Melt (3 page)

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

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

He laughed. “Okay, you win that one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The temptation is irresistible.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

SIX HOURS LATER, Emma was over the airplane. She’d read. She’d shed her jacket, like all the other passengers. Now she was desperate for them to land. She wanted to see the ice continent, she wanted to step away from the master flirt next to her, and she wanted to get to her wall and work on it. She needed to retain her
focus
.

“Ensure you have your ECW on, please. Conditions on the ice are deteriorating, but we’re past the point of no return.” The pilot’s voice came loud and crackly through the speakers. “Everyone buckle up. This might be a bumpy one.”

Emma froze for a moment and watched the activity burst in the cabin. Everyone zipped up their jackets and their belts. Past the point of no return? Did that meant they didn’t have enough fuel to return to Christchurch should they not be able to land on the ice?

Yeah. So they simply had to land on the ice.

Emma’s stomach clenched as a foreign, claustrophobic feeling pressed inward, and all of a sudden it seemed the cabin didn’t have enough oxygen. Mentally she remembered that she had resigned herself to the fates and that there was
nothing
she could do about the situation she was in. Except panic. Yeah, that was still possible.

“It doesn’t snow that much in Antarctica,” she muttered, not for anyone to hear or to answer her. Just reminding herself of the facts she knew, trying to keep herself calm.

“There are some parts of the valleys where it hasn’t rained in at least two million years,” her neighbor added, shifting to get his jacket and belt done up. “But it gets windy. The wind picks up the snow that’s been lying around forever and blows that about so you can’t see a thing. Given the airstrip is coastal, it doesn’t take much to get too windy and too white to be able to land.” He watched her shrug back into her jacket and fumble with the zipper.

“And that’s what it’s like down there at the moment?”

“Hopefully not, because you heard the guy… We’re past the point of no return.”

“I thought these planes could do a round trip?”

“Some aircraft can.” He shrugged. “Apparently this one can’t. You need help with that belt?”

He brushed her fingers away from where they were failing to do the clasp. They were ice-cold, but regardless she felt heat zing as their skin connected. He glanced into her eyes, his brows dipping with concern at something he saw on her face.

“You’re sure you don’t want to hold my hand?” he leaned closer and asked quietly. “I don’t mean that in any kind of suggestive way. Just supportive.”

She shook her head and turned away. “I’m fine.” If only she believed it.

…

She didn’t look fine, but Hunter respected her answer. Yeah, she was more serious than sassy. It had just been talk before, because now she’d wholly retreated.

Painting walls? He didn’t think so. Too slight. Too serious. Too sensitive. If she wasn’t a scientist then she was an artist—here to paint pictures. He’d bet on it.

Thirty seconds later when he couldn’t resist looking at her again, he noticed her eyes were closed and her face was whiter than the ice they were flying toward. He didn’t attempt to talk to her more. He knew fear and he knew there was nothing she was going to let him do to help her. He’d seen it many times before, too. He sighed and gripped the straps of his safety harness.

Despite very occasional efforts to ignore it, buried within Hunter was an intrinsic need to help. Hell, it was why he was here. He hated Christmas and had no intention of being anywhere near family, so he’d come down to fast-track completion of a new laboratory. That was how he lived his life—going from project to project in flood- and fire-ravaged places and helping them reconstruct. He liked the larger, more impersonal effort. He liked the nomadic life. Roots weren’t for him, but he appreciated how other people wanted them, and rebuilding bricks and mortar was something he could do.

The plane banked and she bumped against his shoulder. Right here and now, his urge to help felt that bit more personal.

The engines maintained their roar, but there were no half-shouted conversations in the cabin now. Everyone sat silently, staring ahead, waiting.

A voice broke through the collective tension. “We’re beginning the descend now. Conditions are not as nice as they could be, but not as bad as we first thought, either. Be ready to brace yourselves.”

Hunter breathed in and listened hard to try to gauge where they were at in their descent. He couldn’t take his eyes off his whiter-than-white companion. Screw not trying to help. He reached across and put his hand over her fist. Hell, despite the layers of extreme-cold clothing she had on, her hand felt colder than the frozen sea beneath them. And at his touch, her fist clenched tighter.

All of a sudden the plane seemed to bounce, bumping several times and shuddering. The engines screamed, and all the fittings rattled loudly as they skidded to one side. He tightened his grip on her, swaying uncontrollably like everyone else in their seats until the plane began to slow.

Finally the ear-splitting roar faded—only to be replaced by thunderous applause from passengers. Hunter released her hand and clapped with the others, but a glance at her showed at least the color was back in her cheeks.

…

“It’s a bit blowy, but we’re all good,” the pilot announced.

Emma opened her eyes and breathed deeply. Wow. That was a wake-up call—they really were in an unforgiving world. She couldn’t look at the guy already standing in the aisle, ready to get off the plane. He might have only meant it as supportive, but her hand still felt the imprint of his. And her skin still sizzled.

She unclasped her belt and grabbed her bag to pull on some gloves. Her excitement returned—more potent given the adrenalin still buzzing in her blood. She’d imagined this moment for so long—had been to the Antarctic exhibitions in Christchurch and researched on the Internet.

She’d seen pictures...but nothing prepared her for stepping out of the plane and breathing in the Antarctic air for the first time. Nothing prepared her for the overwhelming bolt of emotion as she stood on the frozen snow and slowly worked her way against the wind. Shocked at the cold, shocked in general. Was she really here?

As if she’d asked aloud, her tall companion just ahead of her turned and smiled—not a suggestive smile, not a teasing one, just one of pure, unadulterated happiness. The almost-dimple became real in that whole-body smile. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him. Happiness bubbled up inside her, responding to the sheer joy on his face, and she smiled back. Her heart let off some fireworks, and she laughed aloud. The wind swiftly stole the sound.

