This was rich. He blamed her for following her and seemed to be on the verge of blaming her for the state of his car. This was the man who had just recklessly driven to her cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, and yet he made it sound like she was somehow putting him out.
He checked his watch, then glared at her impatiently. “We still have enough time to make our supper reservation at Ristorante Emmanuel Rossellini if we leave now.”
“In Milan?” Catarina was aware that her usually tempered voice betrayed hints of incredulity. “And how do you suggest we make our way through the avalanche that you just barely escaped?”
“A helicopter could land somewhere in this open space, for example,” he said, gesturing into the white swirl of the snowstorm.
“And how do you suggest we call one?”
His answer was a glare that suggested further irritation. He pointed to her house that towered in the nothingness of the white snow that was coming down increasingly harder. “You must have some way of getting out of here.”
Catarina took a deep breath, trying to control her exasperation. “I’m afraid I don’t, as we are currently in the middle of a blizzard. I am going to interpret this magical thinking of yours as a possible consequence of the head injury you have sustained.”
He glared at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You’re bleeding.” She hadn’t meant to soften her voice, but every time she caught a glimpse of the red on his forehead, something tugged at her gut.He’s just a man.
“I’m not bleeding,” he snapped.
She ignored his comment and reached up to touch the trickle of blood. This was a mistake. When she touched his skin, the electric pull between them sparked back to life. His eyes narrowed, as if he had felt it, too, and was blaming it on her yet again. She swallowed, shoving away the uncomfortable heat inside, and turned her hand to show him the blood. He didn’t speak. They stood in some sort of silent battle until she could no longer ignore his bare hands, exposed to the wind and cold.
“You need to get out of this weather,” she finally said, then indicated up the hill, in the direction of her cabin. “You might as well come in. Do you have anything in the car that you need? Perhaps clothes or toiletries?” she asked.
“I brought nothing. We are not staying.”
“Indeed,” she said. Had he actually suffered from a concussion, or was he just so arrogant as to assume that even a snowstorm was not an insurmountable hurdle for following through with the plan he had engineered? Though Massimo was undoubtedly well-traveled, clearly, he had never been to a remote fjord, far from cities and servants at his beck and call. This remoteness was what her mother had loved best about the place and, quite possibly, what had made her father stay away. Here, the forces of nature did not bend to money and power, and her father preferred to stay in the realm where it did. Massimo was likely the same, and he would understand his predicament soon enough. She knew better than to press the issue.
“Someone should call about my car,” he said, nodding in the direction of the mess of crunched metal and shattered glass that was the front of the SUV.
Someone meaning…her? Catarina resisted an eye roll because twenty-four years of managing her father had taught her to keep her tone unfailingly polite. Even when the situation did not call for it. “Unfortunately, as I mentioned, the mobile towers are down at the moment.”
She waited for his reply, but it didn’t come. He simply gazed out into the blizzard.
“Shall we go inside?” she asked, giving him another one of her patient smiles.
He ignored her suggestion and gestured again at the endless white landscape in that imperious way of his, as if the entire world was at his bidding. As if, even here, in the middle of a blizzard on an empty mountainside, all it took was a mere flick of his finger to set into motion whatever he willed. As if he expected her to respond to him the same way.
“The road,” he said. “Where does it lead?”
It was the oddest question to ask. He didn’t choose the obvious one, which was, why did you leave so suddenly in the middle of the night, on the eve of our official engagement? Actually, she was expecting something more demanding, something that started withhow dare you…?
Catarina sighed. This interaction only validated her decision to flee. How could she marry this arrogant, imperious man? Still, she drew on her years of patience and ingrained manners and answered him. “There’s not much that way, just a smattering of houses close to the border of Sweden.”
Massimo frowned, but said nothing more.
“Let’s go inside,” she said gently, coaxing. “It’s quite chilly out here.”
He looked a bit startled by her last comment, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze return fully to her. Then Massimo unfastened the top button of his coat. He moved on to the second one.
“What are you doing?” she asked quickly.
He looked at her with a kind of exaggerated patience, as if his actions were perfectly obvious. “You are cold, so I am giving you my coat.”
His gaze was almost a glare, as if it hadn’t crossed his mind that her concern about the cold wasn’t for herself. She wasn’t sure what to do with that, so at odds with the rest of their conversation.
“Keep your coat on,” she said urgently. “Please.”
She pressed her bare hand against his long fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as the electric desire buzzed across her skin. She pulled her hand away, refusing to meet his gaze. It was dangerous to touch this man. Despite the cold, the rush of heat shot through her. She would avoid it at all costs, she promised herself, even if she was snowbound in her cabin with him.
