SNOWED IN WITH MY DAUGHTER'S BILLIONAIRE

Twenty minutes later, following Ethan's taillights through the swirling snow, I was beginning to question every life choice that had led me to this moment.

His "cabin" turned out to be a sprawling modern masterpiece carved into the mountainside, all soaring glass and natural stone that somehow managed to look both rustic and impossibly expensive. Warm light spilled from floor-to-ceiling windows, and I could see a massive Christmas tree twinkling in what appeared to be a great room with cathedral ceilings.

"Holy shit," I muttered under my breath as I parked behind the Porsche.

"Mom!" Lily called out, already bouncing through the snow toward the front door. "This place is incredible!"

I grabbed my overnight bag and trudged after her, trying not to slip on the stone pathway that was probably heated because of course it was. Ethan held the door open, and I caught a whiff of his cologne as I passed—something woodsy and expensive that made my stomach do an unwelcome flip.

The interior was even more stunning than the outside. The great room featured exposed beams, a stone fireplace that could have housed a small car, and Christmas decorations that looked like they'd been arranged by a professional. Everything was warm wood and soft leather, the kind of casual luxury that cost more than most people's houses.

"Welcome to my little retreat," Ethan said, shrugging out of his coat.

I stared at him. "Little?"

His mouth quirked up at one corner. "It's only four bedrooms."

"Only," I repeated flatly.

Lily and Noah were already exploring, their voices echoing from somewhere deeper in the house. A moment later, Noah's voice carried back to us: "Dad! The heat's not working in the back bedrooms!"

Ethan's expression shifted, a frown creasing his brow. "What?"

"The vents are blowing cold air," Lily called out. "But it's okay! We're young, we can handle it!"

I watched Ethan disappear down a hallway, heard the sound of doors opening and closing, followed by some creative cursing. When he returned, his hair was slightly mussed and he looked genuinely frustrated.

"The storm must have knocked something loose with the heating system," he said. "Three of the four bedrooms are going to be freezing tonight."

My heart sank. "So we need to find a hotel after all."

"No way!" Lily appeared in the doorway, Noah right behind her. "We already claimed the cold rooms. We'll just pile on extra blankets. Right, Noah?"

"Totally," Noah agreed quickly. "We're basically polar bears. Cold doesn't bother us."

I looked between the two teenagers, noting the way they kept glancing at each other. That conspiratorial look was back, and my maternal radar started pinging again.

"That leaves the master bedroom," Ethan said slowly. "And the pullout couch in the living room."

We stared at each other across the great room. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, same as mine. One warm room. Two adults who could barely stand each other.

"I'll take the couch," he said finally.

I blinked. "What?"

"The couch," he repeated, already moving toward the kitchen. "You take the bedroom. I assume you didn't pack for sleeping in a snowbank."

I hadn't expected that. The Ethan from the parking lot would have probably suggested I take the couch and been perfectly serious about it. This gesture of... decency... threw me off balance.

"I can take the couch," I said.

"No." His tone brooked no argument. "I know this house. I know which spots stay warmest. You take the bedroom."

Before I could argue further, he'd disappeared into the kitchen, and I could hear him opening cabinets. Lily bounced over to me, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Isn't this perfect, Mom? It's like we're in one of those Christmas movies where everyone gets snowed in together and—"

"And what?" I asked suspiciously.

"And nothing," she said innocently. "Just, you know, Christmas magic and stuff."

Christmas magic. Right.

An hour later, I was beginning to understand why people committed murder in confined spaces.

Ethan and I had somehow ended up in the kitchen at the same time, both attempting to prepare dinner. He'd pulled ingredients from a fully stocked refrigerator—because apparently even his vacation homes were maintained like five-star hotels—while I'd insisted on contributing something from the groceries I'd brought.

The problem was, we both had very definite ideas about how things should be done.

"You're cutting those onions wrong," I said, watching him work with a knife that probably cost more than my car payment.

"There's no wrong way to cut an onion," he replied without looking up.

"There absolutely is. You're making them too big. They won't cook evenly."

He paused, knife halfway through an onion, and turned to look at me. "Are you seriously critiquing my knife work?"

"I'm seriously trying to prevent dinner from being a disaster."

