by Inara Scott
Shit, but it was mind-numbingly cold. “Come on, dude. Work with me, will ya?” she muttered, her hair whipping around her face.
Megan rethought the problem and stepped around to his bare feet. How could someone walk to this cabin without shoes? She shook her head and crouched, back facing him, between his legs. Securing an ankle under each armpit, she cupped his heels and pushed herself into a standing position. This time, when she moved, he moved. The guy was so big and heavy, she felt like Rudolph pulling Santa’s sleigh without the help of the other eight reindeer.
The warm air from inside the cabin embraced her body, its comforting tendrils drawing her over the threshold and into the slate-covered foyer. The lights flickered again, sending out a quiet electrical hum that raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck. She tried to drag the man carefully, but his head still thumped as it crossed the shallow ridge of the doorjamb. She winced. “Sorry.”
As soon as he was clear of the door, she set his feet down and ran to close it. The indoor temperature had probably dropped twenty degrees while she’d been outside figuring how to lug his sorry butt in. She engaged the dead bolt, and the lights died. She gasped and pivoted, flattened her back to the door. He lay, right where she left him, melting snow all over her hardwoods.
Knowing he needed warmth, she recommenced with the lift-and-drag routine until she had him right in front of the fireplace. The crisis of his exposure to the elements behind them, she looked him over more closely. The first thing her eyes latched onto was the shirt and scarf—John’s clothing. The pieces she’d used on her snowman. Was it possible this guy had walked here…in what? The pair of faded jeans he wore and nothing else? And then…he’d grabbed the clothes in desperation before collapsing at her door? Everything about that was two kinds of strange.
Well, she wouldn’t know anything for sure until he woke up and could tell her what had happened to him, so for now she’d concentrate on warming him back up.
She grabbed the thick chenille throws from the sofa and draped the first over his torso, tucking it as far under his body as she could get. His crisp, clean scent, like snow on a spruce, filled her nose. Long as the blanket was, it still didn’t reach below mid-shin.
With the second blanket, she started at his feet. Amazingly, while his feet were red, they didn’t seem to suffer any of the telltale signs of serious frostbite. She wrapped his legs completely, trying to give him a little extra cushion against the floor’s hardness. While she was at it, she sacrificed her comfy down pillow to the cause, flattening it out with her hands before sliding it under his head. His hair was a mess of longish strands that hung onto his forehead and down to his collar. It looked pitch black, but then it was also sopping wet.
Maybe she should call 9-1-1. Could an ambulance even get here in this weather? She shook her head.
Megan stood and stretched, admiring the man’s surreal good looks. Even asleep, unconscious, whatever, the guy was ruggedly handsome. Mop of shiny black hair, strong brow, square jaw, fair skin, full red lips. A male Snow White.
Her eyes traced down. Very male. No wonder she hadn’t been able to lift his shoulders. They were broad and well muscled, which the tight wrap of the blanket emphasized.
Jesus. She hugged herself. What was she doing? She was all alone, stranded in a blizzard, with a strange man in her cabin. A why-this-was-stupid ticker ran through her mind.
But did she have a choice?
§
Hot. Too damn hot.
Sweat soaked into Owen’s shirt and jeans, making the latter rough and heavy against his sensitive skin. His hair was heavy and damp where it covered his forehead. He tried to lift a hand to wipe his forehead, but it wouldn’t move. Something restrained him. He struggled, moaned.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Owen’s eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice. An angel hovered over him in the darkness. He sucked in a breath and flew into a sitting position, tearing out from under the tight blankets. She gasped and yanked herself back from him.
“Where am I?” He looked down at his hands, turned them over, practiced flexing his fingers and making fists. He wiggled his toes against the weight of the blanket.
“You’re at my cabin. I found you on my porch.”
