Winter Peril

by Pinder, Victoria

  “Hold on, ma’am. You’re not going to die on me. I’ve nowhere to bury you.”

  Bury her? Those words blasted in her ears while he took off her shoes. Her body continued to shake. She didn’t stop him. Her body wasn’t hers. Her vision dissipated into floating black circles. She blinked and even her eyelashes bore icicles. Her head was light.

  He pulled off her wet sneakers.

  Her heart beat faster.

  He reached up to strip off her jacket, and again, she let him. It wasn’t like she could struggle. He wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, then went to her shirt buttons. She tried to nod, but she couldn’t do more than stare at the ground.

  Would he rape her in a minute? Her breaths were heavier and took a harder toll on her, but even in a weakened state, she realized no. The dark-haired angel had helped her.

  “Keep the blanket on, ma’am, or I can leave if you’re able to dress yourself. But we need to get you out of your wet clothes before hypothermia kills you.”

  Her jaw chattered, and every moment grew worse. Her hands shook uncontrollably. “I c-c-can-n’t.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes off you.”

  When he reached for her blouse to strip if off her shoulders, she frowned. Her gaze stayed cloudy. Naked near a stranger sounded like a bad idea, even if the man had those big, smoldering eyes. But her shoulders twitched the moment they were free from her wet clothes.

  He dropped the shirt and jacket on her shoes and fixed the blanket tighter around her waist. “We have to get you dry and warm. You’re not helping yourself. Just relax. I won’t hurt you. But we need to get your jeans off next.”

  She shook her head, but her chest seemed warmer. Her teeth still chattered, though.

  “Look to the couch. I brought you dry clothes and another blanket. You’ll be warm.”

  Doesn’t mean you won’t hurt me. Her mind screamed out crazy thoughts. She had to trust him. She’d broken into his house. Her hand went to his arm, and the warmth burned into her. She nodded and swallowed.

  He adjusted the blanket, then lifted her body up to yank off her jeans. Her body was limp and numb. If he raped her, she wouldn’t feel anything.

  He threw the jeans onto the heap and readjusted the blanket around her. She sighed as his skin brushed hers, and he shook his head. “You’re soaked right through. It’s time to get you dressed.”

  He reached for the red plaid clothes behind him. Whoever he was, he was her dark savior. Her body heat rose from his hands on her waist, and he picked her up to stand. She stumbled and had no balance. He kept her steady and struggled to unfold the red flannel plaid. The heat went through her, but she stared at him.

  She burned when he slid his hands down her body to keep her on her feet.

  In his arms, she became warmer than the fire, but her entire body was numb. He shook his head and stared at her forehead. A moment later, he picked her up to desposit her on the couch next to the clothes.

  “Your underwear and bra are soaked through. Are you able to finish this yourself?” He reached next to him to pick up the red warm flannel. Her eyes didn’t quite take it in. “If you drop the blanket and reach up, we’ll get this on you fast.”

  She struggled in her blanket and instead reached for her bra, but her fingers shook uncontrollably.

  “Erica, whoever you are, put your hands up and get on this nightgown first. It will help you.”

  She heard her heavy breaths, but her body shook violently. Then she closed her eyes and dropped the blanket. Her breasts brushed against his chest for an instant, and then he took her hands in his to hold. Her eyes opened as he struggled to get her wrists inside the sleeves. She let out a snort and realized she needed to trust him the second the nightgown covered her.

  “Can you get to your bra and underwear?”

  She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  He nodded, then reached behind her nightgown to unsnap her bra. “My wife used to wiggle her bra off and stay dressed.”

  Used to. Past tense. Her lips ached to kiss him, but Erica shook her head. She wasn’t herself.

  He gulped, reached inside the nightgown, and traced her legs to her underwear. If he had wanted to rape her, it would have been easier without the nightgown. Now, though, her legs had sparks of life from where he brushed her raw skin. A moment later, he tugged her cotton underwear down, and the cold wetness of the material chilled the sparks.

