by Dawson, Zoe
“I drove my car, but had to abandon it below when it got stuck in a snow bank, probably because I have no snow tires.”
“Unbelievable.” I huffed out a really exasperated breath and rubbed my temple. “It wouldn’t matter if your car was ready to start up and drive off! You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck here for however long it takes for that monster out there to pass through.”
“What?”
“There’s a blizzard. Did you think I was kidding?” I sent my hands through my damp hair at the panic twisting in my gut. “You’re stuck here, probably through Christmas.”
She bit her plump bottom lip and my skin caught fire. Not what I needed, on top of everything else.
“Oh, no! I can’t stay here.”
I frowned at her, shaking my head. “You have no choice and neither do I.”
Her eyes narrowed at my snotty tone. “Well, with this kind of hospitality it should be such a jolly holiday.”
I leaned down and gritted out between my teeth. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.
Chapter Two
Alissa
Okay, the gorgeous, ripped guy looming over me was really angry. I couldn’t actually blame him, because falling off that cliff had been stupid. I was lucky I wasn’t dead. But almost getting killed wasn’t the only reason my heart beat faster. Not only was I safe and getting warm, really warm, I had finally gotten a really good look at the man who’d rescued me.
The guy was built. He had a powerful chest that tapered down to a lean waist and amazing washboards like I have never seen in real life. His biceps bulged with a glorious curve of muscle that literally made my mouth water. Shocked at my reaction, I could only stare.
Then there was his face. Thick, midnight black hair was brushed back off his forehead, tapering down the sides of his temples and falling on either side of his strong neck, just brushing the heavy muscles of his shoulders. His broad forehead spanned above deep-set, pale eyes with an intense gaze, with a firm chin and a hard jawline, a prominent but narrow nose, and sharply defined cheekbones. When he talked, the way he moved his mouth mesmerized me. His upper lip was thinner than the bottom, and it looked yummy and oh-so-kissable.
His chest started to heave as he met my eyes, and maybe I couldn’t quite hide my awe, but instead of looking smug, he just looked more freaked.
He turned on his heel and left the room. I wasn’t sure if he was coming back. The look on his face had been…tortured.
My curiosity jumped up a notch. While I waited, hoping he’d be back soon, I looked around. The cabin was beautiful, with its rough-hewn logs, stunning furnishings with scattered Native American throw blankets, and the huge fieldstone fireplace in front of me. I wished Dakota…what a beautiful name for a beautiful man…would put that fireplace to work, because it was getting chilly in spite of the cabin’s sturdy construction.
He finally came back into the room carrying a case. He’d put on a blue plaid shirt and buttoned it almost to his chin. I felt disappointed. Well, obviously, he couldn’t walk around half naked. It was December, for God’s sake. But, still.
He set the case down on the floor. “Let me look at your ankle,” he said, the request for my permission in his voice, but the anger still brushed each word.
I took a deep breath, but not because of the pain, but at the thought of those strong hands touching me.
I slid my leg toward him and he grasped my foot, carefully removing the boot. He pulled off my sock, then touched my bare ankle. He was so gentle, and he huffed out a deep breath, as if he’d been holding it too long. My skin prickled and awareness threaded through me like a slow seduction. He moved my ankle around and I jumped at the pain shooting through the joint.
“Sorry,” he muttered. Then he slid his palm over my instep. His hand was hot and rough with calluses, and I wanted more, just more.
And there was definitely something about the man in front of me. Some tragic air that seem to cling to him. I wasn’t exactly the most intuitive person on the planet, but it was evident to me.
His dark head was right at my waist, his six foot frame bent over. My fingers itched to touch his hair, which was crazy. This man was a complete stranger, and it would be stupid to start something when I was stuck here for a few days. My mission for Charlie was my priority.
“You can set down the freaking backpack. I won’t touch it.”
I set it on the floor, thinking of my promise to Charlie. I couldn’t let my best friend forever down. I’d come here for the sole purpose of making Charlie’s wish come true. It was about him, and had nothing to do with getting lost in Dakota’s touch, or falling into those enticing gray pools of his eyes.
I wasn’t exactly a rebel, and I had gone outside the lines for Charlie only because it was a necessity. My parents barely knew I was alive, and Charlie was my real family. But in spite of their neglect, my parents expected impeccable behavior and obedience. My father had ‘suggested’ I major in political science, but it’s not the major I chose, and I wasn’t sure how my parents would react. They were so indifferent toward me, I couldn’t imagine they cared one way or the other what I was going to do with my life. At twenty-two, I should be making my own decisions. With my graduation in the spring, I would be free from my parents’ apathetic prison and strike out on my own.
The struggle to get them to notice me, the tantrums and the anger, the acting out, the withdrawing were all in my past. Now was a time to move forward with what I planned for my future as soon as I carried out this one final Christmas wish for Charlie.
Dakota moved my ankle again and I grimaced, but the pain was minimal.
“It’s not broken,” he said as he turned to the case and opened it.
“That’s the most amazing first aid kit I’ve ever seen. Are you a doctor?”
His shoulders hunched and he said harshly, “No.”
“A paramedic?”
