I move to the small kitchenette, grabbing a cast-iron pot of stew I’d made yesterday. Elk and root vegetables. I put it on the hook over the fire.
"Where are we?" she asks softly. She sits on the rug now, knees pulled to her chest, bathed in the orange glow of the fire.
"Grizzly Peak. My territory."
I look at her, really look at her, the firelight dancing in those wide, terrified eyes. "You remember my name, Savannah? Or did that cold scramble your brain?"
"Logan," she whispers, the name sounding heavy and dangerous coming off her tongue.
I crowd her space, my heat a physical weight that demands she acknowledge me. She looks at the storm still battering the windows and then back at me, the predator crouching in front of her.
"You said the roads were closed, but you could have made it," she says, her voice trembling but her gaze holding mine. "Why didn't you take me there?"
I turn slowly, the firelight catching the hard, jagged angles of my face. I don't lie to her. I never will.
"Maybe I could have," I admit, my voice a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the floorboards. "But I didn't want to."
Her breath hitches. "Why?"
"Because the second I saw you at that desk, the mountain stopped breathing."
I drop into a crouch in front of her, invading her space until she has nowhere to look but at me. I reach out, my rough, calloused finger tracing the line of her jaw, feeling the heat bloom under her skin.
"I didn't just see a woman, Savannah. I recognized the only thing on this peak I ever wanted for myself. I watched you walk toward that car and I knew—that if I let you drive away, I’d be hunting you across state lines before the moon hit the sky. The storm didn't trap you here. I did. And now that you’re in my territory, wearing my clothes and smelling like my fire, you’re never going back to that lodge. You’re exactly where you belong. With me."
Her pupils shrink, blue irises stark against the whites. My nostrils flare. I can smell the change in her pheromones now, mixing with the jasmine. It’s distinct—a musky, damp sweetness that makes my mouth water.
"You... you kidnapped me?"
"I rescued you," I correct, though we both know it’s a thin line. "And now you're here. Snowed in. No cell service. No way down until I say the road is clear."
She should run. If she had any sense of self-preservation, she’d be looking for a weapon. But she doesn't. She leans into my hand.
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"Never." The word is a vow. "I’ll kill anyone who tries. But hurt you? No." I let my thumb brush over her bottom lip, dragging itdown to expose the pink wetness inside. "I’m going to keep you, Savannah."
She doesn't pull away. She stares at me, her pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue. The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken things. The wind batters the cabin, but in here, the only thing that matters is the heat radiating between us.
I stand up and check the stew. It’s bubbling. I ladle some into a bowl and hand it to her. "Eat."
She eats. I watch her. I watch every swallow, every movement of her throat. I eat straight from the pot, animalistic hunger rising.
When the food is gone, the fire has warmed the room to a comfortable temperature. Her movements slow, limbs heavy. Her eyelids droop.
"Bed," I state.
Her breath hitches, the sound loud in the small space.
She looks around the main room, her gaze searching for an exit. I nod toward the heavy timber door just off the hearth.
"Bedroom's through there."
I lead the way. My boots thud on the floorboards as we cross the living area. I stop at the doorway. I still. I watch her as she steps past me into the smaller room. Her eyes land on the massive, rough-hewn log bed filling the space.
The only bed.
"Where are you going to sleep?" she asks.
