just tell them he would cut the
allowance off. No money. That's all it would take.
Michael was Neal's guardian and executor of his trust until Neal was thirty-five. Anne would
never wait that long to get her hands on the money. From Michael's own experience, he knew that
women took all they could get, as fast as they could get it, with no waiting or restrictions.
Michael inhaled deeply. He didn't want to think about that now. He stepped closer to the
window so he could see where the street light lit the area. Damn the sleet. Instead of letting up, it was
turning to snow! He'd been watching out the window most of the time Cynthia cleaned up the
kitchen. Not a car had passed. The radio said the sheriff advised no travel. The highway he had taken
into town had been closed. Ice covered and too dangerous for travel.
He had called Neal to see how close his apartment was. He thought maybe he could walk over.
Not close enough to consider in this weather with the clothes he had with him.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 12

So here he was, trapped in a house, alone with a beautiful woman. It could be worse, he
thought with another small smile. If he kissed her again—really kissed her, would she keep up the
formal facade that she presented?
She hadn't even changed out of her costume. He thought she would want to throw on jeans or
something comfortable before dinner. But then, in this get-up, he could see the way her breasts
swelled above her satiny slip under the lace blouse.
Michael felt a tightening in his groin. Startled by the sensation, he turned to watch her coming
toward him to see why she had affected him so quickly in a way few women did anymore. He
noticed the way her skirt hugged her forward thigh as she walked. Wrong thing to do.
He shifted his weight again and looked up. He saw the soft bounce of her breasts with each
step. She looked sexier than if she had been in snug jeans that left nothing to his imagination. The
tightness he felt didn't go away. Watching her, thinking of spending the night here under the same
roof alone with her, only made it worse. Unless...
"Neal agrees that it's too dangerous for you to drive over there. Looks like you may be stuck
staying here for the night. When the morning sun has had a go at the ice, you'll be able to ride to
Neal's."
"You're sure you don't mind?" he asked politely.
Cynthia looked at him so strangely, he was sure she was going to say yes, but she didn't. She
shook her head. "You're welcome to stay in the room Anne used to rent."
She led the way back to the room where he'd changed his clothes. Anne's room. Before she'd
moved in with Neal, that is. Michael would have put an end to that if he'd known about it. Neal didn't
have to invite Anne to move in with him just to get her in his bed. Michael thought Neal would have
known that.
"There are towels in the linen closet in the bathroom. Help yourself," she offered, pulling clean
bed linens from the dresser drawer.
He helped put the fresh-smelling sheets on the bed. It was the least he could do, but making a
bed with her felt strangely intimate. He didn't want to think about why.
With the two of them working at it, the job went faster, but she still seemed anxious to get out
of the bedroom. A wry smile touched his lips. He wasn’t used to women who wanted to get out of his
bedroom, much less in such a hurry. So much for his charming effect on this particular woman.
"This is an old house and it creaks a lot," she explained as she fluffed the pillows and propped
them against the headboard. "With all the ice and snow on the roof, you'll probably be treated to a
chorus tonight. Don't let it worry you."
He stepped between her and the door. "I won't," he said softly, wrapping his hands around her
arms which hung at her sides. "And thanks."
He tipped his head down to kiss her, but when he felt her lips beneath his, his intentions to
keep it simple disappeared. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her back as his tongue
slid between her lips. He tasted her sweetness and wanted more. She made a little sound in her throat
and he felt her hands at his waist. He wanted her hands all over him. His hand moved to her hips to
press her against his quickly hardening desire.
She turned her head to end the kiss and he laid a trail of kisses down her neck where he felt the
rapid beat of her heart. He slid a hand to her breast and lifted the weight and gently squeezed.
"Please," she moaned.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 13

"Please you is what I want to do."
He captured her lips again as he teased the hardening tip of her breast. He felt her hands move
to his chest. He wanted to push them down to hold him where he felt the hottest.
But then she pressed against his chest. "No," she said breathlessly when he lifted his lips from
hers. "I meant please stop."
"That isn't what you want me to do," he said, seeing how aroused she was.
She looked at his mouth and then back at his eyes. "Please."
He relaxed his hold on her as she stepped back.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Good night," she added as she turned to leave him alone.
At the door she stopped and gripped the frame, but didn't turn back. "Oh, I should tell you that
I have a workroom on the third floor," she said after taking a deep breath. "Sometimes when I can't
sleep, I go up there to sew or work on my designs. I've got one there now that I'm anxious to finish,
but if I go up, I'll try to skip the squeaky floor boards in the hall. I hope I won't disturb you."
"I don't think it will be a problem. I'm so tired from the long day that I should be asleep in a
minute," he assured her, willing to back off.
And after a hot shower to relax the tension from the day, that's exactly what happened despite
the early hour.
A couple hours later, however, something woke him.

Saturday morning 1 a.m.

Curled up on her side beneath the down comforter, Cynthia couldn’t fall asleep. First, the
sounds of the water rushing through the pipes in the thin-walled house led her to visualize images of
Michael standing naked in the shower, of her washing his back. Images she tried to dismiss, but
could not.
When he turned the water off, she tried to imagine what it would be like to dry his broad back
for him, to feel the hard muscles rippling beneath her finger tips. She rolled over, but couldn't get
settled.
She listened as he walked down the hall and quietly closed the door to the guest bedroom.
Picturing him climbing into bed and stretching out on the sheets she had just put on the bed with him
was the last straw. There was no way she could fall asleep after that.
Giving up on the lost cause, she pulled on her warm quilted robe and fleece-lined slippers, and
went up the narrow stairway to the third floor—to her favorite room in the whole house. In the whole
world.
Into what had been a dusty attic, she'd had an insulated workroom built. Warmed in the winter
with baseboard heat and cooled in the summer with a window-mounted air conditioner, this room
provided space for the part of her business that she really loved. Here she designed and made the
beautiful brides' and bridesmaids' dresses she sold in her shop along with the formal wear for men
that she rented.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 14

On a dress form centered in the carpeted room, Anne's wedding dress hung, protected with a
clear plastic cover. Along the far wall, the finished dresses for another up-coming wedding hung in
their zippered bags ready to be picked up. Next to them was the dress Cynthia would wear as Anne's
maid of honor, ready except for the final pressing.
Cynthia switched on the extra lights she had had installed. She had only a few more seed pearls
and sequins to sew at the bottom of the front panel to complete the design and then Anne's dress
would be finished as well.
She pulled on the clean white cotton gloves she wore to protect the garments when she handled
them and sat cross-legged on the cushion on the floor in front of the dress. Sewing on these tiny
beads would certainly tire her enough to sleep, she thought. She lifted the hem onto her lap and
slipped the first beads onto her long needle.
"Can't you sleep?" Michael asked from the door.
Cynthia jumped and stabbed her thumb. She immediately dropped her needle, letting the
pearly bits of glass fall to the carpet, then scooted back away from the dress. She yanked off her
gloves to inspect her jabbed finger. Pinching the end, she watched the bubble of bright-red blood
appear. She licked it from her finger and looked over her shoulder at the man who had startled her.
Michael stepped over behind her and put his hands under her armpits to lift her from the floor.
"Are you hurt?"
She felt self-conscious, sucking her thumb and having him lift her as if she were a child. She
stepped free of his grasp, but could not free herself from the warmth that remained from his touch.
"It's just a prick, but it means I'll have to stop work until it heals over. I can't take a chance of getting
blood on the dress."
After licking her finger once more, she glanced over at him and discovered Michael watching
her intently. She tossed her gloves on the cabinet where she kept her sewing supplies. She would find
the needle in the morning. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to go back downstairs. The walls
were closing in on her now that he was in the room with her.
"I hope I didn't wake you," she said as she side-stepped the dress on her way to the door.
But Michael showed no signs of leaving. He had made himself quite at home. He strolled
around the room and glanced over the dresses, coming back to the white one on the dressform. "It's
very beautiful. You made it?"
"Designed and made, and thank you. I spend a lot of time up here, but designing these dresses
is what I love doing. A lot more than waiting on the customers downstairs, that's for sure."
Feeling less than appropriately dressed, she crossed the lapels of her wrap-around robe a little
closer across her chest and tightened the tie belt. She should not be feeling uptight, but then she
couldn’t explain a lot of what she had been feeling since this man roared into her life.
"Why not get someone else to wait on the customers? You could design dresses full-time and
hire a seamstress to make them for you, too."
"That's a dream I harbor, but it's just that. A dream. I'm not sure I'm good enough at it to be
able to afford that. I'd have to charge a lot more or sell many more dresses to be able to afford the
hired help."
"You're probably not charging enough now. I find that so often in helping a business. They
don't charge what the service is worth. If you're good, the customers will come and pay what you
ask."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 15

Cynthia studied the handsome man standing beside her. A frown wrinkled her brow. "How can
you be so optimistic about my business in this small town, about which you know nothing, and still
be so pessimistic about Neal's marriage, when you supposedly know him so well?"
He flinched and stepped back as if she'd struck him. He drew back his shoulders and tucked his
fingers in his back jeans pockets as he had in the parlor. She couldn't help but look down, and then
looked away just as quickly when warmth rose from her neck to her cheeks. She lowered her eyes
and pretended to be studying her injured thumb.
"Let's just say experience has taught me hard lessons on both fronts."
Walking over to her worktable, he glanced over the drawings she'd left spread out there.
Without asking her permission, he lifted a stack and studied each one.
"I like these," he said after a few minutes. "Ever think of sending them to a big-name designer?
You might get a start making a name for yourself by working for someone famous for a while."
"If you must know, I did," she admitted reluctantly. "I sent some in to a designer who'd been a
guest speaker at the university. He saw some of my designs while he was here and told me to send
him more. I was very excited about the idea, but I never heard from him and that was months ago."
"His loss," Michael said. "Who was it?"
Cynthia gave him the well-known name as she switched off the baseboard heaters. That should
be a broad enough hint that she wanted to leave the room. "I try not to spend a lot of time on wishful
thinking."
He was still looking at the drawings. She decided it was time for a less subtle method of
getting him out of her private space. "Would you like some hot chocolate? I think warm milk is
supposed to make one sleepy."
"Sure," he said easily. He lay the drawings back on the desk and followed her downstairs.
By the time the water was hot enough to add to the powdered-chocolate mix, Cynthia regretted
suggesting the whole idea. The least she should have done was get dressed. She didn't like feeling so
self-conscious, standing there in her dressing robe, stirring their drinks. But then Michael was
probably used to women in all stages of dress, making drinks for him. Only she wasn't one of his
women. In fact, she couldn't even imagine what that would be like.
Michael had appeared in her workroom dressed in jeans and a shirt. From the small size of the
bag he brought in from his motorcycle with him, he probably didn't have a robe. She wondered if he
even had any pajamas with him. Then, when her cheeks warmed again as she considered the
alternatives, she tried her best not to think about them at all.
"Here you go. The handles of these mugs get a bit warm," she warned. He reached beyond her
to pick up his mug from the counter. "You're welcome to take it to your room, if you like," she
added. "Don't feel you have to drink it here."
"Trying to get rid of me?" he asked in a low, aspirate voice.
"Doesn't matter to me, one way or the other," she answered, feeling flustered, but she knew
that wasn't true. She might even go so far as to admit that it was nice having someone to talk to,
especially in the middle of the night.
"Then, after you," he said, placing his hand on the back of her waist to guide her out of the
room ahead of him.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 16

