"What about you?" I ask, noticing for the first time that his own coat is covered in snow and ice. "Aren't you cold too?"
"I'm fine." But even as he says it, he's shrugging out of his heavy jacket, revealing the broad expanse of his chest beneath a thermal shirt that clings to every muscle. His shoulders are impossibly wide, his arms corded with strength, and there's a fluid grace to his movements that speaks of perfect physical conditioning.
God, he's magnificent.
"Stop staring," he says without looking at me, but there's something like satisfaction in his tone.
"I wasn't—" I begin, but he cuts me off with a look that sees straight through my lie.
"You were." He moves closer to the fire, close enough that the light plays across the hard angles of his face. "And I don't mind.But you're still shivering, and hypothermia doesn't care how good the view is."
The blunt acknowledgment of the attraction crackling between us makes my cheeks burn. I wrap my arms around myself, partly for warmth and partly to create some kind of barrier against the intensity of his presence.
"I don't usually..." I start, then trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. I don't usually what? Feel this immediate, overwhelming pull toward a man I've just met? Find myself fantasizing about a stranger's hands on my skin? Want to surrender control to someone whose name I barely know?
"Usually what?" He takes a step closer, and I catch that scent again—woodsmoke and winter air that makes my head spin.
"Nothing," I whisper. "It doesn't matter."
"Everything matters out here." Another step closer, and now he's close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Your thoughts, your fears, your reactions—they all matter. Because in a situation like this, the wrong decision can kill you."
"Are you trying to scare me?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive." His hand comes up to touch my cheek, his palm warm against my cold skin. "Though I'm starting to think you might be more dangerous to my peace of mind than the storm is to your safety."
My breath catches at the admission. "Joel..."
The lights flicker again, this time staying dim for several heart-stopping seconds before flaring back to full brightness. In the uncertain illumination, his face is all sharp shadows and hard lines, beautiful and intimidating in equal measure.
"Power's going to go out soon," he says, his hand still cupping my face. "When it does, all we'll have is the fire and whatever warmth we can generate ourselves."
The implication hangs in the air between us, heavy with promise and possibility. Outside, the wind howls like a living thing, rattling the windows and reminding us both of our isolation.
"I'm not afraid," I hear myself say, though my voice shakes slightly.
"You should be." His thumb traces along my cheekbone, a gesture so gentle it seems at odds with the raw power I can feel radiating from him. "Because I've spent a long time alone out here, and having you in my space, wearing my air, looking at me like that..." He trails off, his jaw tightening with visible effort at control.
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to show you exactly how warm we can get without electricity."
I feel heat pooling low in my belly despite the cold still clinging to my extremities. This is dangerous territory, uncharted wilderness of a different sort. But just like with the forest outside, I find myself wanting to explore rather than retreat.
"Maybe I do," I whisper.
His eyes flare with something dark and hungry, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, he steps back, putting crucial distance between us.
"Get changed," he says, his voice controlled. "Before I forget that you're half-frozen and do something we'll both regret."
But as I head toward the bedroom on unsteady legs, I can't help but wonder if regret is really what I'd feel.
Because despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, despite every rational thought telling me to be careful, all I want is to get closer to the fire burning in Joel’s eyes.
And judging by the way he's watching me walk away, his gaze burning into my back like a brand, I don't think I'm the only one fighting that particular battle.
Chapter 4 – Joel
She emerges from the bedroom wearing my clothes. My spare jeans pool around her ankles, the denim swallowing her curves but somehow making them more pronounced.
