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I swing and the ax hits off-center and bounces.

My boot slips. I gasp as the world tilts. Dane catches me around the waist before I hit the snow.

For a second, I’m suspended against him. His arm tightens. “You always this stubborn?”

I grab his shoulders. “You always this bossy?”

His eyes drop to my mouth. “Only with you.”

My pulse jumps.

Snow catches in his dark hair.

His hand spans almost my entire waist.

I become very aware that he’s holding me against his body.

“Are you going to put me down?”

“Eventually.”

“Dane.”

“You complaining?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t sound like it.”

I push away from him.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The annoying part is he’s right.

By six that evening, the storm gets worse as the wind howls against the windows while the fire cracks in the living room. Dane grilled venison steaks in a cast-iron pan for dinner while I made potatoes. And after dinner, Dane poured two whiskeys and dealt cards at the coffee table.

I lost three hands in a row. “You’re cheating.”

“No.”

“You have to be.”

“You’re bad at poker.”

“I am not.”

“You tried to make a straight with four cards.”

“I misunderstood the rules.”

“You’ve been playing for two hours.”

I throw a card at him.

He catches it.