In the living room, Cynthia wrapped her long robe around her legs which she had tucked up
under herself on the couch. Holding the mug in two hands, she inhaled the warm, chocolate-scented
steam and decided it was too hot to taste.
"The snow is still coming down," Michael told her after checking at one of the tall windows.
He crossed to the couch and sat beside her. He set his hot drink on the coffee table and leaned back,
but he looked anything but relaxed.
"I... I think Neal and Anne are looking forward to your coming over there. They're quite happy
together, Michael."
He shook his head slowly, but said nothing.
"Why can't you even give them a chance?"
He sat up and ran his hands over his face. "I'm not an unfeeling ogre." He turned to her. "I just
can't let Neal get involved with her or any woman at this point. I'm not sure he knows enough about
women to know what he's getting into. And I don't want him to have to learn the hard way! I just
want what's best for him. He's all the family I have left."
Cynthia decided to allow him the final say in the matter. Besides, thinking it might mean
receiving another tirade in return, she hesitated saying anything.
He lifted his mug, drank and rested it on his thigh. She sipped her hot drink and enjoyed the
warmth flowing through her and the warmth on her fingers wrapped around the mug.
"A... a friend of mine," Michael said into the silence, "had an experience that taught me to be
wary. He fell in love, or thought he had. She was everything he could want in a woman. Attractive.
Fun to be with, but she had a serious side he could relate to. She was sophisticated enough to travel in
his business circles with ease. Unfortunately, he was so entranced by her that he forgot to be
cautious. He didn't work very hard to find out much about her. She seemed too good to be true, so he
grabbed her before she got away. They were to be married."
"Were to be?" Cynthia prompted, wanting to hear the rest of his story, beginning to
understand.
"Yeah. The wedding was planned, but it never came off." He looked up at her. "You see, at the
last moment, my friend wised up. He had a pre-nuptial agreement made up to protect his fortune and
she refused to sign it. She was furious. Instead of being hurt or insulted at his lack of trust, she was
angry. She thought she'd been found out, and started yelling. Not smart on her part. She'd picked him
out because he was rich and traveled in all the right circles. He’d fallen for her so fast that she'd never
have guessed he would limit her access to his money."
Michael drank deeply from his mug. "The funny thing is, if she hadn't blown it, if she'd signed
the contract, he would have married her and given her all the money she'd wanted. Given her
anything."
He exhaled a bark sort of laugh. "He might never have known he was being taken. That is,
until they got around to having kids, I guess. As she left, she screamed that it was really a laugh that
he’d thought she would ruin her figure having his damn kids." He stared out the window. "Really a
laugh, huh?"
"Michael, I'm so sorry." Tears pricked in her eyes. She blinked rapidly to deny them. "I can see
why your friend is wary, but his case is not the general situation. I don't think it's fair to damn
women, or more specifically, to damn Anne because of your friend's experience."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 17

He was staring at her again with another masked look that she couldn't decipher. She didn't like
the feeling any more now than earlier.
He threw back the last of his drink. "I guess I've never met a woman to make me change my
mind about them." He stood up and went to rinse his mug in the sink.
She gulped down the last of her sweet beverage and trailed after him. "When you meet Anne
tomorrow," she told him when she had reached his side, "I'm confident you'll change your mind."
Thunder crashed nearby. Startled, Cynthia dropped her mug into the sink where it shattered.
She must have cried out because the next thing she knew, she was in Michael's arms, tight against his
hard body, his arms wrapped firmly around her. Her arms had found their way around his waist. She
felt his warm comforting hands moving in little circles on her back.
"It's only the storm. Don't worry," he said to comfort her, his cheek resting against her hair.
"I'm sorry. I... I never expected thunder in a March ice and snow storm." She relaxed her grip
and leaned back so she could look up at him.
He glanced from her eyes to her mouth. For a moment she actually thought he’d kiss her again.
And if he did, she feared what might happen. She didn't like feeling afraid in her own home. Afraid
of the strange storm. Or afraid of the man in her arms.
Or was she afraid of herself? Of what she might do or feel if he did kiss her again?
"Do you think you can sleep now?" he asked in a husky voice, looking back at her eyes.
She nodded. The thunder cracking outdoors competed with the pounding of her heartbeat in
her ears. She swallowed past the lump in her throat that had kept her from speaking.
"Then I should kiss you good night," he told her. He waited a moment, as if giving her time to
object or escape.
She wanted to run, but her legs weren't getting the message. Feeling mesmerized, she watched
his lips slowly descend to cover hers. They were warm and firm. They touched, teased and tasted.
More gentle than before, they gave more than they took.
Cynthia's arms grew heavy with desire. Her fingers clutched his shirt to help hold herself
upright as the strength in her legs evaporated. When he lifted his face, her mouth felt chilled.
He reached between them and untied her robe. It fell open and he raised both hands to her
waist. "Cynthia," he whispered, making her look up at him.
His lips took possession of hers as his hands slid up to capture her breasts. His thumbs and
forefingers pinched the hardening nub on each peak. Her hands found their way to his shoulders.
When his mouth lifted from hers, she moaned at the loss and rolled her head back. He licked her
exposed neck and her cleavage in the vee neckline of her nightgown.
"Michael," she whispered, feeling a little dizzy.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he asked as if he were unable to believe it himself.
He took her hand and pressed her palm against the front of his jeans. Her fingers curled around
the hard length of him.
Then, as if suddenly realizing what she was doing, her eyes opened wide and she stared at him.
She jerked her hand from his jeans, feeling burned by his intense heat. She shook her head and
swallowed. "Michael, I didn't mean..." She covered her swollen lips with her fingers.
His eyes cleared as he frowned at her. "No, I don't suppose you did," he said reluctantly. He
pulled the front of her robe closed.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 18

She looked down to tie it and could not look up to meet his gaze again. She had never intended
that they...
"Good night," he whispered.
"G... good night," she responded.
He turned and walked out of the kitchen. She grasped the counter, worried her legs could no
longer hold her up.
She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply.
From that moment on, she knew she would never be the same again.

Saturday morning 8 a.m.

When Cynthia woke and smelled mushrooms frying in butter, she thought she was still
dreaming. The fact that the wonderful scent hadn't disappeared by the time she had dressed, led her to
believe the Michael had made himself at home in her kitchen.
Being a stickler for believing there was a place for everything and that everything should be
neatly kept in its place, she generally loathed other people encroaching into her culinary domain.
This morning, however, her only thoughts were that she was hungry. And that the mushrooms
smelled delicious.
"Whatever you're doing, it smells heavenly," she said as she walked into the kitchen.
"Good morning to you too," he teased. "You slept so late, I was just about to go haul you out
of your bed."
Cynthia turned her face away to hide the shocked expression she knew was there at the thought
of him coming into her room to get her out of her own bed.
"Here. Grab the plate," he urged as he extended a full one in her direction. "The mushroom and
cheese omelet is ready." He spooned the rest on a second plate and took a seat opposite her.
The generous portion he had given her melted in her mouth. She smiled. "I could get used to
having someone fix my Saturday breakfast every week," she said. She slid another mouthful from her
fork and groaned with pleasure.
But when she sipped her coffee moments later, she choked on her first swallow. The dark
liquid was strong enough to stand a spoon upright in it! Michael was up and around the table in an
instant, slapping her on the back.
"No, I'm all right," she managed between coughs, wanting him to stop. For a few moments, she
worried her back would be black and blue from his help.
"Sorry," he said with a chuckle. "You seemed to be in trouble there."
"Thanks." She added milk to the coffee to make it drinkable. "I'm just not used to coffee being
paint-remover strength."
His smile was short lived. He cleared his throat. "Cynthia, I'll be leaving as soon as the roads
are passable. I want to thank you for putting me up and feeding me. That was very generous of you."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 19

"There you have it! A woman was generous to you when there was nothing she could
personally gain by it," she couldn’t resist responding. "I hope now you'll think better of us in the
future."
His polite smile was not attractive and didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Oh, but you do
have something to gain."
Cynthia's gaze met his directly. "What? What could I possibly have to gain from offering you
my hospitality?"
"Simple. If you're nice to me, you think I'll reconsider and the wedding will take place. Then
you won't lose your sale of the wedding gown upstairs." He shrugged smugly.
After a sharp intake of air, Cynthia tossed her napkin beside her plate and pushed back her
chair. "You really are something. Though it's none of your business, the design and labor on that
wedding gown up there is my wedding gift to Anne and Neal," she exclaimed as she rose. "They
insisted on paying for the special silk fabric they wanted, but that's it. And if the wedding were
cancelled, I could easily sell it to someone else and make a great deal of money even after paying
them back for the fabric. You can't buy a dress like that off the rack anywhere, in case you hadn't
realized that."
"No, I can see that," he said so softly that it took the wind out of her blustery sails.
But she had lost her appetite and began clearing the table. Moments later, she heard him sigh
and then quietly walk out of the kitchen.
After all the dishes were in the dishwasher, she found him standing back at the window in the
parlor. It seemed to be his favorite spot to view the snow that was still falling.
"How did you happen to end up in a university town?" he asked out of the blue.
She liked the idea of changing the subject of conversation, even if it meant talking about
herself. "Raised here—one of those rare birds who's spent most of her life here. When my folks were
killed in an accident while I was at the university, I inherited the house. I earned my clothing-design
degree and decided to stay here."
"So the store wasn't always here?"
She shook her head. "No, and it took a little doing to move the kitchen up to the second floor
so my private space could be separate from the store, but I like the resulting arrangement."
"Turned out nicely."
"Thanks. Someday I hope to expand the design part of the business. There's plenty of room in
this old house and the whole street is zoned commercial now, so I could even expand into making the
dresses here if I lived elsewhere. The kitchen would make a great employee lounge," she added with
a laugh that showed she didn't believe it would ever get to that point.
"With your talents, if you moved to the city, you could build a much bigger business than you
have here."
"Maybe, but I don't think I'd like the city life. I prefer the quiet and friendly pace of a town this
size."
"Even when you could earn a lot more from your dresses?"
"I might, but I might not. And I manage all right here. More money would be nice, but making
a lot of money has never been one of my goals. Someday I'll get the word out. In the meantime, you'd
be surprised how far a woman will go to shop for a beautiful, well-made wedding dress. I'm building