“It’s EMT, and again, no. I used to be one.”
“What do you do now?”
He completely ignored my question and said, “Your ankle is sprained. It’s going to hurt for a little bit, but I’ve got some ibuprofen. I’m going to wrap it and get you some ice to put on it. The ace bandage will help with the swelling. So will the ice.” He did what looked to me like a completely professional wrapping job with the ace bandage, snug but not too tight.
He stood and left the living room. I was so thoroughly intrigued by him. His looks and body aside, there was something about him. Something…wounded. I knew about being wounded, and maybe that was why I recognized it in him.
I couldn’t forget how he’d come to my rescue, and it was only natural to be thankful for his help. He’d hefted me up an almost sheer rock face on his bare back. He’d carried me so easily against that wide chest of his. But I knew that my response wasn’t just gratitude for his heroic rescue. I wasn’t exactly innocent. I’d dated in high school and some in college, lost my virginity to a drummer I met at a roadhouse in California. It hadn’t lasted, but he was amazing in bed.
But even back then, I’d known that guy had been a boy. Dakota was a man. He was at least twenty-five or twenty-six, and if he wasn’t a doctor by now, he was still some kind of medical professional.
He was also closed down, tight as a skinflint with his money. I shouldn’t be intrigued by him, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Okay, so he was gorgeous, brooding, and built, but I was no Katherine and he was no Heathcliff, and this certainly wasn’t the moor. As I pondered my rescuer, I absent-mindedly reached down to touch the backpack, to assure myself that the precious cargo was still inside and safe.
His eyes darted to it when he came back into the room, and my possession of it clearly registered. But I certainly wasn’t going to clue him into what was inside. That was strictly my business. This was mine to do and I intended to carry it out. Alone. It was all for Charlie. Emotions from the last time we spoke tried to overwhelm me, but I couldn’t let anything sidetrack me until what I came here to do was done.
Dakota knelt down again, and when he did, the scent of him washed over me, making me breathe deep. Wow, musky and male. What a delicious combination. He set the ice on my ankle, then handed me a glass of water and some ibuprofen.
I reached out and grabbed the medication, my fingertips brushing his palm. He flexed his hand when he brought it back to his side.
Still on his knees, he said, “Are you all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened to you out there could have ended very badly.”
I melted. Most of the time I live with people who didn’t even make eye contact with me. Who could care less what happened to me, yet this man, who didn’t want me here, was concerned about my mental state.
“I’m tougher than I look,” I said. “I was scared, but you saved me. Are you asking me if I feel safe here?”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I do. Thank you for taking care of me. If you hadn’t been a jerk, I would have said it sooner.”
That brought a reluctant smile to his mouth. Damn, I didn’t think I could melt any more. “I realize it’s an inconvenience and I’m crashing your holiday.”
“That doesn’t matter. What are you doing here in this part of Aspen? This isn’t exactly part of the tourist haunt.”
“I don’t know. Your abominable snowman was pretty interesting.” He wasn’t amused and I shrugged. “It’s private. I’m not discussing it.”
He did that heavy, huffing breath thing again, rose and glared at me. I guess the niceties were over.
“Do you have any luggage?”
“In my car down the hill.”
More huffy breathing, but I saw he was going to get my stuff for me. I don’t think he could have refused. He muttered to himself the whole time he was putting on his coat and fitting on snow shoes.
Our gazes collided and I realized that he knew exactly what I was thinking. Could he see it in my eyes, how sexy I thought he was? Fire blazed in the gray depths. I saw longing there, not lust, but confusion, and wondered if he was attracted against his will.
I was floating, unanchored as our eyes met and held and fused. I felt as lost as he looked. I might have had sex, but I’d had no clue what passion was. No clue at all.
I’d just discovered that passion was tanned skin and gray eyes as elusive and light-tricked as smoke, and a character that wouldn’t falter, even when it was dangerous to continue. This man knew about passion, and my pounding heart responded to the way he returned my gaze. A part of me wanted him to teach me what he knew.
Who was this guy? I trembled with the need to understand, to know him intimately. Even more deeply than I had known my dearest friend and brother of my heart, Charlie.
I trembled because the intensity between us was palpable. Looking at him was almost unbearable.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“Don’t what?” I noticed his mouth again. It was so sexy, and this time when he spoke, I couldn’t tear my eyes away
The tortured sound of his voice made my stomach clench. The pain in his eyes deepened. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Why?”
His voice was soft and broken. “I’m not a fucking hero.”
He yanked the door open and bolted outside, and the storm howled and spit snow and freezing wind into the room, but it did nothing to get rid of the heat that rose in me. What had he meant by that comment? My curiosity only deepened. Maybe by the time this blizzard was over and it was time for me to leave, I’d have found out.
Without his presence, the enormity of what I had done in the last fifteen hours rolled over me. Great, just great. I was supposed to have been in and out of here without anyone being the wiser. Now they were going to discover my theft. They might even come after me. But I wasn’t going to back down.
And now I was trapped here with him, an enigmatic, knee-melting man who wanted nothing to do with me.
