CHAPTER 1
Wynter Frost
I’m going to kill him. He’s my brother, it should be legal. I’ll claim justifiable homicide. When, if, I ever get to the cabin. I’ll push him off the deck in the back and let him see what if feels like to be caught outside in this damn snow.
One more time I glance at my phone. Still no service. Thank god the flashlight is working as dusk starts to fall. The only thing keeping me on the snow-covered road to my parents’ cabin is muscle memory and the reflectors Mom and Dad installed on either side of the road.
The rental car crapped out less than a hundred feet from the highway. It really wasn’t the car’s fault. It was the very last rental they had. I took what I could get, which was a fifteen-year-old, front wheel drive POS.
Slide-dragging my suitcase, I keep putting one foot in front of the other, only looking up into the blowing snow to check my path.
My mother’s voice pops in my head.
Stop whining. You have two good arms and two good legs. Your clothing is warm. You’re healthy and you’ve done this walk before in snow. It’s only a half a mile. You have so muchmore than others. Be grateful. Hopefully your brother isn’t seriously injured somewhere. Or he may have stopped to help someone else in more need than you.
I give my suitcase another tug when the bottom edge catches on a clump of snow. Yes, Mom. I can do this. But he will pay.
Topping the last rise before my family’s cabin I see the outside lights twinkling through the falling snow. Home. I’m almost there.
Then I notice Dominic’s brand-new Jeep Gladiator with plow attached parked in the carport, a light shining from what would be the kitchen window, smoke coming from the chimney. All warm and cozy looking.
Giving my suitcase a furious jerk, I lose my balance, slip, and fall on my back in a snow drift. Shifting snow covers my head, filling the hood on my jacket and covering my face.Dom, you’re a dead man.
Struggling to my feet, I make it to the house and thump my suitcase, then my backpack on the porch to get off the excess snow. Removing my soaked, down jacket and boots, I shake them before going inside.
Something soft and calming plays from the tape deck, and a delicious scent drifts from the pot simmering on the stove. The kitchen, seating area, and bed are void of my annoying brother. Leaving my suitcase, I haul all my wet winter gear to the mud and laundry room at the back of the cabin. As I pass the bathroom, I hear the water running in the shower.
Oh, hell no!
Because I was raised to clean up after myself, I neatly organize my sopping clothes—then stomp back to the bathroom and shove the door open just as the water shuts off.
“Thanks, Dom, for the near-death winter excursion! Next time you decide to abandon me, maybe wait until the weatherisn’tauditioning for a disaster movie! I survived a blizzard whileyou were busy beingUN-RELIABLE. AGAIN!” I shout, the last words echoing.
A man freezes in the open doorway of the walk-in shower, one hand spread against the tile. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard, sculpted biceps, and a defined chest. What the?—?
“You aren’t Dominic.”
“No. And who are you?” His voice is warm, touched with a faint accent.
My gaze drifts downward—rippling abs, a very prominent Adonis V, and a rapidly blossoming…ohwow!My libido practically sits up and claps. Snapping myself out of it, I jerk my eyes back to his face.
He reaches—slowly—for the towel hanging outside the stall, casually dries his chest, then wraps it round his waist. “No, I am not Dominic. He had an emergency and had to leave. I’m his guest. He said I could stay through the holidays. And who might you be,omorfiá mou?”
“I’m his sister, Wynter. He was supposed to pick me up at the airport. And if he’s gone, why is his truck still here?”
The man with the oh so perfect body smiles, a faint sparkle lighting his eyes. “Hisemergencypicked him up in her Corvette before the storm hit. He left me the spare set of keys to his truck in case I needed to drive somewhere. He didn’t mention that you were coming—or that he had a sister. But you do look like the girl in what I now realize is a family photo on the fireplace mantel.”
“I must have called him ten times. Damn him for ghosting me. He promised to help.”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen what?”
“Someone tried calling him fifteen times. In his rush to leave, he forgot his phone. It’s still on the kitchen island. And without his code, I couldn’t answer.”
He studies me for a moment. “You’re soaked and probably freezing. Why don’t you take hot shower, warm up, and then we can talk?”
I catch my reflection in the mirror and cringe. I look like a drowned rat. None of this is his fault. He’s being perfectly reasonable… and so damn hot standing there. There is something familiar about him. “What’s your name?”