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 20

up the business slowly but surely. And with no family to share my attentions, I have plenty of time to
devote to my work."
Cynthia felt uncomfortable having disclosed so much about herself. She sighed. Her age meant
she had spent years on developing the business instead of a personal life. She sat on the couch and
leaned forward to straighten the magazines and books she had left there where they would be handy.
He seemed to sense that she didn't want to say more, because he turned to stare out the
window. "The snow still doesn't look like it's stopping."
Rather than feel they were reduced to talking about the weather, she left his statement to hang
unanswered.
He didn't seem to notice. He crossed to the window on the other wall and then went back to the
first like a caged animal pacing the limits of his space.
Abruptly, he directed his steps toward her. "I've got some reports I should study while I wait. I
don't want to keep you from doing whatever it is you do on Saturdays."
She nodded. "Fine, but I usually don't do much, just clean and grocery shop. Shopping's out
and I don't feel like cleaning, but I would like to get Anne's dress done. I hate leaving things for the
last minute."
By silent mutual consent, they each went their own way.
Back on her cushion in the attic, Cynthia heard Michael's voice a little later and assumed he
was on the phone arguing with Neal again.
How different the two brothers were. Their looks were similar enough to let even a stranger
know they were brothers, but the similarities apparently were only skin deep. Where Neal was
friendly, open and gregarious, Michael was reserved though polite, and not at all open about himself.
He told her about his friend's experience with a woman, but nothing of himself. Was he all business
and no personal life? Maybe, but from the way he kissed, she doubted it.
Strange though, she thought, that with little personal life, he would have a friend so close that
he put such value on his experience. She would have thought that he would have to experience
something first hand before he would tell... Oh, no. Was this the classic case of telling a story about a
friend, only to have the story really be about himself?
Cynthia immediately felt distressed. If that was the case, she hated to think he would go
through life, unhappy and lonely, with such a jaded view of women.
Michael's steps on the stairs signalled his approach. She inhaled deeply to fortify the rush she
knew she’d feel when she saw him.
She had to smile though. Was merely thinking about him a magic force that brought him up
just then? A witch, that's what she'd be if she could conjure him up. And she did have the long black
hair and the big, spooky old house.
"You really must enjoy your work to sit there smiling like that."
His comment made her laugh, and happily, she hadn't stuck herself again like the last time he
came up. "Just thinking about something."
He was polite enough not to ask what it had been. "How's the sewing going?"
"I'm on the last row. And from the way my back and shoulders are knotting up, it can't be soon
enough."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 21

He dropped down to his knees behind her and began to lightly massage her shoulders and
neck. His hands were warm and sure in their intent. She stopped sewing, closed her eyes, and gave
herself up to his caring ministrations.
"That's heavenly," she said as she drew her gloved hands back from the dress to rest them on
her thighs. Her chin dropped to her chest. For several minutes his thumbs worked each side of her
spine to her waist and back to her neck. She couldn’t speak. She could only enjoy.
"Now you're starting to relax," he said softly as he pressed little circles on each side of her
neck with his fingers.
She groaned with pleasure. "I'll give you forever to stop that."
His chuckle was deep and... and sexy, she realized with a start. Very sexy. Her eyes popped
open and her spine stiffened.
"Now you're tensing up again."
"Yeah, well, it's my upbringing. I can stand only so much of a good thing," she joked as she
tugged off her white gloves. "It must be about lunch time. My turn to cook."
She jumped to her feet and led the way to the kitchen before she did something silly like lean
back against his firm thighs and...
"I'm afraid your date may not be able to get here tonight," he said as they entered the kitchen.
Cynthia glanced outside and noticed it was still snowing at a good pace. "My date?" she asked,
her head in the fridge looking for the extra chicken breasts she had cooked the night before to use
cold for a salad.
"I just assumed that since this is Saturday, you'd be going out tonight," he said with a casual
shrug of one shoulder.
She felt her annoyance rise as she shut the door and looked at him. "No, you didn't, Michael.
And all you had to do was ask. There's no date."
She didn't want to add that there rarely was. Let him chew on that, she thought smugly. She
didn't like him trying to rattle her chain.
He held up his hands in surrender, admitting he was guilty as charged. "Sorry."
"Michael, why can't you accept that I could be content with my life in a small town that does
not include a hunger to make a lot of money or to have a busy dating schedule?"
He shook his head. "I... I'm just not used to how businesswomen operate in small towns. None
of my business though."
The rest of lunch was prepared with no more than polite conversation like: "I'll set the table"
and "Fine."
They sat at the small table and she'd only taken a few bites when he broke the silence.
"Okay. So what's she like?"
Cynthia didn't pretend not to know that he was asking about Anne. She proceeded to tell him
about meeting her in a design class they both were taking.
"Anne and I just hit it off, even though I'm ten years older than she is. When she learned I was
considering renting a room in trade for help with the store and the house, she jumped at the chance. I
never regretted it. She was fun and very helpful. I could leave her in charge and not have to worry.
Let's see. Anne already was dating Neal when she moved in, so I've known him for almost a year. I'm
surprised, in fact, that you and I haven't met before now."
"I don't get away from the office very often and, when I do, I never stay away long."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 22

She nodded, accepting his explanation. "Anne and I have even talked about going into business
together, but it's too early for her to tell what they'll be doing. They're waiting to see where they get
job offers."
"To hear Neal talk, they'll be setting the world on fire with their big plans."
"You have something against big plans?" She held his gaze. "Or just your brother's?"
Cynthia could almost feel Michael back away from the challenge in her question. He plainly
wasn't going to divulge anything about himself to her. He lived a more lonely way of life than she
did. She sighed and began to clear the table.
"Where's your shovel?" he asked after setting his dishes on the counter beside the sink. "The
least I can do is clear your drive and sidewalk in exchange for my board and room."
"Wonderful! I've got the best end of that deal," she said as she handed him the key to the
backyard storage shed.

Saturday afternoon 4 p.m.

"Damn! I can't believe the snow isn’t letting up," Michael said as he lifted another heavy
shovelful and threw it from the driveway.
"I've got a freezer with enough food in it," Cynthia assured him. "Don't worry, you won't
starve."
Michael had shoveled right after lunch and then got impatient when the evidence of his work
quickly disappeared. This time, hours later, Cynthia had come out with him. She owned only the one
shovel. He was using it, but she took out the worn yellow plastic broom and swept the big flakes
falling on the sidewalk he had just shoveled. But the snow was coming down so hard, they could not
stay ahead of it. The two of them looked like snowmen after having been out of doors only half an
hour.
The air was cold and damp, but felt good. The snow continued falling in big wet flakes—great
for making a snowman, she thought absently as she swept. Or great for making snowballs.
At the end of the drive, she looked up toward the house to see Michael's back as he pushed the
shovel. The temptation was too great. She stuck the broom handle in the snow bank, then scooped up
a handful of the cold white stuff. She packed it firmly into a size she could handle, took aim, and let
it fly.
The snowball exploded on his back, right over his shoulder blade. Snow splashed into hair and
down his neck.
He froze, the shovel in mid-air. Slowly, he lowered it into the bank. He turned and began to
take deliberate steps directly toward her. As he walked, he reached down for a handful of snow and
packed it into a giant weapon as big as a soccer ball.
Cynthia's mother hadn't raised a dumb daughter. There was no way she was going to have that
huge thing smashed anywhere on her! She jumped over the snow piled by the walk and ran toward
the back yard and safety.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 23

Michael caught up with her just as she jumped over the drift inside the gate. He grabbed her
jacket and jerked her around. Their feet suddenly slid out from under them, landing them in the snow
bank on their sides.
He lost the snowball when he put his hand out to break their fall, but she got a lot more snow
down her neck falling than she would have if he’d made a direct hit with the missile.
Screeching with surprise, she opened her eyes to look directly into his face inches above hers.
He was laughing, but then stopped suddenly when he looked around her face to her lips and then
back to her eyes. Leaning on the arm that extended under her, he pulled off his glove with his teeth
and brushed the snow flakes from her cheek with his fingers.
Cynthia felt the warmth of his touch spread far beyond her face to pool in her belly. He looked
again at her lips.
She couldn't stop him when he slowly lowered his face until his lips met hers. Tentative at
first, his only rested there a moment. Their eyes were open and she watched as his changed and
became darker, more... She wasn't sure what they became because she didn't have time to analyze
what she saw before his lips moved to touch hers again.
And then she couldn't keep her eyes open. She no longer wanted to see him. She just wanted to
feel and taste what he offered. And she did, right down to her toes. A languid warmth filled her and
made her oblivious to the icy snow she was lying in.
"Damn it!" he exclaimed with no warning and apparently no reason.
Her eyes popped open to see what was wrong. She knew that's what he said, because she had
made it out quite clearly. She might have been in a state of shock from the way the kiss had made her
feel, but her hearing hadn't been altered. He jumped up to get off of her. She hadn't realized just how
much of him had been covering her until he moved.
The cold air chilled her, but not as much as his reaction to kissing her. He must not have liked
the kiss anywhere near as much as she did. Heavens, he must not have liked it at all.
Funny, the deep kiss seemed quite wonderful and passionate like the others, but then what did
she know about stolen kisses in the snow. Or anywhere for that matter?
He held out his hand, and despite struggling to get up without his help, she ended up taking it
to gain his assistance in standing. She couldn't look at his face. She swiped at the snow in her hair
and shook out the back of her jacket. The snow fell right off the slick fabric.
He wasn't having the same luck with his leather, so she helped by gently hitting at the snow to
brush it from the creases. He apparently didn't like her help either because he stomped off to get the
shovel and broom they'd left out front.
"We'd better get inside before we catch cold, now that we're both wet and chilled."
If she'd known he was going to get angry about the whole thing she never would have thrown
the snowball. She'd best remember that he didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. She was
surprised too, knowing Neal. She’d thought his brother would be able to take a joke and not react so
negatively.
But she should not complain about stopping the kiss. She had been the one to put on the brakes
during his other kisses. Maybe he had taken the hint and stopped because he knew she would want
him to.
So why did she wish he hadn't stopped?

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 24

Cynthia got the first shower and a head start at fixing dinner while he showered. A tub of
frozen homemade spaghetti sauce saved her from having to do much. She had the salad made by the
time she heard him finish another telephone call to Neal.
"Hell, Neal thinks it's funny that I'm stuck here and can't get to their apartment," he said as he
stepped into the kitchen doorway. He ran his hand through his hair and slapped it against his side.
"What does the radio say now about the snow?"
"Not good news. I hate to tell you, but I guess it's turning out to be more of a storm than they
originally thought it would be. It's stalled over our heads."
"Just what I need," he exclaimed, slapping both hands on his sides this time. "The damn storm
of the century!" He spun around and strode into the living room.
Looking out his favorite window didn't seem to cheer him up any. "The plow hasn't been by
since morning. Nothing is moving out there. You can barely tell that we cleaned your drive and
sidewalk once, much less twice," he complained.
"Well, I have a huge bookcase of novels. You can take your pick after dinner," she suggested,
hoping to soothe his ruffled feathers. "I'll read in bed so you can pretend you're home alone and enjoy
the evening in here by yourself."
He turned slowly to face her, but even his lopsided grin didn't prepare her for his comment. "If
I were planning to enjoy the evening, I wouldn't be home alone reading."
Cynthia could feel her cheeks flame. She felt foolish and wished she hadn't said a word. Of
course he wouldn't be sitting home alone. He might not think women deserved to be trusted enough
to marry them, but he'd want to have them around for his pleasure.
"I'd be at a concert or a play," he added.
The heat surged up from her neck to her temples again for having misunderstood what he had
meant. Or had he guessed from her flushed cheeks what she'd concluded and altered the image
purposely? Maybe he did have a sense of humor after all.
"And when you're home on a Saturday evening, Cynthia? Are you normally in bed?" he asked.
"Alone and reading?"
She chose to answer his nosey questions with a brief glare. The fact that she read most
Saturday nights was not his concern. She already told him more about herself than he needed to
know. She strode back to the kitchen.
"Dinner's all ready except to drain the pasta," she said over her shoulder. "If I hold the strainer,
could you pour it in? The strainer has a broken leg and it tips over if I set it in the sink without
holding it."
He agreed by getting the pot and following her to the sink. As he raised the pot in front of her,
his elbow brushed against her breast and sent flames of desire up to heat her cheeks. Feeling like she
had been burned, she dropped the strainer.
"Look out!" He grabbed the strainer, managing the pot with one hand, and finished the task
alone. "Did you get burned?" He set down the pot and lifted her hand to see for himself.
The burn she felt wasn't in her hand. She was behaving like a ninny. But the feeling from his
intimate touch had been so unexpected. Not a lot of men had touched her breasts... Okay, so no men
had touched her breasts before Michael, not since a couple dumb attempts in college, but that was no
reason to risk getting them both scalded with the boiling pasta water.
"No, I'm fine. Really. Just a splash. I'm sorry I panicked. You didn't get burned, did you?"

