He walks toward me, firelight catching the glint in his eyes.
"You're shaking."
"I'm c-cold."
He stops in front of me, blocking the fire, casting me in his shadow. Gaze heavy. Possessive.
"We need to get those wet clothes off." He states it as a cold fact.
My breath hitches. "I..."
"Don't fight me on this, Savannah," he rumbles, dropping to one knee in front of me.
Eye level now. His sheer size overwhelms me. His knees spread wide, encompassing mine. He reaches out and takes my hands. His palms are furnaces. He rubs my fingers, bringing circulation back.
"I'm not going to touch you," he says, voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Not like that. Not yet."
Not yet.The promise hangs in the air. Thick. Heavy.
"But you're freezing. And I need you warm. I need you healthy."
"Why?" Desperate for an answer that makes sense.
He looks at my hands in his. He turns my palm over, tracing the lifeline with his thumb. The sensation is almost too much to bear.
"Because." He looks up, dark eyes locking onto mine. "I've been waiting a long time for you to show up on my mountain."
He releases my hands and stands up, towering over me once more.
"Strip."
The command brooks no argument.
"I'll get you a blanket and some whiskey. If those clothes aren't off when I get back, I'll take them off for you."
He turns toward the kitchen, leaving me breathless, terrified, and aching with a need I don't understand.
I look at the fire, then at the retreating back of the beast who just saved my life. My hands go to the hem of my coat.
My fingers tremble, but not just from the cold. I manage to shrug out of the damp faux-fur, but when I reach for my sweater, my stiff fingers refuse to move.
I am trapped in a blizzard with the President of the Broken Halos MC. I am miles from civilization. I am completely at his mercy.
But if this is my prison, I’m not sure I want to escape.
2
LOGAN
Earlier, as I’d fought the truck through the drifts near Mile Marker Four, I’d looked up toward the high ridge. Through the swirling white chaos, a single amber spark flickered—the light from Oliver’s hearth. My brother by the patch is inside, warm and settled with his girl, his fortress finally sealed.
I’d looked back at the black abyss of the road ahead, the hunger in my gut twisting because the mountain hadn't given me my prize yet.
Until now.
The storm outside is a feral beast, clawing at the thick timber walls of my cabin, but the storm inside my chest threatens to drown me.
I stand with my back to the heavy oak door, the iron deadbolt slid home with a finality that echoes in the small space. Savannah stands by the hearth, shaking so hard her teeth rattle. She looks small. Too small for a man like me. Too soft for a life like this. And yet, every instinct I possess—the ones honedby years of violence and protecting this mountain—screams that she belongs exactly where she is.
