Adam laughs even harder. “Well, I’m flattered. I guess there’s only one way to test your hypothesis. I should put on some music and dance for you. My leg’s still a little messed up, but I’m sure I can manage some Magic Mike moves for you.”

“No, thank you,” I say awkwardly, finishing the food and moving to the kitchen. I am pleasantly surprised to see he has washed last night’s dishes.

“Oh, there’s something else I made for you,” he says, darting ahead of me to open the fridge. He pulls out the tray of cake pops I had left to chill for more experimenting, and reveals that he has finished them.

He’s made a whole tray of little snowmen, covered in iridescent sprinkles, with adorable little faces and dashing top hats.

“Adam,” I say in wonder, breathless at the wonderful job he did.

“Not quite as charming as your reindeer, but I thought I would attempt some decorating of my own.” He picks up a pop and holds it to my lips. “Have a bite, Eve.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man feed me this much. I actually find it incredibly sexy. When I lean forward slightly to take a bite, my eyes close with pleasure. “Mmmmm,” I say happily. It’s way better than my reindeer. Dammit, Adam is full of surprises. He seems skilled at everything—other than keeping planes in the sky.

“You must be a pastry chef,” I tell him, taking the cake pop away from him to finish it off. Then, glancing down at his abs, and arms, and everything, I add with disappointment, “And you’re probably gay.”

Adam has just picked up a cake pop of his own, and taken a bite, and he nearly chokes on it when I say this. “Excuse me, but I am insulted. Is it not possible for a man to be an excellent cook and decorate delicious sparkly desserts without being gay?”

“It’s possible, but not likely,” I tell him, walking away, and tossing the stick of my cake pop in the trash. “You’re a pastry chef who works in a bakery by day, and a gay male stripper by night. I’m absolutely certain.”

Adam laughs at this, but he follows me as I move into my office. “I can assure you that I’m not a stripper, Eve. If you saw me dance, you would see that I’m so dreadful at it that people would pay me tostopstripping. They would throw money at me to get off the stage. I don’t know how to convince you that I’m not a murderer or serial killer, but I think I know how to convince you that I’m not gay.”

“How?” I say, as I sit at my computer and pull up my word processor to begin writing.

“Like this,” he says softly, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I am a little startled when his warm, large hands connect with my skin, and I am about to protest, but I find myself exhaling with relief as his fingers begin kneading my tense muscles. His hands are strong, and they seem to find all the sore spots, and gently work away my tension.

“Wow,” Adam remarks. “You are really knotted up. Your muscles are so stiff and tight—just how many hours have you been working in this cramped office?”

“Just… a lot…” I say, sighing in pleasure as his thumbs knead circles across my shoulder blades. “Okay, fine,” I respond. “Maybe you’re not a chef. Maybe you’re a massage therapist.”

“Maybe,” he says, as he stands behind my office chair, working on my neck and shoulders for several minutes. He even lets his fingers travel up into my hair, to knead my scalp.

It’s nothing short of heavenly, and I just want to sink back into his magical hands.

“So, as you can see,” Adam points out, as he kneads my shoulders some more. “I’m clearly not gay, because I know my way around a woman’s body, and know how to make a woman feel really good.”

This snaps me out of my reverie. “Hey, being able to give me a good massage doesn’t mean you’re not gay. This massage would feel just as wonderful if I were a man.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested we get married if I were gay,” Adam points out as he massages my upper arms.

“Lots of gay men get married to women,” I argue. “Sometimes they’re in denial. You could be in denial. You might be longing for Adam and Steve instead of Adam and Eve.”

He chuckles. “You’re hilarious. I can assure you that I am not in denial, and I like women very, very much. In fact, I think I like you very, very much. I’m curious about this strange girl who lives all by herself in the middle of endless snow. Did something happen to make you want to escape from society?”

I lift my eyebrows and swivel around in my chair. “I hardly know you, and I don’t even know what you do for a living. I’m not going to go spilling my deepest, darkest secrets to a stranger.”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger anymore,” Adam says, looking around at the different posters in my office. He moves over to a bookshelf and begins scanning the titles. “Are these books you’ve written? Eve Frost? Historical romance?”

“That’s me,” I say with a weak smile. “But you probably wouldn’t like them. They are very girly and sappy. Lots of people getting into ridiculous situations and falling in love. I don’t have many, if any, male readers.”

“Well, I want to learn more about you,” Adam says, taking about a dozen of my books off the shelf. “I’m going to study these carefully to learn all about your deepest, darkest desires and how to woo you.”

“How to woo me?” I repeat with amusement. “What if I’m not wooable?”

“I think you’re wooable,” Adam says confidently. “You seemed pretty impressed with the snowman cake pops, and with my expert masseuse skills. I’m sure that after I read these books, I’ll discover the key to your heart, and we’ll be a little closer to being Adam and Eve, Alaskan power couple.”

“I don’t think I’ll be staying in Alaska for much longer,” I tell him. “My family needs me, and I might be moving back home to help out. I already hired a contractor a few months back, to set up an office in the basement of my parents’ home, so I could stay for a while—but I spoke to my mom last night, and it looks like my father’s memory is getting worse really quickly. So, I might just never come back.”