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 25

He kept her hand in his and just looked at her. "No."
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He would be terrific in a courtroom. Maybe he should
have been an attorney, she thought. "Thanks for your help."
Shaking his head, he freed her hand and the two of them got the rest of dinner on the table. She
made sure they didn't touch again because when they did, something always seemed to happen to
upset one or both of them.
The effort of eating pasta seemed to take all their concentration during the meal, and he said
little other than, "I'll take you up on one of those novels, if I may. It looks like I'll be here for another
night."
"Sure," she said trying to sound casual and disinterested. "There are a lot to pick from."
The dishes were done quite quickly by their joint efforts as the long evening stretched ahead of
them. She led the way across the hall to show him her extensive book collection. She couldn't fill
every free hour with sewing so she read often and didn't confine her reading to one type of book.
The outside wall of her bedroom had built-in wooden shelves from floor to ceiling. Besides
providing an easy insulation for the entire wall in the otherwise uninsulated house, the shelves gave
her easy access to the hundreds of paperback novels she kept to read again and again while still
adding to her collection, reading new ones.
Michael looked over the titles while she took the one she was currently reading from her
nightstand. Changing her mind, she put it back and waited until he'd picked a book. She spoke as he
walked out the bedroom door and turned toward the living room. "I'll leave you in peace for your
reading. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry or thirsty."
"Why? Are you leaving? You have snow shoes or something?"
She smiled. "No. I'm going upstairs to putter around up there. I promise not to bother you.
Enjoy," she added over her shoulder.
Going upstairs to work would beat sitting in the parlor and listening to his every breath. But
she didn't move from her bedroom doorway right away. She listened to him settling into the couch.
She'd have to get the squeaking leg fixed. Probably by now he was stretched out with his legs crossed
at the ankle and his heel resting on a magazine on the coffee table as he had done that afternoon.
Sitting that way would pull his jeans even tighter to make them more form-fitting.
Stop it, Cynthia, she ordered silently. She turned and ran silently to the stairway.
Once in her haven in the attic, she went right to her design table. The next two hours passed
rapidly as the number of her wedding gown sketches grew. She filled the corners of each sheet with
fabric ideas and even wedding sites that would frame the dress beautifully in a photo.
Maybe Michael was right. She wondered if she should move into design more. A professor
who taught design at the university each spring told her he'd welcome any designs she wanted to sell
to him. He brokered them to various dress manufacturers. That wouldn’t be as good as working for
one designer, but maybe she should try that route. But she wished she'd hear from the designer she'd
already submitted the drawings to, the one she had told Michael about.
The squeak on the third from the top stair gave Michael away again. Perhaps she should get
worried that each time she thought about him, he appeared. She knew he had arrived at the door and
let him know. "Finish your book already?"
"Got bored with it."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 26

When he reached her drawing table, he picked up the new stack of pencil drawings. He didn't
bother to ask permission to look through them this time either. He was truly used to having his own
way and doing what he liked.
He silently studied each one. "What do you do with these once you've got them on paper like
this?" he asked when he was nearly through the stack.
"If I really like one, I work it out with more detail, and then make a pattern for it. I have
several that I stopped at that point. I could take the pattern and make the dress quite easily from there.
The others that I like less, I don't do anything more. The drawings just gather dust, but I learn by
creating each one. I get a better sense for what works, what I can use, and what I shouldn't use."
He nodded and seemed to digest what she had said. She flipped the pencil up and down with
her thumb and forefinger, tapping the table with the eraser. She couldn't go back to sketching with
him standing so close. His arm was so near that she felt the warmth on her shoulder. The ideas had
flown from her head, but it was getting late anyway. She pushed her stool back from the table and
rose beside him.
"Quitting?"
She nodded.
He switched off the light that sat on his side of the table. "I'm sorry if I distracted you."
"That's all right. It's late. We should get to bed."
Realizing what that sounded like, her cheeks flamed. She wished she didn't do that, but there
was no way she could stop. She could only try to hide it, so she ducked her head and walked toward
the door. She heard him come right behind her. Was that a chuckle or had he cleared his throat?
At the bottom of the steps, she felt her cheeks had cooled and the hall was dim enough to turn
to him to say good night. She didn't get the chance.
Michael lifted her hand and held it, his thumb circling the back. Her arm grew weak, but it
didn't seem to get the message from her brain to pull away.
"Cynthia, I didn't quit reading because I was bored."
She looked up, puzzled.
"I couldn't concentrate."
What was he thinking about? "If you're getting upset again about Neal and Anne, you'll just
have to wait until you can see them in person to talk to them. It can't go on snowing forever."
He shook his head. "That isn't it. I kept thinking about when I kissed you."
She winced and then yanked her hand free from his. She'd made enough of a fool of herself
since meeting Michael. It had to stop. "I can't imagine why a sophisticated man like you would give
that little kiss or two a second thought. Just forget it." She wanted to add, "I have," but that would be
a lie and she would probably choke on it. Instead, she turned with every intention of going to her
room—alone—when he stopped her with his hand on her shoulder.
With a gentle pressure, he turned her around to face him. "I can't. I kept thinking how I wanted
to kiss you again."
"Ah, no, I'm sure that won't be necessary," she said, staring at him, falling under his paralyzing
spell. "It would probably feel very much like the other ones, but because I'm led to believe that they
can have a cumulative effect on one, I don't think it would be a good idea to try it again."
There was that look he seemed so fond of, studying her as if he couldn't quite believe what he
saw. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 27

"For you, probably not. For me? Definitely."
He nodded and slid his hand from her shoulder to her jaw. His thumb moved back and forth
across her cheek. He smiled and said, "It is."
"What is? What is what?" She needed to draw a deep breath, but for the life of her, she couldn't
remember how.
"Your cheek. It's as smooth and soft as I thought it would be."
"Oh," she managed stupidly. She'd never answered anyone with an "Oh." People didn't go
around saying "Oh." But tonight, standing in the dimly lit hall, with his body inches from hers, his
hand splayed on her jaw, all she could think of to respond with was "Oh."
He lowered his head slowly until his lips took possession of hers. For a few seconds, she was
too stunned to react. As a new tingling sensation filled her, she surrendered to the kiss willingly.
However, when the tip of his tongue outlined her lips, she... she tried not to, but she laughed.
Giggled really. His head popped up as his brow wrinkled. She could see he wasn't used to women
giggling when he kissed them. But what did she know. She wasn't used to kissing at all.
"I'm sorry. You don't kiss funny, or anything. Honest. I don't want you to think that. It just
tickled."
Dumb. That's what she was feeling at the moment. Dumb. She closed her eyes and dropped her
head. "I gotta go."
When she turned, his hand that had supported her chin slid to caress her ear as he smoothly
stopped her and took her into his arms. He rested her head against his chest with that hand and circled
her waist with his other. She heard the rumbling in his chest. He was laughing now.
"Funny, huh?" she asked. "I told you not to do it. You should have quit while you were ahead.
You didn't like the kiss this afternoon. Stands to reason you never should have done it again."
She tried to push away, but he locked her in his arms and wouldn't set her free. She never for a
moment felt afraid and didn't try to move again.
He shook his head. "No. Not funny. Delightful. But what made you think I didn't like the kiss
this afternoon?"
He looked at her in his strange non-committal way and then without warning, he kissed her
again before she had a chance to answer.
Only this time he meant business. Maybe he felt he had to save his reputation as a kisser, she
didn't know. This was a man who saved businesses when they were going under. She wondered what
he did to save the women in his arms when they felt they were going under in a sea of erotic
sensations. Like now. Like she was. Her head spun with the myriad of sensations that bombarded her.
His lips teased and taunted, and then mastered. They turned and demanded that she open to
him. His tongue didn't tickle this time as it danced with hers. He tasted as good as he smelled. Her
skin erupted with goose flesh all the way to her weak knees that threatened to buckle under her.
The hand at the back of her waist moved lower and pressed her intimately against the growing
evidence of his desire that not even his tight jeans could hide.
Anyone would think that he intended to... But of course he would intend to! He probably did
that all the time.
Cynthia moved her hands that somehow found their way around to his back to his chest where
she pushed with all her might.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 28

He resisted at first, but then raised his head abruptly. "You know I was right about that kiss
this afternoon. So what is it? What's wrong?"
She was breathing hard and her heart was racing. Her lips felt swollen. She pressed the backs
of her fingers against them to soothe them, but it didn't work. They throbbed. "What do you mean,
'You were right'?"
"I mean that you've enjoyed the kisses every bit as much as I have."
When her mouth opened in surprise, his head dipped back down to hers. Not allowing the
contact, she ducked under his arm and quickly moved several feet away where she stood with her
back to him. "That's the end. You've conducted your little experiment to see how a lonely, small-
town woman kisses, Michael. Now the experiment is over. Good night."
Proud of the control she'd gained over her trembling body, she strode into her bedroom and
shut the door behind her. Leaning against it, she waited until her breathing calmed before she moved
to flop down on her bed.
Right then, she couldn't decide if she was a fool or a saint. Her first instinct in his arms, as it
had been every time in a similar situation, was to retreat. Cynthia had vowed not to get involved with
this man or any man until she was certain they were committed to each other by their love. What
Michael had in mind after just a few heated kisses was not something she wanted to consider.
Damn. Or was it?
What if the opportunity never came again? She was no longer a young woman and she lived in
a small town with a limited selection of eligible men. Could she expect a sexy, attractive man like
Michael to ever ride into her life again?
And what about her own beautiful white wedding dress she had packed up years ago in the
attic after she finished it? She'd thought she'd wear it before she even contemplated what she was
thinking now.
How could Michael manage so quickly to make such strong desires surface when they had
been dormant for years before?
Her last question was an easy one to answer. Her mind served up an image of Michael. The
feeling the image evoked made it easy for her to know where the sensations came from. She was
falling in love with Michael. But she couldn't. Or at least, she shouldn't.
Loving him would be disastrous for her. He wasn't going to stay around a little town like this.
And more importantly, the idea of commitment to a woman was foreign to him. He didn't trust them,
and without trust, there couldn't be love.
And she knew with a certainty that if she loved him, he would have the power to hurt her
deeply.
So why did she want to smack the little voice in her head that kept asking, "Wouldn't it be
better to live a life empty-hearted than broken-hearted?"

