Chapter 4

By the time they reached his cabin almost an hour later, Ivy was so cold, she was beyond hurting with it. For the moment, that was a good thing. The numbness probably masked some pain from the wreck itself. What dexterity she'd had in her hands during the climb was gone as her fingers turned into blocks of uncooperative ice. It took her three tries to get the passenger door open, and by the time she did, her rescuer was already on the porch unlocking the place. She stepped out of the Jeep and nearly went down as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

Shock. She was in shock.

Not really a surprise but unfortunate. Given she had, improbably, been rescued by a man with a certain set of skills, she wished she could keep her wits about her. Not only because he was a stranger but because it seemed as if God had hand-delivered the perfect subject for observational research on her taciturn, uncooperative hero. This guy might look like a lumberjack, but she'd bet her next advance check he was former military and knew how to use that Glock she'd noticed on his hip. She hadn't decided whether she needed to worry about that or not. It was taking a lot of energy to stay awake.

Really, she should try to take notes about the subjective experience. It would make for great detail to add into her books...

Shaking off the haze, Ivy trudged up the steps.

Michael - she'd think of him as Michael until he gave her his actual name - entered the cabin like a man on a mission, moving fast. She half-expected him to yell, "Clear!" He went straight to the thermostat, presumably cranking it up.

The interior of the cabin was warmer than the outside but still plenty cold. It was nice to be out of the wind. She could see the whole of it from the front door. A main living area with vaulted ceilings bled into a corner kitchen. A steep, narrow staircase led up to what looked like a loft sleeping space. The area below that was walled off, probably for a bathroom.

"I'm gonna get a fire going. You think you can make coffee?"

"Sure." Glad to have a task to keep herself moving, Ivy made her way over to the kitchen as he headed back outside. Probably she should take off her coat. It was soaked through from snow and the thin wool was more fashionable than functional, but the effort of shrugging it off felt like too much. Coffee first. Flexing her numb fingers, she began opening cabinet doors, looking for coffee supplies. She found an unopened can of Maxwell House and reached for it.

Something in the cabinet chittered and moved.

Ivy screamed, stumbling back and landing hard on her ass.

Before she could draw breath to scream again, there was a big, badass, armed lumberjack between her and whatever was hiding in the cabinet. Where the hell had he come from? He looked fierce and deadly and a little bit terrifying with that wickedly sharp combat knife in his hand. And something in his gaze told her he wasn't entirely here. Whatever he was seeing wasn't the critter that had startled her.

His breath hissed in and out. Sweat beaded his temple. For long moments, he held poised on the balls of his feet, ready for action. Ivy didn't dare move or speak.

A box of something fell out of the cabinet and a furry paw wrapped around the edge of the shelf.

Michael blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it, then sheathed the knife. "Looks like we've got a raccoon." Stripping off his coat, he slowly approached the cabinet, fabric outstretched.

Ivy crab-walked back around the edge of the counter, not wanting to be anywhere near that thing if it got loose. Weren't raccoons carriers of rabies?

Her concern, as it turned out, was unwarranted. Michael captured their intruder without much fanfare, carting the wriggling bundle of his coat outside. With the threat neutralized, Ivy tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn't cooperate and her body had somehow tripled in weight. Really, the floor wasn't so bad. Maybe if she had a nap...

Someone swore.

Abruptly, Ivy found herself scooped up in a pair of strong arms. She wished she were more alert to appreciate it, but she was so tired. At least she wasn't shivering anymore. He deposited her on a sofa and, with surprising gentleness, eased off her coat.

She sighed. "Thanks, Michael."

His hands paused. "It's Harrison."

Harrison. Well that was fitting. Her personal hero shared a name with the actor who played her favorite movie hero. That should make for good dreams.

"I should've asked before. What's your name?"

"Ivy."

"Well, Ivy, we have to get you out of these wet clothes. You're still losing body heat."

"Haven't even bought me dinner first." Even she could hear the slur of her words. That was probably a bad sign.

She thought she saw that faint curve of his mouth again in that God-awful beard.

With the same efficiency he'd shown at everything else, Harrison stripped off her jeans, then her sweater, leaving her in nothing but her plain cotton underwear, one of her comfy bras, and a tank top. Dimly, she regretted it wasn't satin and lace. At least it wasn't the holey underwear or granny panties. There was nothing salacious in his touch, not even anything appreciative in his gaze. He was all business. When had that started to seem like a pity?