“Come on,” one of the welcome crew yelled in her ear. “Move!”

Emma pulled her scattered wits together and followed them into the all-terrain bus bound for the base. As she entered, the guy inside checked her name off on his clipboard.

No one sat next to her, and for the entire drive, she had her nose pressed to the window, trying to make out things in the almost total white. The only thing she got glimpses of was the road markers. When they drove into the American base, she expected the gorgeous flirt to get off, but he didn’t. Was he staying at the same base she was?

Her info pack had said her destination was only another five or so minutes from the US base, and soon enough a collection of lime-green buildings came into view.

The excitement as they exited the bus was palpable. Base staff met them and waved everyone inside, instructing them to put their extreme weather gear on the hooks, their boots on racks. Then it was debrief time. Emma put her fingers to her face, her skin frozen to the touch and yet she hadn’t noticed, too busy trying to take in the reality of the landscape.

“Exciting arrival for you guys,” the base boss welcomed with a laugh. “We’ll get you all a drink after I show you round.”

He motioned for everyone to follow him as he took them on the grand tour. A small civilian base, its purpose was scientific research and it was wholly conservation-oriented—while they aimed to discover the unique properties within Antarctica, the ultimate goal was to preserve them.

The facilities were rudimentary but in great condition. The main congregation areas were in the one building—the mess, a bar, a small store selling personal items and chocolate, as well as a tiny library and a communications area. In outlying buildings were the dormitory wing and laboratories, storerooms, and workrooms.

Emma intently listened to their first safety briefing—there’d be in-depth training starting tomorrow. For now, she dutifully looked out the windows and noted the different colored flags marking paths, base boundaries, and no-go areas.

She glanced around the room—inside the warm mess hall it seemed a small, safe community, but they were perched on the edge of the most unforgiving environment.

She pulled out her sketchbook and chewed on the end of her pencil between taking some notes and a couple of quick sketches. Then she was handed an updated timetable and given directions to her bunkroom. A final glance back saw the gorgeous American heading in the opposite direction. She ignored the tiny disappointed tug deep inside. It was good he was gone, since she didn’t need either distraction or temptation. She was here to work.

Finding the right bunkroom, Emma knocked quietly before going inside. She’d just learned the rooms were kept in darkness around the clock, and you had to keep quiet as some people worked shift hours—up all night and sleeping all day. Inevitably, there’d be someone trying to sleep in the building.

“I’m Bridget, been here since November.” A woman leaned over from the top bunk, introducing herself softly. “My fourth summer down here. You okay with the bottom bunk?”

“Sure.” Emma smiled back. “I’m used to sharing a room.” Tons of other kids had stayed at Grandma Bea’s—but only ever for a few days. Emma was the only one who’d stayed more than a month.

“Lucky for you you’re not going to have to share much this week,” said Bridget. “I’m going out in the field for a couple of weeks, so you’ll have it to yourself. But don’t brag about it to the others or they’ll get jealous.”

“You’re a scientist?”

Bridget nodded. “A glaciologist.”

“What does a glaciologist do?”

As she unpacked her daypack, Emma asked Bridget about her work and life on the base. In turn Bridget asked her all about her trip down—it was that common denominator they had, drawing strangers close in an instant. Emma felt both proud and totally daunted as she explained her project. One of New Zealand’s wealthiest philanthropists had donated wads of cash for a new research lab to be built on the base. Part of his gift was for a mural to be painted on the vestibule wall—a reminder of home for the scientists. The commissioned artist was to then paint a matching mural back at his building in Christchurch after completing the one down here—to reflect life on the ice. There’d been a call for submissions and somehow, Emma’s work had been chosen. She’d entered only on the off chance—it was a place she’d longed to visit and the contest had given her a theme and deadline for producing some work. They’d actually liked her fine, detailed pencil work. She was a hyperrealist, not an abstract artist. She liked to magnify the miniscule, drawing attention to the beauty in the tiny things the eye could so easily miss—the contradiction of that with the mural format would be her biggest challenge ever.

She breathed deeply. Yes, now here she was amongst all these amazing people who achieved amazing things. No pressure at all.

Once unpacked, she walked down to the communications area and tried to call Grandma Bea to let her know she’d landed safely, but her old foster mother never answered.

Frowning, Emma wandered through the mess down the stairs to the small lounge and library area, lingering for a moment until she realized that the people on the sofa nearest her were engaged in a very serious—and deeply personal—conversation about a relationship gone wrong. One had been on the plane with her, the other she didn’t recognize. But they didn’t seem to mind that she, a complete stranger, was in a total eavesdropping position.

She walked to the other end of the library to escape overhearing. She barely noticed the wall of books, as the window claimed all her attention—the view was mind-blowing.

The wind had dropped, the snow had settled on the ground again, and now the sky was blue. She looked across the endless expanse of white ice. Mount Erebus dominated the scene, apparently still active because plumes of steam rose occasionally, reminding them this was a land not just of ice, but fire, too. In fact, fire was a very real threat to the inhabitants. She’d be learning more about how to deal with that tomorrow.

“My name’s Hunter Wilson,” a voice murmured in her ear. “I’m a project manager here for the rest of the summer, and it’s my second season on the ice.”

Casual again in jeans and tee with a hint of stubble and those smiling eyes, he left her as speechless as she’d been on that crazy descent onto the ice.

“Come on, aren’t you going to do the ritual intro?” he prompted. “You’ll get asked a lot, so you might as well get it perfect now.”

“Emma Reed, painter, first time. Only until Christmas Eve.”

“Really nice to see you again, Emma. Hell of a landing, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” she admitted with a rueful smile.