Sunday 8 a.m.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 29

The bright sunshine reflecting off the snow outside was more than enough light to wake
Cynthia. She listened to the scrape, pause, scrape, pause, and knew Michael was shoveling again.
She'd heard that hard physical labor was good for what had ailed him last night! So there was
no way she would stop him from working hard. She would let him sweat it out of his system.
Her turn to fix breakfast. By the time he came in, she was showered and dressed, and the sour
dough pancakes were stacked in the oven, keeping warm along with the canned ham she had sliced.
With fresh grapefruit, that should be enough for him to eat, she figured.
The radio news reported over two feet of snow, nearly three in some places. Cynthia thought
the street corner she lived on was one of those places.
"The town road crews are starting out," the announcer said, "but they can't get the roads all
cleared. Emergency travel only again today."
Cynthia wondered if driving a motorcycle over to one's brother's apartment to ring his neck
was considered an emergency. She rejected thinking about Michael staying in her home another day.
The situation between them was too explosive to let that happen.
Michael complained his feet were cold when he showed up at the breakfast table barefoot
because he had no more clean socks with him. "I washed them all out and hung them on the radiator
in the bathroom so they'd dry quickly. I hope you don't mind."
"That's fine and I can loan you a pair I have that should come close to fitting you."
On the way to get them from her dresser, she glanced at the row of drying socks. It felt strange
to see them hanging there. She shook her head. She had to wonder about a big businessman who
washed out his own socks.
"Here," she said, offering him her pair back in the kitchen. "These are big wool socks that I
wear over my cotton ones to go skiing."
"Thanks," was all he said as he slipped them on his feet. They seemed to fit all right as she’d
guessed they would. The only problem was how silly they looked on a big macho man. They had a
green foot with red and white ribs and a band of Christmas trees going around the top. The tip
triangle of the toe was bright red.
She stifled a giggle, but some of it escaped. Well, it wasn't as if anyone would see him in them.
They were snowed in.
"At least they're warmer than going barefoot," he suggested with a shrug and a grin of his own.
She served the breakfast and sat down opposite him, a smile still on her face. It didn't last long.
"Cynthia, I'm sorry," he said out of the blue before he ate a bite. "I'm sorry I kissed you. I..."
Tears burned behind her eyes, making her angry. "Stop!" she said, slapping the table with her
palm. "I don't want to talk about any kisses any more. Just drop it."
So what if he was sorry he'd kissed her? He wasn't alone. From the way the men in her life
disappeared after a couple of dates, they probably all were sorry they'd kissed her. So maybe she
didn't kiss right. It wasn't like she had much practice.
"Pass the syrup, please," she said as if she hadn't just told him to shut up.
He stared at her a moment or two longer and then passed the syrup. She went back to
breathing, but the pancakes that were her favorites now tasted like cardboard.
As they ate Michael said he normally watched a television show on Sunday mornings, so she
told him to go ahead. She was just as happy for the chance to be alone in the kitchen. She had to
touch base with reality and get control of her galloping emotions.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 30

For a while there at the table, she even remembered how strong and yet gentle his hand had felt
against her cheek, her neck. She started to notice the little hairs on the back of his fingers and how
they curled under. When she started to wonder what those fingers would feel like on other areas of
her body, she knew it was time to do dishes or something else that she hated doing. That, she hoped,
would take her mind off of Michael.
She got help in that goal, but from more than just the dishes. The kitchen was put back to order
when they heard pounding on the door downstairs at the same time as the shop bell rang. Cynthia
looked at Michael. He looked at her and then the two of them took off down the stairs.
The glass in the entrance revealed that their guests were Neal and Anne. Rosy-cheeked and
grinning ear to ear, they stood at the door, their cross-country skis upright next to them. Cynthia
opened the door and they trouped in, snow and all.
"Warmth. Ahhhh. It feels so good. My feet are frozen," Anne announced as she plopped down
on the entry bench. Always conscious of Cynthia's immaculate floors, she proceeded to take off her
ski boots and waterproof leggings and set them to dry on the small rug set by the door for that
purpose.
As soon as Neal had leaned their skis against the wall, he went straight to Michael and they
embraced in a back-slapping hug. "Damn, it's good to see you," Neal said. "You've got to get here
more often."
Her boots off, Anne stepped to Neal's side. He put his arm around her and introduced her to
Michael. She appeared happy to shake his hand, but Cynthia could tell she was nervous.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time," Anne told Michael. "Neal's told
me so much about you."
"I'll just bet he did," Michael allowed with a sideways glance at Neal who was taking his turn
at removing his boots.
"Hang your coats on the rack and come on upstairs. Have you had breakfast?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Neal opened the backpack he'd slung on the end of the bench and took
out a bag of fresh bagels. "We came through collegetown. Thought if you'd already eaten breakfast,
we could have bagel sandwiches for lunch. That is if you've got something left to put in the sandwich
after feeding my brother."
Cynthia took the bag he offered and thanked him. "I think I can come up with something," she
said with a smile.
While they settled into the chairs in the living room, Cynthia fixed hot chocolate to warm them
all up. She had been listening to them all the time she fixed the drinks. The conversation had not been
exactly difficult, but it hadn't exactly flowed either.
Anne noticed Michael's socks. "Will you look at that, Cynthia?" she asked when Cynthia
brought the warm drinks. "Michael has socks just like yours."
For the first time in the short while Cynthia had known him, Michael looked distinctly
embarrassed. He pulled his feet back to the couch front and sat up straight.
She felt his embarrassment as if it had been her own. It was certainly her fault. "Those are
mine, Anne. He's just borrowing them. I've kept him shoveling in trade for his room and board and
all his socks got wet."
"What? I'll bet it's been a long time since you wielded a shovel, bro."
"It gave me something to do," Michael answered with a shrug.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 31

So he wasn't crazy about being stuck all weekend with her, Cynthia thought. He didn't have to
make it sound like shoveling was more fun than spending time together. His statement made her feel
uncomfortable. As soon as the mugs of chocolate were empty, she escaped with them to the kitchen.
Michael rose and followed her to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
"Why don't you show Anne the designs you did last night, Cynthia?" he suggested pointedly. "I'd like
a chance to talk to Neal for a few minutes."
Cynthia took the not-at-all-veiled hint. She set the mugs in the dishwasher and walked to the
end of the counter. "Sure. Come on, Anne."
The look she saw in Anne's eyes measured the unhappiness she felt. They walked up the stairs
in silence.
"Another hour and I'll be done with your dress," Cynthia announced once they were in the
workroom, hoping to cheer her friend up. It worked for a while.
Anne gushed over the dress. "It really is beautiful, you know."
Cynthia saw tears brimming in Anne's eyes and stepped over to hug her. "It'll work out, hon. I
know it will. Michael's not a bad sort, really."
"How can he do this to Neal? Michael's making him feel awful. Neal loves me, but he loves his
brother, too. He wants Michael's blessing, not his animosity."
"Listen," Cynthia urged as she fetched a tissue for Anne. "When Michael understands how
much you two love each other, he'll come around."
"I hope so. Neal says he's going to stay a few more days with us. He wants to get to know me,
but frankly, I think he wants more time to work on Neal."
"No, don't think of his visit that way. He wants to get to know you, to see how perfect you two
are together."
Anne granted her a small smile. "It doesn't matter, you know, about the money."
"The money? What do you mean?"
"Michael told Neal on the phone late last night that he can fix it so Neal doesn't get any of his
inheritance until he's thirty-five. But that's OK. Neal's down there now, telling Michael we don't care.
We'll make it on our own without his inheritance, just like thousands of other couples do who get
married right after graduate school."
"Anne?" Neal called from downstairs.
"Stop, Neal! You can't come up here. You'll see my dress for the wedding. That's bad luck. I'll
be down in a second."
"Okay, honey."
Anne wiped her eyes and turned to Cynthia. "How do I look? Can you tell I've been crying?"
Cynthia shook her head and hoped her friend would forgive the fib. "Come on. Let's go rustle
up some bagel sandwiches."
"Wait." Anne sniffled, but her face filled with a big grin. "Tell me quick. What's it been like to
be snowed in all weekend with a hunk like Neal's brother?"
Cynthia could do nothing but laugh—a roll-her-head-back-and-open-her-mouth eruption kind
of laugh. She enjoyed every unlady-like minute of it. By the time she got control of herself, she was
the one whose eyes were brimming with tears, but of laughter. "All I can say is that it's been a
weekend that I promise you, I'll remember all my life." She put her arm around Anne. "I'm hungry.
Let's get those sandwiches."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 32

Neal and Anne talked about the arrangements for the wedding all through lunch. Michael
hardly said a word, but at least he didn't start a fight.
The wedding would only include the bride and groom's closest friends, so the arrangements
were not extensive. But in any wedding, no matter what the size, there were lots of details needing
attention.
"With all the snow this weekend, there can't be any left to fall in two weeks on your wedding
day," Cynthia predicted with a serious but hopeful look. Then with a quick laugh, she added, "Can
there?"
"Well, everyone but Michael will be in town already. Wouldn't it be a gas if they all had to ski
to the chapel?" Neal offered with a grin. "Anne, you could hold your skirt out in the wind and coast
on your skis. I'll just hold the train and coast along behind you in my tuxedo."
Cynthia laughed, picturing the mental image of the couple sailing to a formal wedding on skis.
She looked at Michael to find his gaze on her. She was glad to see that he had managed at least a
smile.
"Neal, you and Anne go into the parlor to rest up for your return ski home," Michael offered.
"I'll help Cynthia with the dishes."
"My God, Cynthia, what have you done to Michael?" Neal demanded with mock astonishment.
"First, you get him to shovel and then he wears socks with Christmas trees and red toes. Now he
volunteers to wash the dishes. I've never heard him volunteer to do dishes in his whole life! Are you
sure you're not a witch and you have my brother under your spell?"
Anne punched Neal playfully in the shoulder. "Come on, Neal, or you and I might get stuck
with the dishes while they go sit on the couch."
Neal put his arm around her and left for the parlor shaking his head and laughing.
Cynthia and Michael cleared the table without a word to each other. She rinsed everything and
filled the dishwasher while he put the few leftovers in the refrigerator.
"She seems very nice," he offered in a neutral and quiet voice, keeping their conversation
between them.
"Anne is very nice, Michael," she agreed in a similar soft voice without stopping her work.
"He told me I could take his inheritance and stuff it."
"Hmmm. That sounds good. I think if they get a start in life that they built themselves, they'll
make a better go of it in the long run."
Inches away, he tossed a spoon she had missed into the stainless steel sink with a loud clatter
and looked at her like she had just grown another head. He opened his mouth to speak, but she
reached up and gently placed her fingers across his lips.
"They love each other very much, Michael. They'll be fine."
He lifted her fingers from his lips, but held on to her hand. "You really believe that, don't
you?"
"Yes,I do believe it, Michael. I feel that when you love someone..." She stopped in mid-
sentence, pulled her hand free, and turned back to wipe the counter.
He took the cloth from her hand and tossed it into the sink. "Yes?" he asked as he grasped her
shoulders and turned her to face him. "Go on. When you love someone..."
She shook her head. Those damn tears pricked at the back of her eyes again. "I'm the wrong
person to ask about that," she whispered, unable to find the strength to speak louder.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 33