  Freed from the cold, she pushed herself into his massive chest and broad shoulders and brushed her hands on his back.

  “Hell. What are you doing?”

  She licked her chapped lips. “W-warm . . . Y-y-you . . . you’re h-ot,” she managed.

  As he hugged her for a moment, he closed his eyes. “Body heat will help you, I suppose.”

  He tucked her closer in his arms, and she breathed better. The man had an olive tone to his skin, and the smell of pine and sandalwood left her unable to think of anything else. His warmth stopped the insistent shivers that raced through her. The heat inside her grew warmer, but not entirely. She’d not lose him. Her brown-eyed angel made her body tingle. She jostled her hips and scooted right into his manhood. A lightness went through her and made her giddy. She traced his body with her fingers while he whispered in her ear, “Stop. Don’t do that, sweetheart. I’m helping you.”

  Her muscles were awakened. Would sex warm her? She scooted backward. The question made no sense. The heat she had inside exploded every time she stared into his tantalizing brown eyes, and right now joining with him was all she could imagine. She rubbed her forehead. This was crazy. She made no sense to herself right now. Sex was not the answer.

  Her hands trailed down his strong thigh. Unlike the rest of her family, Erica Mira never took chances. She never threw caution to the wind. Perhaps her near-death moment or how her knees buckled near this stranger drove her. She licked her parched lips and then decided to follow her instincts.

  She pushed herself up to kiss this beautiful, dark stranger. His skin smelled of oak, and her body loosened to wrap herself closer to him while her lips found his. She sighed and pressed herself into him, and his mouth ravaged hers for a split second.

  He stood up and wiped his lips. “You’re delirious.”

  The fire inside her grew, though she couldn’t speak. The desire in his eyes melted some of the ice.

  “I’ve not been near a woman since my wife died.” He turned away from her and stared into the fire. “And I don’t take advantage of people.”

  Shivers ran through her without him next to her. She didn’t even know the man’s name, yet she had visions of his naked body in hers. She stared at his back and tried to take stock. She needed to survive. “Th-ank . . . y-you.”

  She sighed and waited for him to turn back around. Finally, he stared back at her, and it looked like he intended to say something. She opened her mouth and stared into his eyes. “I . . . I don’t . . . kn-know y-our . . . n-name.”

  Her lips ached for another kiss. She shouldn’t have pressed herself on him. He had been her angel. She closed her eyes and inhaled the wild, untamed forest on his skin as he sat down beside her.

  He ran his hand down her arm and offered her a tender smile. “You can speak. That’s good. I’m keeping you warm. No more deaths in this house.”

  Deaths? Her skin grew goose bumps. Her skin warmed from his hand on her arm. She sighed and knew her reaction to him made no sense. Her entire body shook, and coldness enveloped her again. But the warmth of him made her body relax. And she spoke without the chatter. “What’s your name?”

  “Gabriel.”

  A sigh escaped her lips, and she smiled. He was an angel. He sat them down on a small beige sofa.

  She thought she heard a moan in the distance.

  She swallowed and realized that tonight she wasn’t herself. Outside, ice pelted the ground, and on her skin it had been heavier than rain. Now his fire kept her alive. She inhaled and again let the smell of sandalw
ood relax her. The outside forest had seeped into his skin, and she couldn’t stop herself from the need to touch him.

  He stepped back suddenly and without warning. Her hands shook, but he pulled away.

  Her head ached. He stormed out of the room. Where was he going? What had she done?

  A second later, he came back with a Santa hat.

  He tugged it on her head and cracked a smile.

  Her eyebrows rose, or at least she thought so. “Wh . . . y?”

  With his eyes narrowed, he checked her temperature. “My mother would answer that eighty percent of all body heat escapes from the head. I’ve never looked that up, but it’s why we wear hats when we go outside and to sleep in. This was the best I could think of.”

  Her angel took care of her.

  When she could talk more, she’d thank him. For now, she closed her eyes and snuggled into his warm chest until she fell asleep.

