He moves through the dark with the confidence of someone who memorized the layout the moment he checked in. A drawer opens. The strike of a match, a small flame that barely makes a dent.
"Power's out," he says. "Central heat too."
"How long until—"
"Until the storm passes." He sets down the match and drags a hand back through his still-damp hair. "I need to start the fire. It's going to get cold in here fast without it."
I pull the duvet up to my chin. The fireplace is directly across from the foot of the bed. It’s cast iron and stone, built to actually heat a space, not just look expensive. But the bed is closer to it than I'd originally clocked.
"We're going to have to sleep closer together tonight," he says.
I look at the bed. I look at the fireplace. I do the math I don't want to do. He’s right… it’s probably going to get cold in here.
"How much closer?" I ask.
"Close enough to make a difference."
I pull the duvet tighter. "If you touch me, I'll scream."
He stills. Just long enough that I know my comment landed.
"Yeah," he says, voice low and completely unhurried. "… With women who end up in my bed, screaming is usually the goal."
The blush detonates before I can stop it. Blazing up my throat and straight into my face with absolutely zero mercy. It's the first time since we lost power that I’m grateful it’s too dark for him to see my reaction.
He just turns and crouches in front of the fireplace, moving with that same infuriating ease he does everything.
I watch him work and immediately wish I hadn't.
Six-foot-four of bare back and boxer briefs, the firelight just beginning to catch against the muscle running along his shoulders and down his spine. The kind of body that doesn't ask for your attention… it simply takes it. Strong thighs, wide shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, and an ass that I am actively choosing not to have feelings about.
I look away.
It's been four months. Four months, three weeks, and some number of days since I’ve had a male induced orgasm. My body is simply staging a revolution because it's been grossly neglected, and honestly, any man with a pulse and a jawline would set it off right now. It’s on a thin trigger at this point. Almost anything could set it off. Including but not limited to, the dangerously attractive starting lineup for the Hawkeyes Hockey team.
It has nothing to do with him specifically. Not the way he moves like the cold has no authority over him. Not the quiet, low pull of his voice when he says something designed to crawl under my skin. Not the way he caught me on that path tonight like hauling me back from the ground was as natural as breathing.
I stare at the ceiling.
Four months of celibacy.
That's all this is.
It has to be.
Chapter Six
NATALIA
The cold hit me out of nowhere.
A gust of wind slices through the bedroom, so sharp and sudden it yanks me awake. I jolted upright, disoriented, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the doorway of the bedroom that had been left open. The comforter twisted around my legs during the night—not surprising, given I spent most of it trying not to think about Luka sleeping up against me most of the night to keep me warm. A pillow strategically placed between us to keep things where they belong.
My gaze snaps to Luka’s side of the bed to find it vacant. The clock reads that it’s almost seven thirty in the morning, which means power must have been restored early this morning.
My vision shoots past the open bedroom door to the figure halfway out the entrance of the chalet, broad shoulders, dark hair, ski jacket zipped to his throat.
"Where are you going?" I call out.