"Are you?"
Cynthia nodded and turned away, but he wouldn't release her. She looked back at him, only to
have him capture her face in both his hands. He looked directly into her eyes. "I wonder why."
A tiny tear escaped rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb and then gently
kissed her cheek where the tear had been. His gaze locked on hers for a moment and then he kissed
her lips. Gently. Briefly. So sweetly.
"Please don't, Michael. Please," she pleaded in a hoarse whisper. Please don't make me fall in
love with you, she added silently, knowing all the while that her supplication was too late. Way too
late.
He glanced toward the open pass-through above the counter and then slid his hands from her
cheeks. She felt bereft, but hurried past him down the hall to splash some cool water on her face.
When she rejoined the others minutes later, Neal and Anne were preparing to leave.
"We don't have a flashlight and it gets dark early. We've got to make it home by then."
"Not going to be as easy going up hill either," Anne added.
Michael and Cynthia stood in the store entrance area while the couple got back into their ski
gear. Standing at the door, waving goodbye to the skiers as they crossed the lawn, Michael put his
hand on the back of Cynthia's waist. For a second or two, his hand felt so natural, so good there.
For that brief time, Cynthia could imagine that this was their home and they were waving
goodbye to friends. But only for a second or two.
Cynthia was a lot of things, but she had always been a realist. She had to be. Alone in the
world since her parents died over ten years ago, she knew now she probably always would be alone.
She didn't want to begin liking the feel of a man's arm around her.
But then, perhaps there wasn't any reason why she couldn't enjoy it just today while it lasted.
She didn't move a muscle to break the tenuous contact as Neal and Anne skied out of view.
Michael dropped his arm.

Sunday night 11 p.m.

"Tomorrow's a work day for me so I turn into a pumpkin about now," Cynthia announced as
she got up after watching a Sunday night TV movie.
Michael had been going over some of his business reports at the same time as he kept track of
the movie. They had seldom talked. Dinner before that had been deadly quiet. Cynthia became more
and more painfully aware of how much he didn’t want to be stranded in her house alone with her.
What hurt more was that she wished he did want to be with her.
"I'll be leaving as early as possible in the morning. The roads should be cleared. The radio said
the plows would work all night. I need to talk to Neal more while I have the chance and I can't stay
away from the office long."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 34

Cynthia nodded, but couldn't stop the sigh that escaped. Apparently meeting Anne and seeing
how much she and Neal were in love with each other had not changed his opinion of Neal's marriage
to her.
"Fine. Good night then," she said as she walked out of the room.
He mumbled something in response without looking up.
It'll all be over tomorrow, she thought minutes later, standing under a hot shower. Taking extra
care to be sure her long thick hair was completely dry so she wouldn't get chilled, it was some time
before she finally exited the bathroom dressed only in her robe. She always left her nightgown in the
bedroom and put it on there rather than take it into the bathroom because she had learned from
experience it would get damp from her shower and feel clammy until long after she climbed into bed.
She closed the door to retain the heat in the room for Michael in case he wanted to shower
tonight. She turned toward her room and stopped.
He was standing in the doorway to the bedroom he'd slept in. Barefoot, he wore only jeans.
Acting as if she'd never seen a bare chest before, Cynthia stared. The dark hairs swirled in circular
patterns around his nipples and swept toward his navel and below. She dragged her gaze back to his
face.
"I was ready to break the door down. I thought you'd been swept down the drain with the
soapy water."
I didn't think about you waiting. Sorry to take so long."
He pushed off from the doorframe and walked the fifteen feet toward her. Like a doe caught in
his headlight, she stood frozen, unable to flee.
"I... ah, there's plenty of hot water left. Good night." She managed to break the lock that held
their gazes and scurried down the hall.
Before she reached the safety of her room, his words stopped her. "Is that really the direction
you want to go?"
Away from him. Yes. That was the direction she'd chosen. Away was her only option, wasn't
it?
She looked back at him in the bathroom doorway. Bathed in a bright square of light from over
the sink that was shining into the otherwise darkened hall, he looked formidable and inviting at the
same time—and incredibly and undeniably sexy.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He stepped out of the light toward her.
She retreated two small steps and felt the doorway to her room hit her back. She watched as he came
closer, closer until she could feel his breath against her face. She swallowed hard as she fought the
sensations of being swept along with a strong surge she couldn't control.
When his lips covered hers, a wave of passion, the likes of which she had never felt, hit her
broadside. Her legs were too weak to support her. Her knees bent and she leaned against his hard
body. He bent down to sweep her up into his arms. She started to object but forgot what she was
going to say. She could only groan into his mouth.
He laid her gently on her bed and only then did he end the kiss that he had begun in the hall.
He lowered his weight slowly to sit beside her hip, his hands rising to the pillow on each side of her
head as he leaned over her. "Are you for real?"
Don't spoil it, she pleaded silently. But was she pleading with him or with herself?

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 35

Her eyes burned and her vision blurred. She blinked, hating to lose sight of him even for a
moment when he was so close.
Too close. She tried to tell herself he was too close, but she wouldn't listen to her own warning.
She raised her head to meet his lips when they returned to claim hers once more.
The pillow rose as he took away one hand from beside her head. His lips turned and teased
hers while his fingers tugged at the belt of her robe.
Was this real? she wondered too. Or was she still standing in the shower imagining what his
hands would feel like caressing her breasts, teasing the tips until they stood at attention? The feathery
soft trail of kisses along her neck. Then his hot moist mouth on her breast, sucking, tugging and
nipping. Could something that felt so wonderful be real?
Her eyelids drifted shut, too heavy to stay open, even when she heard the harsh rasp of the
zipper on his jeans. The enervated warmth that swirled in her belly, the weakness in her limbs, the
desire to arch her body upwards to feel his hard chest pressing against her breasts—all those
sensations controlled her response to his touch.
She'd never felt anything even close to this before. She was floating. Free falling.
When he lay naked beside her, she reached around his neck to pull him against her. She
simmered with longing. His touch made her sensitive skin come alive. He had found the way into her
heart. Only he could fulfill her long-buried desires. Only Michael.
He rose over her and she saw the same need in his eyes that she felt. When the stabbing pain
came, her eyes squeezed shut. She bit her lip to create a second injury to take away from the hurt of
the first.
The pressure and pain ended as quickly as it had begun. The cold air hit her naked, heated
torso as he suddenly rolled away and stood with his back to her. Her legs folded up as she rolled on
her side and curled protectively.
What was wrong? Surely that couldn't be all there is to it! She blindly groped for her robe
from behind her to cover her nakedness.
He was breathing hard, but otherwise just stood there with his hands on his hips and his head
tipped up. After a couple minutes, he pulled on his jeans and zipped them, not bothering with the
button. When he turned to face her, she curled up tighter and closed her eyes against the anger she
saw in his face.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" he shouted.
Her eyes popped open. He stepped toward her and she cringed, crossing her arms to hide more
of her nakedness. He lifted her hips and roughly pulled the sheet and blanket out from under her and
drew them over her. He was covering her from his sight, she thought. He couldn't stand to look at
her.
And yet he stood there looking at her with his hands back on his hips. Just stood there, but she
couldn't meet his gaze.
Cynthia just listened. Her tears hit the pillow like little taps on a soft drum. The house creaked
its objection to the cold snow that weighted down its roof. And she heard each time Michael exhaled
through his flared nostrils as he stared at her.
Shivering with cold, she wanted to die of mortification. Where was a lightning strike when you
needed one? Her big chance at a night to remember for the rest of her life and she had blown it big

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 36

time—once and for all time. Her one and only chance at a wonderful experience of giving herself to a
man she loved for the first time was gone forever. She just wanted to forget.
She had already learned that she didn't kiss right. Now she knew she didn't make love right
either. It wasn't at all wonderful like she had hoped. It hurt and then it was over.
But how was she supposed to know how to do it? She'd never done it before! All her how-to
books had obviously left something out.
Her hair had fallen across her face and she was glad. She could see he was still standing there,
but she wasn't going to speak. What could she say? I'm sorry I did it wrong? No way.
Cynthia thought she heard his sigh before he left her bedroom and closed the door behind
himself. Another couple of minutes and the shower water rattled in the pipes. She lay shivering,
unmoving until he went into his room and closed the door.
Another hour went by until she was certain he'd be asleep and then she dragged herself out of
bed. She tied her robe and tiptoed down the hall to bathe in the bathroom.
Cold wet cloths laid across her face helped check the swelling and redness, but she knew it was
a waste of time. She returned to her room to don a warm flannel nightgown and climb into bed once
more.
It was more than another hour later when her tears finally stopped and sleep overtook her
exhausted body.

Monday morning 8 a.m.

Cynthia had been lying in bed listening for over an hour. Something had awakened her—
something sounding like a motorcycle. Since then, she had heard only the sounds of a nearly empty
old house trying to make it through one more winter.
Michael was gone. She didn't have to get up to confirm it. Not even the thought that only the
snap lock secured her store and home, since he would have had to open the deadbolt to leave, could
motivate her to get up.
Only a stern talk with herself finally did the trick. You can't call yourself a realist if you let
him do this to you.
A hot shower and a quick breakfast allowed her to face the day a little more composed. She
opened her store for business, but no one came. She was just as happy that they didn't. She wasn't up
to sounding happy about a customer's wedding when she was feeling so unhappy.
When the flowers from Michael arrived an hour after noon, she wasn't really surprised. Isn't
that what a man like him would do? Send a new conquest flowers?
She wanted to hate them, but they were too beautiful. The lovely array of springtime blooms in
several varieties and colors surprised her. Weren't they supposed to be roses? Blood red roses to mark
the occasion? She wished they had been so she could like them less than these.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 37

There was a card, but she didn't open it. She refused to add his insult to her injury. She slipped
it into her pocket as she put the vase on the table beside the formal wear books. Her customers could
enjoy them there, and except for business hours, she wouldn't have to look at them.
When she locked up that evening, she felt proud of herself for leaving them downstairs. She
didn't want another reminder of Michael in her living quarters. She had too many to be able to forget
him as it was.
As the days passed, Cynthia fell back into her solitary routine. She tried to find comfort in
working on her dress designs, but she couldn't find some of her best ones. Flustered at having set
them down somewhere that she couldn't remember, she quit trying to find them and moved on to
pressing her maid of honor dress.
She finished Anne's dress by working late into the next night when she couldn't sleep. She
called her the following morning to tell her.
"He left this morning," Anne told her before she got another word in.
Cynthia didn't pretend to misunderstand, but took a deep breath before she spoke. "Does he
feel better about the wedding?"
"I guess he does. Neal cut his classes so he and Michael could spend all day yesterday
together. I only saw Michael after I got home from class. He was pleasant to me, but I tell you, he
acted like a man about to erupt. He seemed seething inside about something and I don't want to think
it was us because he hugged me goodbye and even kissed my cheek. After the way he talked to Neal
over the weekend, I couldn't believe it."
"Anne, I'm so glad," Cynthia told her friend. "That's the best news I've had all day."
"Yeah. Whatever you did to soften him up before he came to stay with us, I want to thank
you."
Cynthia hoped Anne hadn't heard her sharp intake of air. She didn't want to discuss what she
had done with Michael. The dreamy memory she had wanted for a lifetime had turned out to be a sad
nightmare. She didn't want to think about it any more. "I... I don't know what that would be. He just
got to know you and liked you, Anne. That's all."
"Michael's very intense. I'm glad he's not angry with me."
"He has no reason to be."
"Anyway, he's gone and the wedding is still on. One good thing from Michael's visit—I don't
feel so nervous any more and that's great. I realized I was nervous about meeting him and earning his
approval, not about getting married."
Cynthia assured her again that she had nothing to worry about from here on out. Everything
would go smoothly and they would live happily ever after.
If only Cynthia felt the same about herself.
Anne came over to The Formal Place late that afternoon to see the finished dress. They chatted
past closing time and the phone rang just as Cynthia was turning off the lights after Anne left. She
flipped the last switch and took the stairs two at a time so she could answer it upstairs. Her skirts
bunched at her knees to facilitate a wide stride that would have horrified a true Victorian lady.
"Hello," she managed breathlessly.
The call was from the famous dress designer to whom she had sent the wedding dress
drawings months before. "I know it's been forever since I got your sketches, but I'm calling to see if

