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Gritting her teeth, Libby did what she’d been doing most of her life, which was putting one foot in front of the other and keeping on going.

The wind died once she reached the shelter of the trees, though the snow was deeper and it made walking that much harder. She was now very cold and her feet were numb, not to mention she was feeling increasingly tired, since it took a lot of energy to keep going in the snow. Several times she debated trying to find shelter under a tree or maybe making herself a little snow cave—it surely couldn’t be that difficult?—but the thought that she wasn’t too far from Kaius’s house kept her going.

As the light began to disappear, the cold became even more intense, creeping into her bones and icing her marrow. But she wasn’t going to let it get the better of her, not so close to her goal, so she slogged on until she didn’t think she could slog anymore.

And just before she was ready to simply lie down and sleep in the snow, ahead of her, through the trees, she saw some lights, and the spark of hope that burned constantly in her soul flared bright.

Libby headed towards the lights, grimly putting one foot in front of the other, until the lights resolved themselves into the shadow of a house. A really giant house, all stone and glass, with sharp, angled and soaring rooflines. A warm glow emanated from the big windows, and she was sure she could see the flames of an open fire flickering.

She stood there for a moment, gazing at the house in wonder, because she was sure she’d never seen anything so beautiful in her whole life. Though, that could have been because her death was probably not as imminent as she’d thought.

Libby began to stumble towards the house, slipping and sliding and falling over as her feet encountered obstacles hidden beneath the snow. But she refused to let anything stop her. Hope was now within reach, and she was going to bloody grab it if it was the last thing she did.

She approached the house, stumbling up some stairs to a wide stone terrace. Through massive windows she could see that fire burning brightly in a huge fireplace, around which were grouped low and comfortable couches. A figure stood in front of the fire, a very tall figure. A man. Perhaps it was him? Perhaps it was Kaius Frost at last?

She should really try and find the front door and knock like a normal person, but she was getting to the last of her strength and she didn’t think she could walk any further than she already had. Besides, she was freezing and if she got any colder, she’d probably die and that wasn’t even her being dramatic.

The man in front of the fire was staring down into it as if hypnotised, so taking a breath, Libby lifted her damp, mittened hands and thumped on the glass. The man didn’t move, so she did it again, and then she kept doing it until he eventually turned around, and once he did, the breath caught in her throat.

It had been twenty years, but she still remembered the boy she’d once known, with hair white as the snow around her, and eyes the colour of sleet. A boy who’d now turned into what she could only think of as a frost giant.

Back then his hair had been longer, but it was cut short now, revealing the purest bone structure she’d ever seen, all sharp, masculine angles. High cheekbones, straight nose and a mouth that would have made angels weep. He was in jeans that rode low on narrow hips and a black T-shirt that clung to wide, powerful shoulders and a muscled chest.

Beautiful. God, he was so beautiful.

She stood there, her hands against the icy glass, staring at the beautiful man on the other side of it, who was indeed Kaius Frost. She would have known him anywhere.

‘Help me,’ she screamed, though it only came out as a whisper. ‘Please.’

* * *

Kaius was not expecting visitors, nor did he want any, still less a visitor who’d somehow found their way to his lodge and was standing on the other side of the window and thumping on the glass. It had only been a year since Neve had died, and he was still coming to terms with it.

However, that didn’t change the fact that there was a woman outside and she was hammering on the glass. She was likely to be a reporter, since there had been much speculation in the media about why he’d spent the last year holed up in his remote Norwegian lodge, but he was in no mood to deal with reporters. Especially ones who turned up to his private residence unannounced. By God, if he ever found out who’d given her his address, he would fire them so fast their head would spin.

The windows of his house were double glazed and muffled sounds, so he couldn’t hear what the woman was saying. She was very pale, though, her huge eyes like black pools in the night outside, and she kept mouthing something that looked like ‘help me’.

Help was usually something other people gave, not him. Or at least, not him personally, he had people for that. Unfortunately, though, he’d sent all his staff home for the Christmas holiday, so he had no one to send out and help this woman, whoever she was. And it was clear that she did need help. Her pale skin had taken on an almost blue cast, and the coat she was wearing seemed insufficient for the temperature. She had a jaunty red knitted beanie pulled down low over her head and a matching red scarf, but both looked limp and damp, and the blonde hair peeking out from under the beanie was covered with snow. She was wearing jeans, too, and sneakers, which were stupid choices for wandering around in the snow.

A flicker of concern went through him, which was annoying. He didn’t particularly want to feel anything at all—he’d very intentionally cut himself off from his more volatile emotions a long time ago—much less worry about a stranger turning up uninvited at his door.

Still, he wasn’t a complete monster. The night was rolling in and the temperature would drop even further, and while he didn’t have much of a conscience these days, he couldn’t leave her to freeze to death out in the snow no matter how much he didn’t want her here.

He held up a hand to the woman in a ‘wait’ gesture, then put the brandy he’d helped himself to down onto the coffee table and made his way through to the lodge’s entryway. Pulling open the heavy front door and letting in a wave of cold air and a flurry of snow, he stood there and waited. When the woman didn’t immediately appear, he muttered a curse and took a step outside.

It was bitterly cold and he was only in a T-shirt, and he didn’t want to go traipsing about in the snow, looking for some idiot reporter who’d turned up uninvited. But he couldn’t leave her outside, not in these temperatures, so he went around to the stairs that led to the terrace, only to see her sitting at the bottom of them, in a pile of snow, with a look of pain on her pale face.

‘I fell,’ she said unnecessarily, her voice clear as a bell in the night air. ‘I can’t get up.’

An English woman by her accent, but God, could her presence be any more inconvenient?

Kaius muttered another curse and strode over to her, before bending down and picking her up in his arms. She gave a little gasp, but didn’t protest as he turned and carried her back inside, kicking the door shut behind him. Her clothes were damp and icy against his skin, and she was very small. She likely wouldn’t have lasted much longer outside in the snow. For some reason that thought rubbed against his irritation, turning it into annoyance.

‘Before you say anything,’ he said in English, as they went through into the living area, ‘I’m not giving any interviews. You can sit here inside and get warm, but then I want you gone.’

He put her down on the couch in front of the fire and then frowned. She was starting to shiver, which was actually a good sign. Shivering meant she wasn’t hypothermic yet. She was staring at him in shock, but he ignored that and picked up a dove-grey cashmere throw from one of the other couches and wrapped it around her in a businesslike fashion.

She kept on staring at him. ‘K-Kai,’ she stuttered. ‘I-it’s me. It’s L-Libby.’