We head toward the cabin in the nick of time. A snowstorm has started, disturbing the once serene blanket of snow and throwing it upward, where the flakes swirl in currents before fluttering to the ground.

I've never witnessed anything so beautiful, like feathers of white confetti being thrown in celebration, dancing their way through the sky. Milo has to tug my hand that little bit harder, because without realizing it, I've stopped.

"It's beautiful." My breath comes out in a cloud of white smoke, warming the air in front of me.

"And deadly," he says.

I let him pull me along through the storm, but a part of me is reluctant to look away. There is something poetic about a force so beautiful being destructive. Living the city life, it's easy to succumb to the mundanity of things, to the sound of horns and the smell of petrol. But out here I've found a freedom I hadn't known I was missing, and I've found it with Milo.

Another few steps and Milo guides me back into the warmth. I shiver like a leaf, soaked to the bone now that the snow has melted, and he helps me to peel off my coat before setting it aside.

He frowns as he takes in my soaking wet sweatshirt. "This isn't a proper winter coat," he says with a shake of his head. "I told you to dress warmly."

"I didn't know dressing warm meant buying an industrial ski jacket," I say through chattering teeth.

"Go and sit in front of the fire," he says, so I cross the living room, dripping water as I go, and sit on the rug in front of the fire next to Mulan. She looks at me like she thinks I'm insane, but I ignore her and rub my arms.

Outside, what looks like a full-on blizzard has been conjured. Snow batters the windows, a flurry of white that I can't see past, and I'll admit, I'm a little terrified. Having never experienced more than a dusting of the stuff, having chunks of it thwacking the cabin is unsettling.

I pull Mulan closer in an attempt to stay warm while Milo grabs the large faux fur blanket from the sofa and wraps it around me. Mulan, to her credit, is not the least bit afraid of the snowstorm despite being a naive indoor cat. She's just purring away, kneading her paws on my soggy sweatshirt without a care in the world.

The lights flicker on and off like something from a horror movie before the power goes out for good. "I'm going to check the power," he says, "see if I can get it back on. Don't move."

I panic and shrug off the blanket before jumping to my feet. "No!"

He turns on his heel, somewhat amused, and says, "No?"

"Don't you know that's how people get killed?" I ask. "They go out to check the power and they get murdered."

"What am I getting murdered by," he asks incredulously, "the snow monster?" I give him a look like I'm not the least bit amused, and he grins. "Look, I'll be back in a minute. I'm just going to see if I can fix it, all right? Otherwise, we're going to have a pretty cold night ahead of us."

I grab his hand to stop him from leaving. "Just stay."

Surprise crosses his face. "You really that worried about me?"

"No, I just don't like being alone." But my heart is pounding like never before. Maybe it's the snowstorm that's setting me on edge, but suddenly the thought of him leaving is the worst thing in the world.

He senses the shift in my mood and steps closer, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Then I'll stay."

I let out another shiver in response and the corner of his lip curls upward. "You're freezing," he says. "Let me at least get your bag. You can change."

But the moment he moves, I'm pulling him closer by the waist. His eyes meet mine, dark and intense, trying their best to read my next move, but even I don't know what I'm doing. I just know that it feels right to do it.

He pulls me toward him until our lips are almost touching, but he doesn't kiss me yet. His eyes trail my face until he's focused on my lips, dark and filled with longing. It's not often that Lucas would make me feel desired, but the look Milo gives me tells me everything at once: that I'm beautiful, that he's wanted this more than he's ever wanted anything, and I give him the same look back.

His hand feels warm as he gently cups my face. This feels different from any other time that we've touched – more intimate. Up until now, it's been this back and forth battle between lust and hate, but right now I don't feel either of those things. If anything, I'm overcome with a strange sense of warmth. And that's what terrifies me. If this were just sex, just a meaningless fling in an isolated cabin, then things would be fine, but nothing about this is meaningless.

He pauses a moment to take me in. The fire steadily cackles beside us, lighting his eyes up like embers. I exhale slightly, reaching for the zipper of my sweatshirt, but his hand falls from my face and clasps around the zipper, slowly pulling it down. His eyes don't shift from mine, not even when the sweatshirt starts to fall down my arms, revealing my clingy black tank top. He pulls it off and tosses it aside before drawing me closer.

The storm outside roars louder as he lowers me onto the rug, pulling the blanket around me. The softness of the fur makes me shiver a little, but then he's kissing me gently, and the second I moan, the restraint he's been showing dissipates.