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 38

you have some more designs. We're filling out a whole new line and I loved the ones you sent. I want
to use most of these and I'd like to see a lot more of what you can do for me."
Cynthia could hardly believe it. "Yes. Yes, as a matter a fact, I've just recently spent a lot more
time designing."
"Great timing. Big weddings are in again, you know. We want to make a big splash with new
gown designs this fall. How soon can you send me something?"
She convinced him she would need three weeks to complete another set of drawings for him.
That was no time at all with Anne's wedding filling one of the weekends, but she didn't intend to
waste one moment. To earn a spot in the stable of his designers could be the start to getting
recognition and to launching her own career as a designer. She'd give up sleep altogether if she had
to!
Starting that night, she spent every evening, often into the wee hours of the morning, sorting
through her old designs and creating new ones. Designing original dresses again made her feel
wonderful and alive again.
And except for at night when she lay in her bed alone, thinking of Michael and their weekend
together, the design project took all her concentration and gave her hours of happy forgetfulness.
By the day before Anne's wedding, Cynthia had found all her drawings and picked the designs
she wanted to send. She would use the evenings of the week following the wedding to copy them in
ink and watercolors on better paper.
But right now, she had to get through the next twenty-four hours, many of which she would be
forced spend with Michael.

The day of the wedding 2 p.m.

Cynthia's stomach churned when she saw Michael climb out from behind the wheel of his car,
parked where his motorcycle had been two weeks before. When he headed for her store entrance, she
stepped back. She watched him open the door and throw a medium-size duffle bag on the floor by the
coat rack. She looked from the bag to him, her brows wrinkled with all her unspoken questions.
"Early in our snowbound weekend together, you did invite me to stay here this weekend to
show you I can cook," Michael said as if nothing else had occurred to make either of them change
their mind.
"Certainly not after..." she began.
He looked at his watch and cut her off. "We'll have to discuss it later. We can't keep the bride
and groom waiting. Are you ready?"
She nodded and said nothing when he took her coat from her arm and held it for her to put on.
Her fingers trembled so badly that he took her keys to secure the deadbolt lock as they left. He
showed her to the car and opened the door for her in elegant Victorian style—polite and distant.
That's the way she wanted him to remain so she could get through the day.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 39

Seeing how happy Anne and Neal were helped a great deal and even cheered Cynthia up. She
focused on the bridal couple and not on the moment when she would get home with Michael.
The wedding went without a hitch even though there had been no rehearsal. Neal and Anne
didn't feel it was necessary with only two in the wedding party and Michael had been happy he didn't
have to miss work to come up the day before. Cynthia was grateful that she had not had to spend the
previous evening with Michael.
Anne looked beautiful in the handmade dress. A photographer friend of Michael's took so
many pictures that Cynthia seemed to see flashing stars everywhere she looked.
After the reception, Anne changed into her traveling clothes at the hotel because she and Neal
had an early evening plane to catch. She entrusted Cynthia with her wedding dress to keep it safe
until she returned from her honeymoon.
"Everyone said it was the most beautiful dress they've ever seen," Anne told her as she
buttoned her suit jacket. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for designing and making it for me,
Cynthia."
They hugged briefly before Anne ran off to Neal's waiting arms. Cynthia struggled to fold the
dress into the long, plastic zippered bag. She carried it out to the bell captain for safekeeping until she
left.
Michael had been looking for her. "They're ready to leave. Are you coming?"
She nodded and Michael walked back to the private reception room with her.
"There she is," Anne called, her voice high with excitement. "Cynthia, you've got to stand over
there." She pointed toward the few other single women friends of hers. Cynthia felt self-conscious
because she was the oldest one in the group. When she was in place, Anne stepped over to Neal and
turned her back to the women.
"Here's good luck to the next bride," she called before she tossed her bouquet over her
shoulder.
Cynthia had to catch it. It was that or get hit in the face with the thing. Petals fell and stems
broke as her fingers closed around it. The floral fragrance doubled and triggered a sudden wave of
nausea. She'd never gotten used to smelling flowers again since Michael had sent them the morning
after. She didn't think she ever would.
Anne and Neal hugged and kissed every guest at the small reception before they took their
leave. When Anne hugged Cynthia she whispered, "You're next."
They laughed about it. And laughing was hard. Crying would have been easy, but Cynthia
wouldn't spoil Anne's special day.
Cynthia and Michael were the last to go home after the reception. "Can I buy you a drink
before we leave?" he asked as they passed the hotel bar.
"No, thanks. I'm so tired, it would put me to sleep right here," she lied with an ease that
surprised her. After seeing him again, she didn't imagine she would sleep all night.
He nodded and they walked to the car. Michael tipped the bellhop who carried out the wedding
dress and laid it in the trunk. Cynthia thanked him politely and he gave her an annoyed look.
After their seat belts were fastened, he stared at her as if waiting for her to say more. What did
he expect her to do or say? What could she say? Nothing. So she didn't speak.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 40

Soon Michael's car was pulling up and stopping under the extended roof in front of her house.
He followed her in the entrance, but rather than go directly up to her living quarters, Cynthia stopped
inside the store door.
"Tell me why you expected to stay here, Michael, after what happened," she demanded as soon
as he closed the door against the wintery winds instead of taking his bag and leaving. "It's not as if
you can't afford a hotel."
He appeared startled for a moment by her reasoning. "We need to talk, Cynthia. This affords us
the perfect opportunity."
"No, it won't because you are not staying."
He turned his back to her and ran his hand through his hair. She tried to ignore the sexy jumble
when he turned back to her. "Look. Apparently you're not aware of it, but you blew me out of the
water two weeks ago."
"Stop!" she ordered firmly. "I don't want to hear this. I don't even want to think about what
happened the last time I saw you, much less talk about it. Your actions told me more than any words
ever could. Now, please leave. We have nothing left to say to each other. Nothing."
He looked at her a long moment with his strange stare. "All right," he said softly. "I can wait a
while longer."
Suddenly the disappointment, all the frustration and the hurt Cynthia had experienced surfaced
as impulsive anger. "Don't hold your breath!" she spit out.
Jerking the door open, she stood well back of it until he grabbed his bag and went out. Before
he had taken two steps outside, she shoved the door shut. Hard. She snapped the lock, turned the
deadbolt, and started running up the stairs before his car had cleared her driveway.
She knew she was being petulant. She couldn't remember the last time she slammed a door, but
it felt good. Feeling angry was a lot better than crying or feeling sorry for what had happened
between them.
But it didn't stop her from stepping to the same living room window she had seen him stand
beside so often watching the snow.
"Goodbye, Michael," she whispered into the darkness, her moist breath creating frost on the
cold pane of glass. She watched as his red tail lights disappeared down the hill.
Goodbye had been all they had left to say to each other. Michael had driven away into the
night, never to return.
Now it was time for her to get on with her life and, with time, she knew she would.
But she had never felt more lonely.

Two months later, 8 p.m.

The rush of people in and out of the famous designer's fashion office all afternoon had set
Cynthia's head to spinning. She spent five hours that morning on a bus to New York City and, after a

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 41

quick lunch, she'd worked the whole afternoon and early evening, going over her drawings with him
and his assistant.
"Fantastic," he'd kept saying.
Cynthia felt like she was flying on a dream cloud. When he'd offered her the job of supplying
him with as many designs as she could create, she’d leapt at the chance. This was the break she
needed to see her designs manufactured and sold nationwide. And it couldn't have come at a better
time in her life.
They made arrangements for her to return the next morning to see the rest of the studio line.
They would spend the remainder of the day hammering out all the details of their business agreement
and setting their schedule.
His assistant left to go home, leaving the two of them in the studio alone.
"You're sure you don't want to go out to dinner? I love appearing at restaurants with beautiful
women on my arm," he joked.
"I have to admit I'm starved, but I'm too tired to do justice to a big dinner in a fancy
restaurant."
"I know just the place then. It's got homemade soups to die for and it's not far from where
you'll be staying."
"You're sure your friend doesn't mind if I stay in the apartment while I'm in the city?"
"Not at all. It's a beautiful place, so why spend the money on a hotel when you can stay there.
Come on. Let's go eat."
After a casual but delicious calorie-laden dinner at a popular New York City deli, he dropped
Cynthia off at his friend's apartment building. "Just tell the doorman who you are and he'll let you
into the apartment."
"See you in the morning. I'll take a taxi over by nine," she said as she removed her small
suitcase from the back seat and closed the car door.
"Whenever," he called with a wave as he pulled away.
Cynthia frowned at his strange comment as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder
and walked through the tall glass doors. She introduced herself to the doorman who showed her
directly to a beautiful apartment on one of the upper floors. He unlocked the door to let her in, and
then bid her a good night.
She stepped into the living room and discovered a view of the city that was nothing short of
magnificent, but she was too tired to stare at it for long. After relaxing in a hot shower, she fell into
the enormous bed and in no time at all, she fell sound asleep—thinking about Michael as she did
most nights despite her best intentions not to. She never had been able to forget him. And she
couldn't help but think about him here.
This was the type of apartment she would expect him to live in. The arresting view. The
masculine look to the comfortable but stylish furnishings. The efficient kitchen she'd peeked into.
This was a perfect bachelor apartment.
She could almost picture him here. She rolled over, thinking of him in this bedroom with her.
Her heavy eyelids were shut, but she could practically see him as if he were real. He appeared across
the room and then disappeared into the bathroom. It wasn't long before he returned from taking a
shower and slid into the bed beside her.