"I've been cooking for myself since I was twelve years old," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I think I can handle an onion."

"Clearly not," I muttered, reaching for the knife.

His hand closed over mine on the handle, and suddenly we were standing much too close, his chest almost brushing my shoulder. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell that woodsy cologne again.

"Ms. Reid," he said, his voice low enough that the kids couldn't hear from the living room where they were setting up some board game. "Are we really going to fight about vegetables?"

I looked up at him, ready with a sharp retort, but something in his expression stopped me. His storm-cloud eyes held a hint of amusement, but underneath that was something else. Exhaustion, maybe. Or loneliness.

"Maybe," I said finally. "I'm having a really bad day."

"Join the club," he said, releasing my hand. "But for what it's worth, your technique is better."

I stared at him. "Did you just admit I was right?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

From the living room came the sound of Lily and Noah's laughter, bright and carefree. The sound seemed to ease something in Ethan's shoulders, and he stepped back, giving me room to take over the onions.

We worked in relative peace after that, moving around each other in the spacious kitchen with surprisingly little friction. He was actually a decent cook, I had to admit, and when he handed me a glass of wine without being asked, I decided maybe he wasn't completely terrible.

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. The kids chattered about school and friends, and gradually the tension between Ethan and me began to ease. He told a story about Noah's first skiing lesson that had both Lily and me laughing, and for a moment, I could almost forget that this was the same man who'd stolen my parking space.

Almost.

After the dishes were done and the kids had retreated to their freezing bedrooms with promises to call if they got too cold, I found myself alone in the great room, staring at the fire crackling in the massive fireplace.

I should have gone to bed. Should have locked myself in the master bedroom and tried to pretend this whole situation wasn't completely surreal. But something about the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights made me reluctant to move.

"Can't sleep either?"

I turned to find Ethan standing at the edge of the room, having changed into jeans and a soft-looking sweater that made him look less like a corporate shark and more like... well, like a dad.

"Too much wine," I lied.

He moved closer, settling into the chair across from me. In his hands was a framed photograph, and he was turning it over and over between his fingers like a worry stone.

"Your wife?" I asked quietly.

He glanced down at the photo, then held it out so I could see. The woman in the picture was beautiful—blonde hair, bright smile, the kind of effortless elegance that some people were just born with.

"Sarah," he said. "She loved Christmas. This was her favorite place."

There was something raw in his voice, a vulnerability I hadn't expected from the arrogant man in the parking lot. It made my chest ache in recognition.

"How long?" I asked.

"Three years in January." He set the photo on the side table, his fingers lingering on the frame. "Cancer. She fought it for two years before..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.

"What about you?" he asked. "Divorced?"

I nodded. "Two years now. He decided he wanted someone younger. Someone who didn't have stretch marks and a teenager."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "He was an idiot."

The simple statement caught me off guard. Not because it was particularly profound, but because of the way he said it—matter-of-fact, like my ex-husband's stupidity was an objective truth rather than just his opinion.

"At least your wife loved you until the end," I said softly.

Something shifted in his expression, and for a moment we just looked at each other across the firelit room. The animosity from earlier had faded, replaced by something I couldn't quite name. Understanding, maybe. Or just the recognition of shared pain.

I stood up abruptly, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts. "I should get some sleep."

"Harper."

I turned back, surprised by the use of my first name.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm sorry about the parking lot. I was having a bad day."

I studied his face in the firelight, looking for any trace of the smug superiority from this afternoon. All I saw was tired honesty.

"So was I," I admitted.

I made it to the bedroom door before I allowed myself to look back. Ethan was still sitting by the fire, the photograph back in his hands, looking like a man carrying the weight of the world.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, my heart beating just a little too fast. This was dangerous territory—seeing him as human instead of just an obstacle. Feeling sympathy for a man who clearly loved his dead wife and was doing his best to raise his son alone.

I didn't like this feeling. Didn't like the way my pulse had quickened when he'd said my name, or the way I'd noticed how the firelight played across his features.

This was supposed to be a simple Christmas exchange. Get Lily, spend the holidays together, avoid any complications.

Instead, I was trapped in a mountain mansion with a man who was turning out to be far more complex than I'd given him credit for.

And I had the sinking feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.