Dragging a blanket off the back of the sofa, he wrapped her in it like a burrito. "Sit tight. I'm going to get the fire going."

Because keeping her eyes open seemed like a lot of work, she let them drift shut. What seemed like a moment later, he was tugging at the blanket.

"Wha - ?"

"The fire's caught, but it'll take a bit to really put out some heat. There aren't any heat packs here so you've got me."

He scooped her up again, turning to settle them both back on the sofa. Suddenly she was chest to very naked, very warm chest with Harrison. In a few deft moves, he'd cocooned them both in the blanket, adding another to the pile before settling with his powerful arms wrapped around her.

"Um." She didn't dare open her mouth to say more than that.

"I know it's a little awkward, but try to relax. You'll warm up soon."

Ivy was pretty sure if she'd gotten a gander at him stripping down for this duty, her temperature would've spontaneously shot up a good fifteen degrees just from watching. Because the body twined with hers was built. She could feel the ridges of sculpted muscle beneath her cheek and hands. She wished this were something more than medically-necessary snuggling because his was the kind of body she'd love to explore by touch and taste.

What is wrong with you? This man risked his life to save yours, and he's only here with you because you're more than half-frozen. He's not making a pass at you.

But oh, as she felt the warmth of him begin to seep into her chilled flesh, a part of her wished he would.

As she drifted off again, she mused, Maybe I did get a head injury.

* * *

Ivy's chest rose and fell against his, a slow, deliberate rhythm that assured Harrison the danger was past. The warmth of her breath against the hollow of his throat was an anchor against the barrage of feelings assaulting him. It had been longer than he cared to remember since he'd been this close to a mostly naked woman. But it wasn't the edge of arousal at the feel of all that skin pressed to his that was messing with his head. That was just a physical response to proximity, and he was a guy who hadn't had sex in a long time.

He'd been doing a job when he stripped her down. Taking the next steps to get her warm in he safest way possible. He hadn't been prepared for what it would feel like to hold her. Hadn't been ready for how that gradual relaxation as she slipped into sleep would fire up every protective instinct he had. Because sleep like this was a kind of trust. One he didn't have in himself and didn't feel like he deserved. She'd trusted him enough to have her back that she'd let go to do what her body needed to do.

That faith felt really damned good.

He hadn't let himself get close to anyone since he separated from the Army. He hadn't even been able to acknowledge to himself that he needed that. But the intimacy of this situation with Ivy forced him to recognize he was starved for human touch, for connection. He sure as hell shouldn't be looking for it with this woman, who would blow out of his life as suddenly as she came into it, as soon as weather permitted. But holding her, feeling her body slowly warm from his, knowing he'd give whatever protection she needed, left him with a bone-deep level of want that went so far beyond sex.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Ivy shifted against him, stretching with a little moan that was half-sexy, half-adorable before snuggling in closer, her lips brushing against his throat. That edge of arousal sharpened, giving him a far more immediate problem to deal with. He wracked his brain, cycling through baseball statistics and character lists from the books he'd been forced to read in high school English, in an effort to will his erection away. Ivy shifted again, one leg slipping between his, her knee sliding up perilously close to his balls, the ice block that was her foot dragging up the back of his calf. That worked where boredom inducement had not.

He knew the moment she really woke up. She went stock still, her body stiffening against his. Regret trickled through him as she slowly unwound her leg and eased back as far as his hold would allow - which wasn't far. He couldn't quite make his arms release her.

"Hi." Her voice was raspy from sleep and had his dick making another bid for some action.

Harrison didn't move, lest he draw attention to it. "Hi."

Ivy tipped her face back to look at him. The eyes that met his were a clear, silvery-green that made him think of tromping through snowy woods and cutting down Christmas trees. Her cheeks had a pretty pink flush he suspected it was from embarrassment rather than cold.

She cleared her throat, the color in her cheeks going deeper. "So, you're here."

"I am."

"I thought I had a head injury and hallucinated you."

He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to brush the silky dark hair back from her temple, ostensibly to get a better look at the small cut there but really because he just needed to see what her hair felt like against his fingers. "You've got a little bruise here, but I don't think it's that kind of head injury."

Ivy's breath caught and his gaze darted to her face.

"Does that hurt?"