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 42

His skin was cool and damp. He smelled fresh and spicey. Their lips met in searing kisses. Her
lips parted to welcome his tongue as it curled around her own. His warm hand slid from her shoulder
to caress her breasts until the tips stood in high firm peaks.
His thigh stroked between hers as their legs entwined in an intimate way. He pressed the
evidence of his ardor against her. He felt hot and big. His hand caressed a path beneath her short
nightgown to the dark curls between her legs. His fingers slid between her folds and rubbed her most
sensitive point.
Her head rolled from side to side as she swam in a sleepy euphoria. He lowered his head and
closed his mouth around the tip of her breast. He sucked and created sparks that threatened to burn
her up. She moaned and writhed in the pleasure he created as his fingers sank deeper into her moist
heat in a rhythm that would not be denied. She arched her back as the heat filled her and the spasms
of pleasure gripped her and pulled her into his arms. He sought to rid her of her night gown as she lay
there breathing heavily. Her eyes opened.
It was at that moment that Cynthia's dream ended to become the reality of finding a man in bed
in the dark room with her actually doing what she thought she was dreaming about Michael doing.
Her first reaction was to scream. Her second was to flee. There was, however, too much time
between her first and second effort for escape.
His hand clamped down over her mouth and made it impossible for her to scream again and
almost impossible for her to breathe.
She could picture the headline. "Small town dress designer murdered in city apartment." She
clawed at his face and struggled to get free from him and that only made things worse.
He swung his body fully on top of hers and pinned her in place. She was able to scream again
when he took his hand from her mouth long enough to capture her hands. He held them over her head
with one hand around her wrists and clamped his other hand back across her mouth.
"Will you shut up, Cynthia, before my neighbors call the police?"
She froze. That had been Michael's voice.
Slowly he removed the hand from her mouth and reached to turn on the small bedside lamp.
He loosened his hold on her wrists, but when she started to bring one hand down rapidly in the
direction of his face, he caught them again and held each one on the pillow beside her head.
"Michael? How? What are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.
He nodded. "You really don't know?"
Cynthia gasped. "Oh, no!" Suddenly everything fell into place. "How could I be so naive? It
was all you. The phone call from Maurice so soon after you left town. His sudden interest in my
sketches after ignoring me for months. The offer of the job today. The convenient arrangement to use
this apartment for my two nights in the city."
She closed her eyes and turned away. She'd been more than naive. She'd been stupid.
"Cynthia..."
She turned back and glared at him. "What did you have to do to get Maurice to hire me? Offer
to pay my salary yourself? Isn't that a bit much for going to bed with you?" she asked in a low,
deliberate voice.
"Hell, Cynthia. All I did was show him your drawings."
"You? You showed him my drawings?"

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 43

"He loved them. And he located the ones you sent before. They never made it to his desk
because the assistant he used to have hid them. They were so good, the assistant thought you'd get his
job. When Maury took one look at them, he wanted to see more so he called you. I didn't tell him to.
He wanted to."
"Wait a minute. Back up. What drawings did you show him?"
"The pencil sketches you did the weekend I stayed at your house. I borrowed them to show
him and had Anne put them back a couple days later without telling you. I told her what I was doing
and she was as confident as I was that they would sell, by the way."
"No wonder I couldn't find them. I looked all over for them and suddenly the next day, they
were right there again."
She pulled at her hands to free them. "Will you let me go?"
"Will you try to scratch my eyes out or slap me again?" he asked with a grin.
She hesitated a moment to let him know she was still thinking of the possibility, but a shake of
her head later, her hands were freed. She slid out from under his body somewhat, but he didn't let her
move completely away from him. He kept his arm around her waist and a bent leg over hers with his
heel hooked around her calf to hold her close. "You're not getting away until we've talked out what's
going on between us."
"I've already told you, we have nothing to talk about. There's nothing going on between us."
"Look at me," he ordered.
"What for?" she asked as she obeyed.
He leaned down and kissed her lightly and gently with no more movement than a tiny dip of
his head. A surge of activity in the vicinity of her thigh against which he leaned intimately sent goose
bumps across her tummy. She shivered but defiantly gazed up at him.
His head rested casually on his palm, his elbow braced against the pillow beside her head.
Under her nightgown that she'd pulled part way down, the thumb of his other hand drew lazy circles
on her ribs just below her breast.
"You don't believe that and neither do I. Something very important is going on between us. At
least I hope so."
"No, there can't be. I can take a hint," she insisted.
"You're telling me that you don't feel anything when you kiss me, Cynthia? That you didn't
feel anything just now when I gave you a woman's greatest pleasure?"
She turned her face to frown at him, but it was a mistake. His lips covered hers, and after a
moment, her world didn’t extend beyond the kiss.
But it had to. She could not let him affect her like this again. He’d hurt her too deeply when he
left her before. Why couldn't she have been able to grow old alone, not knowing what she was
missing? To learn what she was missing, and then to have it taken away... Oh, why had she fallen in
love with him?
He raised his hand and laid it between her breasts. "I can feel your heart beating a mile a
minute," he said, his lips nipping at hers.
She turned her head away to stop him and he began nipping at her ear. She was having trouble
staying angry with him. "Yeah, well, you scared me to death a minute ago. I was sound asleep and... I
woke to find you in bed with me. I thought I was going to get murdered."
"No, not murdered. Made love to. Deliciously. Slowly. Repeatedly."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 44

He trailed kisses along her jaw to her chin, but she turned the other way. "Oh no, you don't. I
wised up. I'm not going through that again. You can pick on some other woman."
He lifted her face with a finger under her chin to look into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know it was
painful for you, but that's just the way it often is the first time."
"I know that. But the pain isn’tmy biggest consideration here, mister. I'm not... not getting
involved because I'm not putting myself in a position to be humiliated all over again."
"Humiliated?" he asked, sounding shocked.
"Of course! How did you think I felt when you quit in what I figured was the middle of things
and just walked off? Wham, bam, and not even a 'thank you, Ma'am'!"
"No, no. Damn, you can't think that. I couldn't go on that night—not knowing that I had hurt
you. You'd never... Cynthia, why the hell didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"
"Hmmm. I wonder," she answered sarcastically. "Could it be because it never seemed to come
up in the conversation?"
"You wanted to make love with me, but you didn't want to tell me?"
She shook her head, not liking how he was narrowing on what she wanted or didn't want.
"Why would you want to do that?"
Cynthia squirmed, but couldn't move away from his grip.
"Well?"
"Michael, please," she begged, giving up her struggle to escape. "Let me go. I can't play these
games with you. I don't know how because you're way out of my league. How could I possibly
answer you? Do you want to hear that I learned in the very short time we were snowed in together to
care deeply for you? Or that I wanted the memory of a romantic affair with an amazing handsome
big-city man because I knew that's all you could ever offer me?"
Tears stung in her eyes. "Or do you want to hear that I wanted to make love with you because I
might never get another chance to see you and I couldn't bear that?"
"Cynthia, you must believe me, I'm not playing games with you. Not now. Not ever. I wanted
to make love with you more than any other woman in my life. And when I discovered you'd never
done it before. When you didn't say anything and didn't try to stop me..."
She had to blink away her tears. "That night didn't turn out to be much of a memory for either
of us to keep."
"Trust me, it's better that we waited until now to pick up where we left off."
"Where we left off? Michael, can't you understand? I don't want to continue anything with you.
In fact, I'll thank you to get your leg off me and leave the room so I can get dressed. I'll go find a
hotel."
He kissed her ear and sucked on the lobe. She found herself having trouble breathing. "Can't
let you do that," he whispered as he kissed his way down her neck to the vee in her nightgown.
"Why not?" she asked, her voice aspirate. Her fingers clutched the sheet to keep them from
meandering into his hair.
"Because I'm never letting you go again, my love."
She winced at the term of endearment. She had to stop him. She couldn't give him the power to
hurt her more. "Michael, you can't just keep me here. I can see the headlines now. 'Small-town
woman held captive in city.'"
"Then I guess I'll have to convince you to stay of your own free will."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 45

"Michael, please," she pleaded.
"That's exactly what I intend to do, darling. Please you. You can't hide the fact that you love
me. And though I never thought it was possible, I love you and I intend to go right on pleasing you
for as long as we live."
"Oh, Michael. Is it possible? I love you so much."
Michael's kiss showed her it was possible. And he had been absolutely right about waiting. The
only sensations she felt were ones of pure pleasure.
His wonderful clean virile scent filled her nostrils. At that moment she felt certain she could
pick him out of a crowd of men while blindfolded.
His dark tousled hair fell across his forehead. He looked more handsome than in her dream.
She kissed his chin and smiled as the beginning growth of his beard tickled her lips. He looked down
at her briefly before his lips covered hers to touch and tempt. His lips blazed a path to kiss her eyelids
before returning to her lips once more.
"Mmmm." The sensitive pads on her fingers were gliding in circles from his stomach up
through the sprinkling of hair on his hard chest. She scooted down a bit so her lips could slide over
the hard nubs her fingers had raised on his chest before her tongue circled and teased them.
"How do you do this to me?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Oh, Michael. The same way you do it to me." She watched the goose bumps appear on his
skin when she scraped her fingernails down his ribs and across his flat stomach to circle his navel.
The nudge against her thigh told her that goosebumps weren't all she was raising.
He slid his hand up to capture her breast. He pinched and tugged at that tip and then the other
until hers stood at attention like his.
She looked up as he tipped his head down to kiss her deeply. She raised her hand to caress his
cheek and then burrowed her fingers into his hair. She kissed him, unable to get enough of him. She
wanted to hold him forever, to be filled by him.
He slid his lips down to capture the firm tip of her breast. Her breath came in short gasps as he
foraged a trail to the other side. Rising over her he kneeled between her thighs and lifted off the
nightgown she hadn't been willing to part with before.
He kissed her, pressing her back down against the pillow and then kissed and tasted his way to
the wet and hot nub that throbbed between her legs. He licked and sucked until she felt herself slip
out of control.
not without you," she insisted.
He rose to fulfill her wish. She arched her back and cried out with pleasure as he entered her.
He thrust deep, staking his claim on her for all time. As one, they rocked in a time-tested rhythm to
peaks of pleasure neither had ever dreamed of.
This time he gave her memories worth keeping forever.
Later, lying satiated in his arms, she traced the swirls of the hairs on his chest with her
fingernail and found it fun to watch the goose bumps she could produce on his stomach.
"May I assume I've convinced you to stay here with me instead of finding a hotel?" he asked
sleepily.
She smiled and felt his chest hairs tickle her cheek. "Um hmm."
He turned a little and settled his arm more comfortably around her. He slid his thigh between
hers and sighed with contentment. "Good. One down," he said. "One to go."

Lois Bonde SNOWBOUND 46

"One what?" she asked innocently. "We already each had more than one. And I've got to tell
you, those books I have about it don't begin to tell the whole story. Maybe you should write one."
"No way." He chuckled and kissed her temple. "'One to go' meant that I have to convince you
of one more course of action."
"You've got me in your apartment, in your bed, and in your arms," she said, stopping for a
yawn that made them laugh. "What more... could you want?" she asked, so relaxed she could barely
stay awake to hear the answer.
"All of you, darling, now and forever," he whispered. "I want more than a snowbound
weekend, more than an affair. I want you in my life for keeps. Will you marry me? And I don't intend
to take no for an answer."
"Oh, no?"
"Nope. I'm keeping you right here in bed with me until you say yes."
He yawned and smiled as he relaxed into sleep with his cheek against her temple and his arms
holding her close.
Cynthia smiled too. She was going to love every minute she could hold out until she said yes.
------------------------------------
This document was converted by AportisDoc Converter(tm) from Aportis Technologies Corp.
Visit www.aportis.com for eBook readers, free eBooks and conversion tools.