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Kirsty had said he could use one of the bedrooms to change again, but he’d felt weird about being up there now that he’d discovered she was Maya’s friend. What if Maya was going to be sleeping in one of those rooms tonight? Imagining her getting undressed and climbing into the huge bed was a dangerous line of thought, one that had the opposite effect on his body to the cold ambient temperature.

Now that he’d realized Kirsty’s link with Maya, he had become more aware of the opulence of his surroundings. The house could’ve been lifted straight from the pages of a catalog—all clean lines and monochrome palette. Not like his messy, hodgepodge place that could probably fit into this one twice over.

Sam checked his hair in the mirror, running a hand through to tousle it a little. Maya likely had a place just as huge in Glasgow, one that she’d share with that high-flying boyfriend of hers—Rich. Apt name for someone in his position. Sam rolled his eyes. He might as well have been called Richie Rich. Liv had said he was in finance or something, which was typical. Just the sort that Maya would go for, having made it clear in the past that a lowly ski instructor like Sam would be beneath her. Her dalliance with him must’ve been down to some sort of brief fantasy about wanting a bit of rough rather than a guy from her own middle-class background.

He closed his eyes in discomfort as he remembered turning to hand over that Diet Coke and being faced with Maya. He’d nearly dropped the damned thing, and that would’ve landed him in big trouble with Kirsty’s expensive light gray plush carpeting. Why on earth did anyone pick carpets that color anyway? He was willing to bet that it was named something pretentious in the carpet store, like Elephant’s Breath or Mist of the Wind. Surely brown or dark gray were more sensible shades to hide a multitude of sins.

Hopefully he’d managed to style out his discomfort by acting nonplussed when really his heart rate had been racing along faster than a cheetah on steroids washed down with Red Bull. Not that being partially clothed bothered him in general, otherwise he wouldn’t do this job. But having his ex in the vicinity was another matter entirely.

Deciding that no amount of tousling was going to make him more attractive in Maya’s eyes, he left the room to go find Kirsty. Under normal circumstances he’d head straight home. But for some reason, he had a hankering to check whether Kirsty needed any help with the clear-up. Denying to himself that reason was a mahogany-haired, chestnut-eyed, tawny-skinned beauty named Maya, he entered the kitchen. Kirsty was in there, tidying, with Maya’s assistance. Their conversation tailed off as they glanced over and caught his presence.

He cleared his throat. “Can I give you a hand before I leave?”

Kirsty smiled. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’ve got my glamorous assistant here to help me.”

Sam cast his gaze over Maya. The manner in which the neckline of her shiny gold top revealed her shoulder kept drawing his eye. An image flashed into his mind, of dragging his mouth over that very shoulder, savoring the taste of her skin on his lips. A burst of heat erupted in his core. “Lucky you,” he said to Kirsty, before he could stop himself. For fuck’s sake, shut your bloody mouth. That wasn’t the first flirtatious comment he’d made toward Maya that evening, and they’d all had as much effect as speaking to a statue. There was no point in kidding himself that he was making those comments purely to rile her either, being acutely aware that he still found her very attractive—despite her past rejection. Her feelings on the matter clearly hadn’t changed, judging by the manner in which she glanced away quickly and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Maya cleared her throat. “We’re nearly finished here anyway.”

Kirsty gave her a nudge. “You should set off now, I can cope. I don’t want you driving when the temperature drops further.”

Maya shot Kirsty a glance.

She must be driving back to Glasgow tonight, rather than staying over here.

Concern gathered in his mind at the thought of her traveling in the current conditions, despite the knowledge he’d be driving in it himself. Plus him having no business worrying about her welfare. “It’s meant to freeze again overnight.”

Maya raised her eyebrows. “It’ll be fine.” She paused. “Don’t let me keep you.”

He held her gaze for a couple of seconds, not sure how to feel about knowing that once he took his eyes off her, he might not see her again for another few years. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Maya hesitated for a beat. “Perhaps.”

Kirsty cleared her throat. “I’ll see you out, Sam.”

Managing to tear his gaze away from Maya, he followed Kirsty out of the kitchen to the front door, where he put on his fur-collared parka and grabbed his bag. “Thanks, Kirsty. Hope you guys enjoy the rest of your night.” The sound of laughter drifted through from the living room, and he smiled.

She returned his expression. “It’ll probably be an all-nighter, they’re a pretty raucous bunch.”

Sam grasped the door handle. “Hope Donna understands my declining her offer to stick her tongue down my throat. I didn’t think her husband, or my girlfriend, would approve.”

Kirsty shrugged. “Sometimes rejection works out for the best. It’s not always a bad thing.”

Sam hesitated. Was that some kind of dig at him? Had Maya told Kirsty what had happened, and Kirsty was insinuating that Maya had been right to reject him? He opened the door, keen to get out of there. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you.”

Picking his way down the driveway, he noticed a sheen to the paving that hadn’t been present on his arrival, so he trod carefully along the street toward his car. He’d been a little intimidated when he’d parked among all the high-end vehicles on the leafy avenue—his was the only banger in sight. Hopefully none of the posh residents in the neighborhood would assume he was a burglar casing the joint.

Jumping into the car, he dumped his bag and went to start it. Nothing happened. Please, not again. He waited a couple of seconds and gave it another shot, but still no luck. Resting his head back and looking up, he spoke to the heavens. “I’ve no idea why you hate me so much, but can’t you give me a break? I’ve suffered enough this evening.” Sam shook his head, glancing back down. “Why the hell am I talking to myself?”

He popped the bonnet and climbed out, heading for the front of the vehicle. The freezing cold touch of the car stung his fingers, and his breath formed puffs of condensation as he peered inside, shining his key ring torch on the traitorous engine. Fiddling around a little, he wondered what he’d do if it wouldn’t start this time. He couldn’t call anyone to pick him up because then he’d have to explain what he was doing out there. Unless he could create a believable story about what had brought him a few towns farther south from Glenavie, at eleven on a Friday night? “I fancied a random two-hour drive in my beat-up old car, despite it being icier than a polar bear’s Christmas party”?

A return trip to the driver’s side and a twist of the key confirmed that the hunk of junk was still deader than a dodo. He climbed back out and stood staring at the open bonnet, mulling over his options. Or lack thereof.

The sound of another vehicle approaching from behind became apparent, and he lifted his head, hoping it wasn’t one of the residents here to inquire why such a dodgy heap was bringing down the tone of their estate, with its upmarket selection of Range Rovers, BMWs, and Audis. He couldn’t see who was behind the wheel because he was blinded by their headlights. Someone climbed out and, as they moved forward, the light bounced off their shiny gold top.

Oh shit.