  Tomorrow, her problems would return, but tonight, she had a protector.

  Chapter 2

  In the darkness, something banged. Erica ran her hand through her hair and adrenaline rushed through her body. Something brushed against her pillow. She opened her eyes and stared around the blue room. A Santa hat lay next to her head. Erica rubbed her arms. This was not the room with the books she’d stumbled into last night. A fire crackled, but nothing stirred near the door. Was there something in the wall? She sighed. The fire probably made the sound. Then she tugged her blanket up to her chin. Her neck was stiff and sore. Her mind pushed past the pain. Where was she?

  Her hair itched. She put her hand up to her head. What was that? She shook it off and saw white strands of lace on her almost white fingers. The Santa hat must have shed. The angel had put that on her last night. She ran her fingers through her matted, tangled hair.

  Who was the dark-haired man? And what was his name? He’d said it, but she couldn’t remember much except his sandalwood scent.

  She stared around her dark room at the pale blue walls. She blinked and leaned closer to the wall nearest her bed. The pale blue let the whiteness of the bedspread almost glisten, and the curved edges of the dresser shone to match the walls. Erica shrugged. It reminded her of a designer bedroom from a magazine. Her angel was all man, and unless he was gay, he had not decorated this room.

  She closed her eyes and remembered his largeness, which had brushed against her. She smiled. He was definitely not gay.

  She gazed around once more and decided she was in a woman’s room. The angel’s wife?

  Did the handsome angel have people who lived here? A family? Children? And who lived in a desolate chateau, in the middle of winter in Maine, which might have been a hotel or ski resort? What sort of wife let her husband isolate her?

  She sighed. She might remember wrong, and she shouldn’t ask questions without facts.

  And did he have a phone? She needed her mother.

  Arggh.

  She blinked and sensed someone staring at her—from where? “Hello?”

  Awareness grew in every fiber of her body. No answer came, and Erica tilted her head and stared at the wall. Why?

  When she forced herself to sit up, the winds howled and pummeled the windows on the other side of the small room. She swallowed. The storm still blew. The walls likely echoed the winds. She scanned the room and tried to find the face of the man from her dreams. Had it been real? A deep voice that said “dead wife” replayed in her ears, while his big, brown, smoldering eyes held a flame of desire. The second he had stared as she was naked and vulnerable in front of him, she grew warmer.

  Last night, she’d been half-crazy. Good girls never stood around for a man to gaze at, but then, Erica had never had time to be anything other than a good girl. Who had she been last night? The hysterics over body heat sounded like another woman. Her sister was her opposite, but Erica’d never disappear into thin air like Kimberly had. Erica threw the spread off her feet and squared her shoulders. Her mother depended on her.

  The issues of life weighed down on her. She rocked on the soft daybed and took in her surroundings. Yep, this room was like in a magazine.

  She shivered and grabbed the blanket to wrap around her body.

  Heat had saved her.

  Heat and the man.

  Her limbs trembled at the memory. His well-formed body and callused hands had sent warmth through her when she’d been so cold. She closed her eyes and rubbed her throat. Dizziness overtook her thoughts. Had she fallen asleep in a stranger’s arms? With a slight tremble, she steadied her nerves. Last night had been a strange, out-of-body experience.

  Her muscles tensed. Where were her clothes? She rubbed her neck. Her cell phone? Her throat went dry. Could she make a call? Her mother’s health was important. The doctors would give her an update. She caught sight of it on the dresser on the other side of the room.

  She swallowed and stood, and the frozen floor sent a chill right up her legs.

  Hardwood floors were warmer than the marble in the lobby, but the cold raced further up her legs. She glanced around and jogged in place. Her gaze narrowed in on a pair of slippers. They’d have to do. She jumped until she had her feet inside. Though her heels didn’t fit into the cushioned leather, at least the slippers stopped the cold. She wore a warm flannel nightgown, a little too tight in her chest area, and it wasn’t as long as needed. Her lower legs showed, but the nightgown covered more of her than a few of her outfits. Who had owned this? His dead wife? Why did she keep thinking about that?