"No." Her voice was a little breathless and her pupils sprang wide.

They snared him, drawing him in as effectively as a tractor beam.

Bad idea.

Needing to put them back on some kind of even keel, he withdrew his hand, returning it to her back. "How many of me are there?"

"Oh, I have a feeling there's definitely only one," she muttered.

He caught the laugh rumbling in his chest before it could spill out. "You're probably not concussed. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. Stiff. Kinda hurts to move."

"Don't rush on my account." Shit. Did that really just come out of his mouth? He should be getting up, getting her some painkillers, letting her get dressed, getting some food in her. But before he could say any of that, she slowly settled her head back into the crook of his shoulder.

An awkward silence descended.

Now what?

"Well," she sighed, "I sure didn't expect to end up here when I ran away this afternoon."

Harrison went rigid, his arms tightening around her, those protective instincts roaring. Was there a boyfriend or husband who'd used his fists on her? The idea of it had him running mental inventory on what weapons he had at his disposal. Not that he needed anything more than his hands.

"Did someone hurt you?" He knew his voice was one step above a growl, but he couldn't seem to stop it. There was no excuse, ever, for raising a hand to a woman.

Oddly, his anger seemed to make her relax again. "No. I'm running away from work."

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that, but it didn't make him want to stand down. "What kind of work makes you run away?"

She tipped her head back again, her lips curving into a self-deprecatory smile. "I'm a writer, and I've missed a deadline. Well, not quite yet, but I'm close to missing it."

A writer. What were the odds? "Running away helps with that?"

"Getting away from the source of the stress and having a change of scenery seemed like a magnificent idea when I got in the car. I figured I'd relax a little and that seeing somewhere new would shake something loose. I hoped it would buy me some time to finish the book, so when I got back to civilization, I'd have something to give to my agent and editor, who have been hounding me for several weeks now."

Which probably just made the writer's block worse. Escaping all that seemed like a reasonable strategy. "How much do you lack?"

"Oh, all of it." Her tone was entirely off-hand, as if not having started and already being past deadline was no big deal.

Harrison arched a brow.

Ivy just shrugged and set her cheek back against his shoulder. "I've got the world's worst case of writer's block."

Her silky hair spilled over his arm. The whisper of it over his skin made his fingers itch to touch it again. To thread through the strands so he could tip her head back and find out if she tasted as good as she smelled and what she'd feel like if they got even closer.

Stand down, soldier. Harrison wasn't entirely sure if the mental order was to his errant cock or the rest of him. Christ almighty, when was the last time he'd been this fixated on a woman? Because neither part of him seemed inclined to follow orders - he was still thinking about her naked - he began unwinding their blanket cocoon. The cabin had warmed considerably since their arrival, and she was no longer in danger. There was no reason to maintain their proximity. No matter how good it felt.

"You should get some fluids, some painkillers. If that stays down, we'll see how you do with some food. I've got the fixings for soup." Harrison swung his legs to the floor, careful to shield his lap from Ivy's view.

"I don't want to intrude."

He couldn't stop the snort of laughter at that. "I think we're past that kind of formality. And either way, we're stuck here at least until morning. The snow hasn't done anything but get heavier while you were out."

Rising, he slipped into his jeans, subtly tucking away the evidence of his inappropriate thoughts.

Ivy didn't speak again until he slid on his shirt. "I'm sorry."

Surprised, he looked over his shoulder at where she'd sat up on the sofa, her lower half blessedly covered by the nest of blankets. "Why?"

"Because nobody comes to a place like this if they want company. So I'm sorry to have intruded on your solitude."

Shoving his feet back into his boots, he considered his reply. "You're not wrong. But sometimes whatever you're trying to escape by coming to a place like this is better held at bay by distraction. And you're definitely that." Lifting his head, he caught the flash of raw empathy in her eyes. Uncomfortable, he pushed to his feet. "Besides, it's not like you went over the edge on purpose."

"No, but you did. You saved my life. Thanks for that. For all of this."

Not wanting any credit, he shrugged. "You'd have gotten up the guts to get out before long."

"I'm not sure I'd have scaled the side of the mountain without you. So the thanks holds."

Grunting an acknowledgement, he crossed to the door. "I'll bring in all our bags."

Not daring another glance in her direction, he stepped into the swirling snow and hoped it would be more effective than a cold shower.