Passion and Peril: Scenes of PassionScenes of Peril

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Cheeks flaming, she pulled his jeans down his long legs and rolled him onto the rug by the fire. Then she covered his impressive form with the sleeping bag and blankets. She added several thick logs to the blaze and took a sip of cocoa. It had grown cold.

  Although she’d planned to bandage his head, she was exhausted, and reversing the effects of hypothermia seemed more important. Shivering, she slipped out of her damp undergarments and crawled in beside him. With the fire at his front and her body heat cuddling his back, he’d warm up in no time.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and snuggled close, shutting her eyes.

  Chapter Two

  COLIN REID HAD the worst hangover ever.

  His head pounded fiercely. His bladder was full, his tongue thick and his throat dry. Strangely, he had no recollection of drinking. He didn’t remember much from the day before. He didn’t remember night falling, period.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The sound of fire crackling, close enough to warm his face, urged him to open his eyes. He smothered a groan as the flickering flames came into focus. His temple ached as if he’d been kicked by a horse. He lifted a hand to his head, letting out a hiss of discomfort as his fingertips encountered a tender lump.

  What the hell had happened to him?

  He didn’t recognize the fireplace as the one in his rented cabin. The rug underneath him, also unfamiliar, tickled his bare skin.

  Damn! He was buck naked.

  And he wasn’t alone. Colin felt a warm female form—also nude—against his back. Her breasts were touching his shoulders. One slim thigh was wedged between his legs. His morning erection rose up and said hello, responding to the stimuli.

  It felt weird to become aroused over a person he hadn’t seen. He didn’t know who he was with or what she looked like. He didn’t even know where he was. His thoughts were muddled, the previous evening a complete fog.

  Was it even morning yet? The only light in the room came from the fire.

  Straightening, he turned to look at the sleeping woman. Either his mind was playing tricks on him or she was smoking hot.

  Her hair was a tangled mass of honey, her skin pale and fine. She had high cheekbones and a freckled nose. The sleeping bag was pushed down to her waist, revealing small breasts with soft pink nipples. Colin’s pulse throbbed to look at her.

  Had this beauty knocked him out and dragged him to her lair?

  Eager to see more, he tugged the sleeping bag lower. She was pretty all over. Slender but not delicate. Her hips were nicely curved. She had a sweet little triangle at the apex of her thighs. He wanted to bury his face in it.

  He must have made a caveman-like grunt of appreciation, because her eyes sprang open. They were blue, wide set and intelligent. They flitted down his body, settling on his erection. She grabbed the sleeping bag and jerked it back up, covering herself.

  Huh. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong idea about her. If she’d had her wicked way with him, he’d like to be able to remember it.

  “You’re awake,” she said, moistening her lips.

  “Yes.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds. “How—how do you feel?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “You were in an accident.”

  “I was?”

  She nodded.

  That explained the cut on his brow. He was mildly disappointed that he hadn’t been kidnapped for sex. “What happened?”

  “You crashed into the lake. I pulled you out.”

  He squinted at her, trying to evaluate her sincerity. It seemed like a wild tale. He preferred his equally far-fetched version. “How did I get here?”

  “I helped you walk. You were hypothermic.”

  Blood started pumping away from his groin, back to his brain. No wonder they were huddled up naked together. She’d jumped in an ice-cold lake to save him, dragged his semiconscious ass to her cabin and warmed him up by her fire. “Oh,” he said, embarrassed now that he’d exposed her so rudely. “I’m sorry that I, uh...” He made a vague gesture, indicating her nether regions.

  Her cheeks flushed pink and her slender throat worked in agitation. He tore his gaze away from her, feeling like a perv.

  “Do you remember anything before the accident?”

  “No,” he said, frowning. “I think it was snowing....” As he tried to conjure up more memories, a sharp pain ricocheted inside of his skull, making him wince. “I rented a cabin near Pine Lodge. I don’t know why I was out driving.”

  She grabbed a thin blanket and slid it under the sleeping bag. “Pine Lodge is only a few miles away,” she said, her body covered as she rose.

  “What time is it?”

  She glanced at a clock above the fireplace. “Almost six. I’ll turn on the radio and find out if the roads are closed. Do you want some water? I have painkillers, too.”

  He needed to use her bathroom, but he wasn’t sure he could get there on his own. He also didn’t want to stumble around her house naked, even though she’d already seen his full monty. “Where are my clothes?”

  “They’re wet,” she said, clutching the blanket to her chest. “I might be able to find something of my brother’s for you.”

  He glanced around the cabin in chagrin. Brother?