He dragged his gaze over her. The fire illuminated the halo of loose golden curls that framed her face and covered her shoulders, made her inquisitive blue eyes sparkle and dance. He frowned at the crimson puffiness of her cheek. His fingers itched to trace the wound. His lips puckered as he imagined kissing it. Her beauty reminded him of the first snowfall of winter—clean and new and bright. Full of possibility. Far from diminishing her, the injury highlighted her fairness by contrast.
“It’s Christmas,” he said.
She eyed him and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”
He pushed the covers off his lap and yanked the suffocating wool from around his neck, relieved to be rid of their warm weight. The fire crackled beside him, drawing his gaze. He shrank back and swallowed thickly.
“How about something nice and warm to drink?” She rose to her feet, words spilling out of her in a rush. “I’ve, um, I’ve got a Coleman coffeepot just, uh, out in the garage. Operates on batteries, so—”
“I’d like something cold. If you don’t mind.” He followed her movements with his eyes. She was tall and thin. Too thin.
“Oh, okay. No problem.” She turned and strode into the kitchen.
Following her lead, he stood, testing his body, getting his bearings. He took a few tentative steps, enjoying the chill of the floor against his bare feet. He rolled his shoulders, twisted his neck from side to side. His muscles came to life as his body made its first halting movements.
He glanced to the kitchen and found her watching him. Her gaze lit on him like a caress.
“Want water, juice, or soda?” she called.
“Water, please.”
She returned with the glass immediately. He downed the whole thing in one greedy gulp.
“May I have another? Colder, if you can?”
She gaped at him. “Ice?”
“Mmm, yes.”
A blush bloomed on her face. Curious. He liked it. Wanted to touch the flushed skin.
She handed him his second glass and gestured to the couch. “Would you like to sit down?”
He took a smaller drink, his eyes following the sway of her hips as she walked around the sofa. After a moment, he joined her. The leather was cool and comfortable.
“So”—she clasped her hands together in her lap—“why were you out in this storm?”
He frowned. Tried to think. “I don’t know.” He couldn’t remember much before waking to the vision of her over him.
“What? You mean, you don’t remember?”
He dragged a hand through his wet hair. Concentrating made his head ache. “Uh, no, I guess not.”
“Oh. Well, are you hurt anywhere?”
He looked himself over, moved the parts of his body in sequence. “I don’t think so.”
“You collapsed on my porch. No shoes or coat.”
The image of a swirling snowy nightscape flashed behind his eyes. He blinked, tried to hold on to the image. “I did?”
She nodded. Fidgeted with her fingers. Stuffed her hands between her thighs. “So, uh…”
He watched, fascinated by all her small nervous movements. Such a pretty woman. “Why are you here all alone on Christmas?”
She paled, her mouth dropping open. Then she gasped. “Oh, my God.” Her eyes cut to the dark components under the TV. She cursed and flew from the couch. More curses came from the kitchen. He rose, regretting his question, and went to where she was rooting through a bag on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a small cell phone, pushed some buttons, then groaned. “Why is nothing working?”
“Can I help you?” A pit of guilt took root in his stomach. Though he didn’t understand the urge, he would’ve done anything to ease her apparent panic.
; “The time. Do you know the time?”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“I can’t have missed it. Please tell me I didn’t miss it.” She ran across the broad open space and disappeared into a dark room, then returned moments later carrying a small glass-domed clock with a shiny brass pendulum. She placed it on the stone hearth, face toward the undulating flames, and settled onto her knees.
Something stirred deep in his gut, niggled at the back of his mind. A feeling like déjà vu gripped him. His forehead ached as he struggled to concentrate, to make sense of the odd sensation.
A low moan yanked him out of his thoughts. The woman curled over the stone hearth in front of the clock, her head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking.
Her tears called to him. Down deep, on some fundamental level of his psyche.
Just as he stepped toward her, images and words flooded his consciousness. The panel of gods, the pleading man. He sucked in a breath.
All at once, he remembered his purpose. He remembered himself.
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
North of Need
LAURA KAYE
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
