CHANTEL LET DILLON lead her up the side of a sharp incline through waist-deep snow. Pine trees stood all around them, tops bending and limbs swaying as they fought the same wind that flung ice crystals into her face. Her clothes and shoes were soaked through, and even with gloves on her hands, she didn’t have enough body heat to warm her fingers. Never had she been so cold, not in ten years of New York winters.

      She slipped and fell, and Dillon hauled her back to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want you to get frostbite,” he said, pulling her more forcefully behind him.

      Chantel angled her face up to see through the trees in front of them. Other than the small circle from Dillon’s flashlight, everything was completely dark. The falling snow obliterated even the moon’s light, but the night wasn’t silent. The wind alternately whined and howled, and tree limbs scratched and clawed at each other.

      “Are you sure you know wh-where we’re going?” she called. It felt as though they were scaling a mountain, heading deeper into the forest, instead of toward civilization.

      “I’m taking a more direct route, but we’ll get there.”

      “I d-don’t think I can walk any farther.” The air smelled like cold steel, not the pine she’d been anticipating, and suddenly Chantel wondered why she’d ever wanted to go to Tahoe in the first place. She had enough to take care of in the valley. She wasn’t ready to deal with the issues between her and Stacy yet.

      “We gotta keep moving. It’s not much farther.” Dillon sheltered her with his large body and tugged persistently at her arm.

      “I’m freezing!”

      “So am I. Come on, Chantel, we need to keep walking. Talk to me. That’ll keep our minds off the cold.”

      She looked at the man who’d risked his life to save her. Hadn’t she wrecked his car earlier? Yet here he was, trudging through the snow, pulling her along, telling her to talk to him. Without him…

      Chantel didn’t want to think about what might have happened without him. “You’re c-crazy, Dillon. Why didn’t you leave me?”

      “Freud would probably say I’m trying to prove my masculinity.”

      She thought he was smiling but couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “There are easier ways to do that.”

      He laughed. “I’ve always had to do things the hard way. My poor mother used to shake her head in exasperation and tell me how wonderful my sisters were to raise.”

      “F-F-Freud would probably have something to say about that, t-t-too.”

      “No doubt. Only I don’t think being a troublemaker has anything to do with my sexuality.”

      “I think it’s the t-testosterone. My c-cousin once kicked a hole in the wall when I put him down for a nap.”

      Dillon paused. “How old was he?”

      “Three. It was my f-fault, really. I forgot to take off his cowboy boots.”

      Dillon put his arms around her waist and half carried her over a fallen log. “Your cousin’s my kind of kid. But girls can be hellions, too. My littlest is a spitfire.”

      “How many—” Chantel could barely form the words “—children do you have?”

      “Two girls, nine and seven.”

      She pictured him with a couple of dark-haired, blue-eyed daughters. If they looked anything like their father, they would be beautiful. “So you’re m-married?”

      “Divorced.”

      “I’m s-sorry.”

      “So am I.”

      Chantel fell silent again. She had no strength left.

      “Tell me about you,” Dillon suggested. “Is there a man in your life?”

      “No.” Wade was too long a story, and she was far too weary to expand on her answer. “I can’t g-go any f-farther,” she said, sinking to her knees in the snow. Somehow she wasn’t cold anymore. She just didn’t care. There wasn’t anything left inside her with which to fight. “You g-go on…”

      “I’m not leaving you.” A strong arm swept her to her feet, but she pulled away again, shaking her head. I can’t, rang through her thoughts, but she could no longer speak. Her mind seemed clouded, her senses dulled. Her body simply slowed and stopped moving, like a cheap windup toy.

      “Chantel!” The command cut through her hazy thoughts, but she refused it. Let this be over.

      The second time Chantel heard her name, she knew Dillon would not be denied. Weakly she tried to move toward to his voice, then felt the world tip and sway as he lifted her in his arms.

      “So you’re going to make me carry you, huh?” he breathed, his chest heaving as he bore her weight through the wind and snow.

      Silence fell for what seemed a long time. Then, from somewhere far above her, Chantel heard Dillon again. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispered urgently. “Don’t go to sleep! Fight the darkness, Chantel.”

      Chantel wasn’t sure she wanted to stay, let alone fight, but something about his voice enticed her toward his strength. Don’t let me go…I won’t let go.

      “I see it now.”

      His words made no sense, caused no reaction in Chantel. She only knew that he’d left her. But he was close. She could hear him talking to himself, moving a few feet away. A car door slammed, twice, then she felt herself being jostled about as he pulled and tugged at her arms, her legs, her…

      What was it? What did he want from her?

      Then it all came clear. He was stripping off her clothes.

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHANTEL’S BODY burned as it warmed by degrees, slowly turning from what felt like dead wood to living flesh again. She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she was in some sort of sleeping bag, crushed against something strong and hard—an expansive chest? Two sinewy arms circled her as large hands chafed her back. A rough stubbled chin grazed her cheek as thickly muscled legs became entwined with her own, moving constantly, trying to warm her lower extremities.

      She was being held by a naked man. And he was warming a great deal more than her