  Her lips curved into a smile, as if she could read his thoughts. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  He watched her walk away, bare toes padding across the hardwood floor. Even her feet were sexy. Closing his eyes, he rested his aching head on a couch pillow. The last thing he remembered was finishing his latest novel. He’d come to Twin Lakes for this purpose and to get away from it all. He’d been feeling distracted and stressed out in L.A. His Paranormal PI series, now completed, was in production with a cable-TV network. The pressure was on for him to deliver a bang-up finale.

  Had he emailed the document to his editor?

  Even if he hadn’t, and his laptop was at the bottom of the lake, he stored his files online. A recent version of the book had been saved.

  His valiant rescuer returned with a pair of gray sweatpants and a checkered flannel shirt. She set the garments on the couch and turned her back to give him privacy. Clearing his throat, he pushed back the sleeping bag and put on the sweatpants. They were a size large and fit comfortably. He preferred wearing boxers or briefs to freeballing, but she hadn’t included underwear. The shirt was snug across the shoulders, so he left it unbuttoned. Grimacing, he used the couch to pull himself up to a standing position.

  His headache went into overdrive and he swayed on his feet. He gripped the armrest, black spots dancing in his vision.

  “Need help?” she asked when he moaned.

  “I think I’m all right.”

  She paid no attention to his stupid male bravado. “Here,” she said, putting one arm around his waist. The top of her head was at his nose level, which tempted him to smell her hair. “I don’t want you to fall and knock yourself out again.”

  He shuffled away from the couch with her, noting that she’d also put clothes on. Black leggings with sheepskin boots and a red thermal undershirt. The shirt was snug and V-necked, with three little buttons down the front. Her breasts looked nice in it. They looked nice without it, too, but he tried not to think about that.

  The cabin was cozy, with a small kitchen and living area. There appeared to be only one bedroom. The bathroom was on the left, just past the kitchen.

  When they arrived at the bathroom door, he insisted on parting ways. “I can manage on my own.”

  Her gaze dropped to his crotch, doubtful. “Okay.”

  Heat crept up his neck as he closed the door. Although he didn’t want her assistance with this particular task, the idea of her touching him in a different context was appealing. Maybe he’d been too buried in
his work lately. Despite his head injury, his physical response to her was overpowering. He needed to get out and meet women more.

  Keeping one hand braced on the sink, he managed to use the toilet without taking a dive. When he was finished, he washed up and glanced in the mirror. He’d hoped that the cut on his brow would give him a tough-guy edge. No such luck. With a lump on his forehead and one eye swollen, he looked like Quasimodo.

  So much for being rugged.

  He left the bathroom feeling a bit steadier. She assisted him back to the couch, her slender body warm against his side.

  While he rested, she brought him some water and painkillers. He took his medicine like a good boy, watching as she added wood to the fire, folded the blankets in the living room and heated up some soup. She also turned on the TV for a weather update, although it was clear the storm was still raging outside.

  Her motions were efficient and graceful. She was obviously a capable woman, but she didn’t look any older than the college students in his classes. He couldn’t imagine how she’d pulled him from a submerged vehicle.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She glanced at him, curious.

  “For saving me.”

  “I owed you one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She came back to the couch, taking a seat across from him. “A tree branch had fallen into the road from my yard. I was trying to move it when you came around the corner. You swerved to avoid me.”

  Her account sounded so familiar—and yet when he tried to picture the scene, a sharp pain pierced his skull.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as if she’d caused him distress.

  “No, tell me more. Please.”

  She moistened her lips. “Well, you crashed into the lake. I think you were unconscious before the vehicle sank. I waited a minute and you didn’t come up. I knew you needed help, so I...I jumped in.”

  “Jesus,” he said, studying her face. “You could have died trying to save me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t the water cold?”

  “Freezing,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d have done in the same situation. Nothing so daring and heroic, he suspected. “How did you get me out?”

  “The front windshield was broken and you were only a few feet under. I didn’t have to dive down far. I reached in and grabbed your sweater and you just floated up. You weren’t wearing a seat belt.”

  He’d been driving in a snowstorm without a seat belt. “That’s strange.”

  “Not your usual style?”

  “No. I’m from L.A. We break every rule but that one.”

  “You were going pretty fast.”

  That wasn’t typical for him, either. He might push the speed limit on the freeway, but he wouldn’t be reckless on an unfamiliar mountain road during extreme weather conditions. “Next you’ll tell me I was drunk.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You vomited lake water. It didn’t smell like booze.”

  He’d thrown up in front of her last night. This morning he’d exposed himself to her. “God,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

  “Soup’s ready,” she said brightly. “I’ll bring you some.”

  Although she had a round table in the kitchen with two chairs, she set up an old-fashioned TV tray for him in front of the couch. The chicken-noodle soup and saltine crackers reminded him of his childhood. It was an odd breakfast, but his stomach might not be able to handle anything more. When she grabbed a lemon-lime soft drink from the refrigerator and poured it into two cups, he felt a pang of homesickness. Perhaps the near-death experience had made him sentimental. “You must know my mother.”