To my parents I was invisible. To this man I was…a threat? Somehow dangerous? That helped me get some perspective. Well, I would just have to weather him like we were going to weather this storm.
He had all three of my cases and my laptop when he came through the door, his cheeks red, looking windblown and covered in snow. He stamped it off his boots, then glared at me. “Your car is pretty stuck. We won’t be able to do anything about it until it stops snowing.” He sounded so pissed I didn’t dare say anything. “The pass is definitely closed by now. There won’t be any traffic in or out until this blows over and the plows come through.” He pulled off his cap and his mussed hair tumbled around his face. He pushed it back. “The storm is going to be massive, but I’ve got enough firewood, plus a generator in case the power goes out.”
Awww, that was sweet, trying to put me at ease. I bet he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. That information made me think that most of his mad might be about something else and not necessarily about me. He avoided my gaze and I was kinda relieved. He was so intense. After brushing off the snow, he picked up my cases and disappeared through the door towards the kitchen. Must be where the bedrooms were.
When he came back out, he leaned one of his broad shoulders against the door jamb. “Are you hungry?” he asked, obviously still thoroughly disgruntled.
“I’m starving.” I hadn’t eaten anything since I left California fifteen hours ago…where it had been sunny and dry.
He strode into the room and, without a word, scooped me up into his arms and grabbed a pillow. He’d done more than his share of heavy lifting today. Before I could even wonder why I was so tempted to nestle into his chest, he deposited me at the kitchen table and tucked the pillow he’d snagged under my foot. Yep, he was definitely some kind of medical guy. No normal man thinks of that kind of thing.
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly before going over to the fridge and pulling out a glass dish with lasagna in it, spooning it out onto a plate he got out of the cupboard, then nuking it. He also set a piece of garlic bread into the toaster oven on the counter.
“Old enough to know better.”
He turned, pinning me with an I’m-not-accepting-that-for-an-answer look.
“Don’t you know that you never ask a woman her age or her weight?”
“One ten soaking wet.”
He was absolutely correct. “How did you know that?”
“Practice. Age?”
“Twenty-two,” I said as he assembled my dinner and set it down in front of me. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know better.”
That made me laugh and his face changed. He got this soft look in his eyes.
“How old, Dakota?” I blew on the lasagna and took a bite. It was delicious.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a cola and popped the top. “Twenty-six just this past May.”
I finished chewing and took a drink of the soda he set down “So, you climb?”
He looked at me blankly.
“The gear, the ease that you showed coming down and going up that cliff face.”
“I cave climb, and I’ve done some summits.” He pulled out a chair and straddled it.
“I don’t particularly like heights or tight, enclosed spaces.”
“It doesn’t affect me. It must be my Indian heritage. Bound to the earth.”
“You’re Native American?”
“On my mother’s side.”
That explained those gorgeous cheekbones.
I dug into my food while he rose, grabbed a jacket hanging on a peg and opened the door to the deck and stepped out. I watched the snow coming down in a continual fall of white. With his arms full of wood, he kicked the deck door shut and went past me into the living room. Then I heard the distinctive sounds of him starting a fire.
Then I remembered. My backpack. Alarm zapped through me like electricity. He wanted to know why I was here. He might look. I didn’t want him to. I couldn’t talk about it. I just couldn’t. In my panicked state, I jumped out of the chair, totally forgetting abou
t my ankle. It buckled under me, and I crashed to the floor with a cry and a moan.
Dakota rushed into the kitchen, his eyes wild, his breathing harsh. He backed away from me as if I was some kind of threat. He closed his eyes, moaning. His back hit the wall hard and he slid down the length, covering both ears with this hands. The gut-wrenching sounds that ripped out of him stunned me.
What was wrong with him? I crawled closer, unable to bear his distress. He pulled at his arm as if it was immobile and screamed obscenities. Then a name.
“Elsa!”
It seemed as if he was somewhere else. The look in his eyes: stark terror, pain so deep it twisted my heart, and a wrenching helplessness that only made me want to soothe him.
Chapter Three
Alissa
Wanting to help somehow, I touched his forearm, but he jerked away from me, his eyes desolate. I grabbed onto him anyway, compassion making my throat tight. I scooted close to him, and simply wrapped my arms around him, murmuring, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Awash with a whole storm of emotion, my heart constricted when he uttered a broken cry and I tightened my hold convulsively when he tried to break it. A tremor coursed through him, and he buried his face against my neck, his hand spanning my head, his breath hot against my skin. With a deep, shuddering sigh, he settled his weight against me. Tenderness stole through me as I held him. “I’ve got you,” I said softly into the silence as his breathing quieted. “You’re safe.”
Charlie used to say those words when I was upset, and they always made me feel better.
He shook his head as if disagreeing with me. He pushed at me, but I didn’t want to let him go. This must be some kind of a flashback. Had he been in the military? In the war?
Who was Elsa?
He pushed me away and I reluctantly let my arms drop.
He got to his knees and knelt there, his head hanging for a moment. Then he looked up, searching the room with a quick sweep. He saw me, seemed to register that I was still there and safe, and then with a weary heave sank back against the wall. His breathing was harsh and labored as he struggled with the aftereffects of his personal battle.