He leans back a little to pull off my tank top, revealing my lacy black bra. His eyes turn black as his mouth finds mine, his kisses demanding as he unhooks my bra and tosses it aside. It flies toward Mulan, who gets up and gets the hell out of dodge, making me laugh.

Milo laughs too, and for a moment I wish I could take a snap shot of this. He just looks so beautiful, so golden and glowy under the light of the fire, like I'm watching him through a dream. My pants come off next, and I manage to dip my hand in my pocket and pull out the condom I'd stuffed in there before hiding it under the blanket.

"Your turn," I say, and I'm pulling him closer by the back of his neck, desperate to feel more of him. My hands grab the ends of his t-shirt and practically rip it off him, to which he laughs again. I do the same with his pants and throw them aside before marveling at his body.

With a wicked look, he gently runs his hand down my stomach until he reaches the band of my underwear. There's the briefest of pauses as he waits for confirmation, and as soon as I nod, he's delving inside.

Clearly, this isn't his first rodeo, because he knows exactly where to go and what to do. I close my eyes, losing myself to the gentle, rhythmic motion, like waves crashing blissfully in the ocean.

Never have I felt so unraveled. Heat pools between my thighs and grows stronger by the second, threatening to overpower me. I'm so desperate to feel him that I'm running my hands back and forth along his back, brushing my hands over every arched muscle, but it's still not satisfactory. I need more of him.

Suddenly, I feel like the old me – the one Lucas tried to destroy. I flip us around until I'm on top of him, and the surprise on his face makes me smile. I lean forward a little, hair now draped across his tanned, rippled chest, and position myself over his boxers. Heat pools in my stomach at the hardness between my thighs. I can barely contain my excitement.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued to see what I'll do next, but I'm not about to back down now. One hand on his chest, I dip my fingers into his boxers and wrap my hand around him. His eyes widen slightly, then fill with something I've never seen before, but it makes me feel strong. Powerful.

My hand moves back and forth in a steady, gentle rhythm before I reach for the condom and tear it open. His expression flashes with what looks like amusement – he's no doubt wondering how I've suddenly acquired it – but amusement turns to longing as he watches me slip it on.

When I'm finished, I lift myself a little, positioning him beneath me. There's this second where our gaze meets, and I see something different in his eyes. An intense, blinding brightness, a declaration without speaking, a thousand you're beautifuls.

And then I'm lowering myself onto him, letting every inch of him consume me. His hands reach up and cup my breasts as I move back and forth, our bodies completely intertwined. Everything is forgotten now– the snowstorm, the promotion. It's like the world around us darkens, and Milo is pushing me closer, closer to the light, until we're both igniting together.

***

We lay arm in arm in a fort of faux fur blankets, breathing as heavily as each other. His arms engulf me, drawing me even closer to his chest like he wants to keep me here forever. And the worst part is, I want it too.

Body tingling, I rest my head on his chest, able to hear the sound of his heart steadily thumping away. It's a comforting sound, one that reminds me that before Milo Woods, I was barely even living: now I couldn't feel more alive.

He strokes my arm in soft, gentle movements that send goosebumps down my skin. The storm outside has eased a little, but there's a chill to the air that makes me shiver. Milo pulls me even closer, his hard, rippled chest like my own personal heater, keeping me warm.

I peek at him now, studying his face under the flickering fire. I've learnt more about Milo in these past few months than I have in two years, but it doesn't seem enough. I want to know more – everything – and right now, wrapped in his arms by a roaring fireplace feels like the perfect time to ask.

"What were you like growing up?" I ask. "Popular, I'm guessing. I'm assuming you had your pick of the girls."

"Well then you'd be wrong as usual," he says.

I turn to face him properly and see that his eyes have darkened. "Really?"

He nods. "I wasn't exactly the most sociable growing up. Not in real life, anyway. I was pretty popular with my online friends." He peeks at me now like he's waiting for my reaction.

I smile. "You were a gamer?" I'm imagining a young Milo holed away in his bedroom on his PC, and god help me, I like it. "That's so cute."

He gives me a look. "I've told you before, I'm not cute. Anyway, no one else found it cute. My parents would try to lure me out of my bedroom in various ways, but nothing really worked. In the end, they left me to my own devices. What about you?" He turns to me now, a wicked look in his eye. "You're from LA, so I'm guessing cheerleader. Popular."

"Actually, no," I say. "I mean, I had a group of friends that I hung out with, but I wouldn't say popular. Definitely not a cheerleader, either. I don't have the flexibility. I was on the swim team though."