  “Hmm?”

  “This is her cold remedy.”

  “Chicken-noodle soup?”

  “With a soda on the side.”

  She laughed, bringing the drinks to the couch. Not bothering with a tray for herself, she set her cup on the end table and curled up next to him with the bowl in her lap. “It’s everyone’s cold remedy. There’s a song about it.”

  “I’ve heard it.”

  “Can you do the dance?”

  “Maybe later,” he said, smiling.

  She lifted a spoonful of broth to her lips and blew. Colin dragged his gaze away from the mesmerizing sight and concentrated on his own soup. It was hot and comforting. Again he thought of his mother. She’d always taken care of him on her own. He felt a little guilty that his first concern after learning about the accident had been his computer.

  “Is your phone working?”

  “My cordless and cell are both out.”

  “Email?”

  “I can check, but I usually don’t have service during a storm.”

  He’d already known that internet access was limited in this area. It was one of the reasons he’d come, to unplug.

  “Is someone waiting for you?” she asked.

  “No. I was alone.”

  She didn’t ask why, to his relief. He always found it awkward to talk about his writing. People were amazed that he’d managed to finish a book, as if this was some stellar achievement. Now that he’d found commercial success and landed a television deal, women were impressed. He was unsettled by the attention.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Colin.”

  “I’m Paige,” she said, offering her hand.

  He felt a zing of electricity as his palm touched hers. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She drew her arm back shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It was adorably mussed, falling in loose waves to her shoulders. “You look much better.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. Last night one of your pupils was this big.” She made a circle with her fingers and thumb, holding it up to her eye like a telescope.

  He laughed at the pirate-like expression. “I must have a concussion.”

  “You were talking nonsense.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Something about feeding the cat.”

  He glanced around. “Do you have a cat?”

  “No, but I’ve been thinking I should get one. The cabin has seemed a little empty since my brother left.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Oxnard. He moved there with his girlfriend.”

  “Ah. I live alone...with a cat, so I know how it is.”

  “Does it help, having a cat?”

  “Totally. Whenever I hear a spooky noise, Ghost goes to investigate. She’s much braver than I am.”

  She smiled, cocking her head to one side. “Why did you name her Ghost?”

  “She’s gray and appears out of thin air.”

  “I hope you didn’t forget to feed her before you left.”

  “No, she’s boarding at the cat hotel. It’s very posh.”

  They’d both finished their soup, so she took the dishes to the sink. A local-news update indicated that portions of Twin Lakes Road and Highway 395 were impassible. Record levels of snowfall were predicted for the weekend, so the situation would get worse before it got better. Residents were advised to sit tight.

  “I think we’re stuck here until the storm passes,” she said, turning the volume down.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “You probably weren’t counting on an uninvited guest.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Although he appreciated her hospitality, he didn’t want to impose. She was young and beautiful. He was a total stranger, clearly a sex maniac. Even if she forgave his earlier gaffe, she couldn’t feel comfortable with this situation.

  But what could he do? He wasn’t strong enough to walk acro
ss the room, let alone snowshoe several miles to his cabin.

  “How’s your headache?” she asked.

  “Not bad.”

  “I’ll bandage that cut for you now. I meant to do it last night but I fell asleep.”

  When he didn’t protest, she approached him with the first-aid supplies. He sucked in a sharp breath as she touched a wet cloth to his brow. “Is it tender?”

  “Just cold,” he lied.

  She increased the pressure, scrubbing the dried blood away. He could feel fresh beads well up under her ministrations. “This might need stitches.”

  He winced at the thought.

  “It’s going to leave a scar.”

  “Good. I’ve always wanted one.”

  “You don’t have any?”

  “Not on my face.”

  She continued to blot his forehead with the edge of the cloth, making a sympathetic noise. Her breasts were inches from his mouth, which was disconcerting. He forced his gaze higher, only to become fixated on her smooth, pale throat. A pulse fluttered near the silky hollow. Intuition told him that the spot was extra sensitive. His mind generated an erotic picture of her underneath him, arching her neck as his lips descended.

  He closed his eyes to dispel the image.

  Oblivious to his lust, she applied a butterfly bandage to the wound, holding it closed. It felt better immediately. She took a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped it in a paper towel. “This will help with the swelling.”

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly, placing the cold lump against his forehead. Maybe he should put it in his lap.

  She turned and focused her attention on the fire, stabbing at it with an iron poker. Her backside was just as luscious as her front. The snug black leggings molded to every curve. He had to close his eyes again.

  After a few moments, his arousal faded. The warmth of the fire made him drowsy. Smothering a yawn, he set aside the cold peas and rested his head against a pillow. When she put a blanket on him, squeezing his shoulder gently, he was already half-asleep.

  Chapter Three