  If this was hers, the woman must have been small. The blonde in the portrait with the stormy blue eyes?

  Whish.

  She jumped back.

  With her palm pressed over her lips, she laughed off the wince. Had she become hypersensitive to the wind’s howl outside?

  Her stomach growled. Food always kept negative thoughts at bay. When was the last time she had eaten? On the plane yesterday morning? She took a deep breath. She could hold off. Right now, she ought to find out where she was and call home.

  At the dresser, she checked her phone and turned it on. Her battery was low, and she had no service. She dialed her mother anyhow with a small hope. The phone never connected. She choked back her fears. To save what was left of the charge, she turned it off.

  She kept the blanket wrapped around her as she opened the door to a large, drafty hallway. She made her way back towards what she hoped was the library. She needed to figure out where she was, and maybe the dark angel who had saved her had answers. If he had a family here, though, she needed to run away and never face that man ever again.

  She never had thoughts about sex.

  Romantic thoughts had no place in her sterile life. She was much too busy.

  The silence in the room had held echoes of something else. Erica crossed her arms. The small living quarters held no pictures. Her mind took her dare and replayed the past. She closed her eyes and recalled strong shoulders, a muscular body, and dark, tortured eyes.

  No. She’d not turn into that woman. She opened her eyes, racing down the hall. She passed another door, then a set of sliding doors. She shook her head and walked farther down the hall. She found the library and smiled.

  The room was lined with portraits. The people wore mid–twentieth century clothing. The angel’s parents? She blinked. The man in the frame had similar eyes, but they followed her around the room. Erica hugged herself. The fireplace still had embers. She hesitated. How far had she come last night? She walked through where? She slid the double doors open to check out the lobby. Frigid air rushed through her body. The lobby smelled of dust. She forced herself to ignore her itchy nose and continue towards the middle. Dusty portraits of Scottish lords and ladies littered the walls. In the main, cold front room, the marble mausoleum’s ceiling went at least three stories, and the airy design made the house seem more like a palace. This place had to have been a hotel. The staircase was too grand for a house, and Maine had ski resorts. The hall had a long, dull-red carpet that clung to the floor.
Her feet itched a bit, and she realized the red rug was hard to see through the dirt. Her throat was parched, and she could see her breath.

  Her toes became numb again, but she opened the front door.

  Crash.

  What was that behind her? She hadn’t touched anything. She bit her lip and slammed the door closed a moment later, but she was too slow. Snow had fallen on her feet and into the house. She yelped, and her voice echoed. The snow brushed against her chafed skin, and she froze.

  Had that sound been the snow bank outside that tipped? Erica shook her head.

  Then she ran back to the library. On her way, the blonde woman’s eyes in the portrait followed her. Erica sped up. The fire would warm her. Once inside the double doors and the living quarters, she made her way to the fire. Her heart raced.

  A bubble of laughter escaped from her lips. Why? She never laughed. She covered her mouth with her hands to make the sound stop.

  Seconds later, she turned around to see the man from her tortured dreams of last night. He charged toward her from the other hallway, which led to their rooms from the library. A living room did not house this many books.

  The deepness of his eyes suggested concern. Had he heard her yell? She gazed at the dark-haired man as he ran toward her. His muscles were now hidden under a deep blue shirt, jeans, and heavy snow boots.

  She nodded. “I’m okay. You don’t have to watch out for me.”

  “You yelled.”

  Warmth crept into her cheeks, and she couldn’t meet his gaze. He let out a huff, walked past her, and then locked the double doors.

  She flinched and tried to step away. “I am sorry.”

  He kept his distance and stood with his feet apart. “For what?”

  Her face must be in flames. She nodded, though she had no answer that made sense. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”

  He dropped his arms to his side, and she stared up at him. “Where were you going? Are you cold?”

  Her legs wobbled. “No.”

  He took a step back toward the door. “Erica, there’s nowhere to go.”