Rule Breaker. Joanne Rock
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snow here. “I brought a big tent with the highest weather rating.”
Stepping under the shelter of the ledge, he shed his backpack and unzipped it to dig out the gear. Only when he pulled off his gloves did he realize she’d stopped moving. A few steps behind him, she looked lost in the spotlight of his headlamp, snow almost reaching her knees.
She might have said something, but the words were lost in the wind.
Gesturing for her to come closer, he called, “I can’t hear you.”
He set his flashlight on the rock ledge so it shone down onto his backpack while April hopped down to join him. She wrenched off her goggles, taking her headlamp with them. He could see her blue eyes clearly now.
“You’re staying?” she asked, the question huffing into the cold air between them. “With me?”
Maybe it was because she didn’t seem frightened anymore. Or maybe it was because he knew they were out of danger here. But something in the way she asked reminded him how very appealing he found this woman. And how grateful he was that she was safe.
April Stephens had been a red-hot distraction from the first time he’d seen her. Then he’d discovered how good she was at her job as she started to uncover the long-kept secrets of his mentor. And tonight, he’d seen a grit in her that he never would have expected from a woman who looked like she’d be more at home on a glossy magazine cover than a Montana ranch—let alone on a mountaintop.
From the high cheekbones and delicate bone structure to her pillow-soft lips, she had an exquisite beauty that turned male heads. But better than that, she had a fiery determination that he admired, even if he’d been on the wrong side of it when they met.
“I didn’t hike all this way in the dark only to leave you alone now, April.” He couldn’t have held back the flare of anticipation now if he tried. Not that he was going to seduce a woman he felt responsible for tonight. But he couldn’t deny the sensual draw every time he was around her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s—kind of you.” She didn’t sound convinced of that, but at least her voice sounded stronger. Feistier. “But I have a tent of my own.”
She was already wriggling out of the straps of her backpack, plunking it down in the snow while he found his ice ax, which doubled as a mallet to pound in the stakes.
“You’ve got a tear in yours,” he reminded her. He’d heard the fabric shredding in the high gusts along the ravine before he’d helped her disassemble it. “Besides, this is meant for two people.”
His shelter was state-of-the-art. Everest winds wouldn’t take the thing down. Setup took less than two minutes since he was familiar with the equipment and accustomed to putting together a shelter in a hurry. He tossed his sleeping bag and insulated pad inside and then held the canvas flap door open for her.
She still clutched her own backpack uncertainly, wind whipping the ends of her hair that she hadn’t taken time to tuck into her hat. Lips pursed, she studied him and seemed to weigh her options.
That’s when the adrenaline letdown from the rescue mission kicked in, rushing through him in the form of sweet, sharp desire.
April must have been blinded by the snow-globe effect of white swirling between them, because she didn’t seem to notice. She took a deep breath and crawled inside the tent, giving him a view of lush feminine curves that didn’t do anything to put out the flames.
Swallowing back the sudden hunger for her, he ground his teeth while he watched her carefully remove her boots and leave them in the vestibule area. He tilted his face up to the snow, needing the cooling touch on his heated skin before he got anywhere near her.
No doubt about it, he was in for a long night ahead.
The last time she checked, Weston Rivera didn’t even like her, April reminded herself as she tucked deeper into her sleeping bag in the roomy, two-person tent he’d put up as fast as a magic trick. So it was foolish of her to think she felt any kind of spark between them.
Especially in the frigid cold, on a windy mountaintop, after he’d risked his own neck to save hers. If anything, he should be irritated with her. Surely she was imagining the hot, simmering sensation as he stripped off his snow-covered outer layer. She watched him by the light of the lantern he’d set on the ground. Even in the harsh, bluish glare, Weston was ruggedly handsome.
His dark blond hair was long, past the collar of the gray flannel shirt under his parka. A light brown scruff of whiskers covered his jaw, calling to her fingertips to test the texture. With powerful shoulders and hazel eyes a woman could lose herself in, Weston possessed far too much masculine appeal.
Maybe she was the one feeling all the heat. She’d probably imagined the answering hunger in his eyes, her emotions on edge after having to be rescued from her own poor decision making tonight. Which reminded her: she owed him an apology.
The words were on the tip of her tongue when his thigh brushed hers as he slid off his work pants with the bright yellow reflective stripes on the legs. He wore pants underneath them, of course, but there was something terribly intimate about him undressing an inch away from her. Even in a two-person tent, the space was narrow—just big enough for their sleeping bags, side by side. The contact made her thigh tingle.
“Won’t you be cold?” she blurted, mostly to distract herself from the response she was having to him. She had kept most of her layers on, while her snow goggles, boots and outer waterproof mittens dried in the vestibule area. She even kept on a soft pair of inner gloves and the knit hat she’d worn under her ski hood.
She’d kept the inner fleece from her parka and the base layer of her ski pants too, since she’d shivered all the way over from the first campsite. She wasn’t sure if it was a true physical chill or just a cold feeling she had in her belly from discovering she’d pitched a tent in an avalanche zone.
“No.” Weston leaned back in the sleeping bag, so that he was almost lying down beside her. But first, he draped his discarded jacket on top of the sleeping bag, and then arranged his pants so they rested above his legs. “I use them like extra blankets. They’re uncomfortable if I keep them on, since I carry a lot of gear in the pockets.”
With the layers configured the way he wanted, he lifted the lantern and held it above her as he propped himself on one elbow. His breath huffed in the light as he spoke again. “Can I shut this down for the night?”
Her throat dried up at the sight of him so close. A rush of gratitude filled her that he’d done so much to help her and keep her safe tonight. But that appreciation was bound up with so many more complicated feelings. Conflict. Attraction. Regret that she’d put him in this position at all.
“Yes,” she rasped on a husky breath. “I’m all set.”
The memory of what he looked like in that moment—big strong arms, powerful chest and tender concern in his eyes—would be burned on the backs of her eyeballs for long after the tent went dark.
Now, her ears became more acutely attuned to the sounds around her as he shifted in his sleeping bag. A knee grazed hers, the warmth of his body inspiring a heat that didn’t have anything to do with actual core temperature. Outside the wind whistled and howled, but the tent fabric seemed impervious, stretched as tight as her nerves as Weston lay in the inky blackness with her.
“Thank you for coming out here tonight.” The words were easier to say in the dark, when she couldn’t gauge his expression or see his body language. She’d been confused by both in the past, unable to really read him. “I’m sorry to have ruined your evening with an unplanned trip up the mountain, but I’m grateful.”
On his side of the tent, he stilled. Maybe he’d just settled into a comfortable position.
“I