He grins this sweet, adorable grin and says, "A swimmer. Way better than a cheerleader if you ask me."

I roll my eyes and swat his arm. "So, did you always want to go into real estate?"

He shakes his head, his fingers still drawing patterns along my skin. "I wanted to be a soccer player."

"Soccer? Really?" For some reason, him wanting to be a soccer player does not fit in with this new image I have of him being a loner gamer.

He smiles a little. "If I wasn't gaming, I was playing soccer. My dad got me into it as a way to get me off my games, and I was pretty good at it. Had dreams of making it professional. I would have if it weren't for an injury in college. I broke my knee and had to have an operation. Put an end to my soccer career pretty quick." He pulls back the blanket a little to show me his knee, and for the first time, I notice the scar around it.

I reach out and gently trace the scar with my thumb, brushing the ridged skin. My chest gets all tight when I think of him going through that. To have your heart set on something, only to have your dreams dashed, is one of the worst feelings ever.

"I'm sorry," I say. "That must have been hard."

"It was," he says. "For a long time, I didn't know what I'd do next. Soccer was always the plan, and I'd never given any thought to what I'd do if I didn't make it. Then one day, my friend told me about all the money he was making selling houses. Said Real Estate was where the money was at. The rest is history. What about you?"

"Oh, I've always known," I say. I'm running a hand along his chest as I say it, because a part of me still can't believe this is real. Can't believe that I'm lying here in Milo Woods' arms. Can't believe that I can touch him. "When other kids were dreaming of becoming pirates or Youtube stars, I dreamt of selling houses."

Milo laughs. It's deep and warm, an echo in the cold that seems to warm me right up. "Why?"

"My parents didn't have much money when I was growing up," I say. "We weren't poor – far from it – but we lived in a modest house that they worked around the clock to pay for. And don't get me wrong, it was amazing. I loved my childhood, I loved growing up in Pasadena, but every few weeks, they would drive us to the Palisades to visit my aunt, and I'd feel like I'd stepped into a movie." A strange feeling passes through me as I think back to the past. "I'd spend the whole ride with my face pressed to the window, staring at the mansions in awe. They felt like dollhouses, so perfectly crafted with their immaculate lawns and their French slatted windows. I'd spend hours wondering what kind of people lived inside, why they chose that house out of the millions of others. Wondering how they could even afford it. I guess at first, Real Estate was my way of answering those questions."

"And now?" he asks.

I shrug. "Now I do it because it reminds me of what life is supposed to be about. I've had thousands of clients, all different in their own right, but no matter how much money they earn or what their tastes are, they are always after the same thing: a place to feel safe in." I pause for a moment, suddenly overcome with that bright, bursting feeling that tells you you're happy. "And that's what I love: buying a property is never just about finding somewhere to sleep, it's about finding somewhere to live. To make memories. To grow. Every buyer has a past and every property has a future; there's something beautiful in that."

He's quiet for so long that at first, I think I've scared him with my rambling. But then he leans in a little, eyes dark and careful as they search my face, mouth pulled into a serious frown. "I had no idea it meant this much to you," he says. He reaches out to push back my hair, and I feel something shift between us. Guilt lines his expression. I realize he feels bad that he's the one thing standing in the way of my promotion.

"Oh no you don't," I say. "You want this promotion just as much as I do, Milo, and when I win, it's going to be on my own merit and not because you stepped down out of pity."

He raises an eyebrow at the same time his lips curl into a smile. "When you win?"

"Yes, when I win." I climb on top of him, resting both hands on his chest in what we both know is a power move. Leaning forward, I position my mouth near his ear and add, "I don't like losing, you see. Patricia be damned."

Something wicked flashes in his eyes. I've awoken something in him, some primal competitive streak that compels him to flip us until I'm trapped beneath his chest. In one quick move, he takes my wrists in one of his hands and pins them above my head. Mouth near mine, he says, "Neither do I."

His eyes trail my face, falling to my nose and lips before taking in my exposed breasts. My skin grows hot, but not because I'm embarrassed that he's watching me like this. If anything, it's the opposite.

"Then I guess we're in quite the predicament," I say, but my voice comes out shaky as I feel him against me, hard and ready.

"I guess so," he says roughly, and then he's leaning in closer, kissing me the way I used to dream about: warm and tender and passionate. Maybe it's my imagination, or maybe it's pure wishful thinking on my part, but for a brief moment, he kisses me like he loves me.

A/N

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