Cassie Miles - Footprints in the Snow

She couldn’t believe this was really happening. A strong, gorgeous man had appeared from nowhere to sweep her into his arms and rescue her from certain death. He was her knight in shining ski gear.

Though she barely had the strength to stand, she knew his strong arms would never let her fall. Dazed and in shock, she abandoned herself to this swirling fantasy.

Shana stumbled off balance. Her back rested against the cabin wall. The cold from outside crept through the logs and chilled her spine, contrasting the fire that burned inside her—an intense heat generated by his kiss.

“Shana,” he whispered, “are you all right?”

She wanted to say yes, but her head was spinning and her knees were weak. “I need to sit down.”

He guided her the few paces to the narrow bed and helped tuck her bare legs under the covers.

Stretched out on the bed, she looked up at him. So handsome. So gentle. This man had saved her life. He was her real-live hero, and he kissed like an expert.

She wanted more kisses, a lot more. This was crazy. Making love to a total stranger? Shana knew better. Years of working in the field, mostly with men, had taught her self-control. But she wasn’t at a job site. This cabin, tucked away in the mountains, was a different reality. Regular rules and restrictions did not apply.

When he started to rise from the bed, she sat up and caught hold of his arm. “Don’t go.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you need something?”

You. I need you. She wanted him to stay close beside her, to kiss her again.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” she said. “I’m nearly naked, and you’re wearing all those clothes.”

She raised her arm and stroked the bristly stubble on his jaw. With a fingertip, she traced a line from his mouth to his chin and down his throat. Aware that her behavior was utterly inappropriate, she began to unbutton his shirt. The effort took all her concentration. Her fingers lacked dexterity.

“Shana, I don’t think this is—”

“Don’t think.” Never before had she been so bold. She must be delirious. “I want this shirt off.”

“Let me.”

He unfastened the buttons and slipped off his shirt, then he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His arms and shoulders were lean yet muscular. A sprinkle of dark hair coated his chest. Below his collarbone, she saw a ragged scar. The suturing had been rushed, clumsy. Another scar crossed his rib cage.

She ran her thumb across the mark on his chest. “What happened?”

“The war happened.”

He’d been injured in battle. He really was a hero. That fact jolted her back toward reality, reminding her that there was a real world outside this cabin. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“Don’t cry for me. I survived.”

He wasn’t being macho. Just stating a fact.

She held the dog tags that hung around his neck. “Name, rank and serial number,” she said. “Blood type O negative. You’re a universal donor.”

“That’s right.”

“What does the P stand for?”

“Protestant.”

“Or maybe,” she said, “the P stands for Perfect.”

“If you knew me better, you wouldn’t say that.”

“What’s your fatal flaw?”

“Right now? I’m thinking how good it would be to make love to you.”

She nodded, and her brain rattled painfully. She winced. Though she desperately wanted to stay alert, her eyelids drooped. “Making love,” she murmured. “Not a problem.”

“You need to rest. You’re already half-unconscious. I won’t take advantage of you.”

“Rest.” That sounded good. “Sleep.”

He leaned her back, laid her down on the pillow. Though she still had the urge to make love, her body was limp. So tired.

As she closed her eyes, she felt Luke lightly kiss her forehead. He was moving away from her. Yet, in her mind, she could feel his strong arms wrapped tightly around her. The heat of his body permeated her flesh.

She might be dreaming, but this was the most realistic fantasy she’d ever had. She could smell him. Her nostrils flared. A musky scent.

Their clothing melted away, and she experienced the amazing moment when their naked bodies met. The hair on his chest rubbed against her breasts, and her nipples tightened. She groaned with anticipation.

If she opened her eyes, she was certain to see his smile. His firm, stubborn jaw. The shining, intoxicating blue of his eyes.

She was ready for him. Her legs parted, welcoming him. Needing him. She never wanted to wake up. Being with Luke was the right thing. The only thing. She had to have this man. This snow-driven, crystalline fantasy was her destiny.

THE NEXT MORNING, sunlight poured through the window of the small cabin and slanted across the blankets that covered Shana on the narrow bed. Her body ached from injuries she suffered when she crashed down the slope, but she wasn’t complaining. Last night had been fantastic, even if it was only a dream. She lay very still, not really wanting to face the reality of a new day.

Slowly, she opened her eyelids and saw Luke, fully dressed and tending to the fire in the potbellied stove. Though he was the same handsome man who had rescued her, she sensed that today was far different from yesterday and last night. Also, her headache had returned.

“Aspirin,” she croaked.

At the sound of her voice, he turned toward her. His smile was polite but wary. “Aspirin and water are on the chair beside the bed.”

She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Vaguely irritated, she reached for the mug, downed three aspirin and lay back on the pillows. Beneath the sheets she was naked and terribly aware of her vulnerability.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Last night, she’d been starving…but not for food. She craved him. Of course, that wasn’t what he was talking about. “I could eat something.”

“My supplies are sparse.” He reached up to a high shelf and grabbed an opened cardboard box that he placed on the table. “I’ve got a couple of K rations I swiped from the quartermaster.”

“K rations?”

“Survival food to carry in combat. If the enemy doesn’t kill you, this stuff will.”

“You’re talking about an MRE, meal ready to eat. When I was in Kuwait, some of the soldiers had them.”

When he placed the box on the bed in front of her, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. The prepackaged energy food had all the appeal of eating tree bark, but she needed to build her strength if she hoped to ski back to civilization. After peeling off the wrapper, she forced herself to bite into the square chunk of tasteless calories. It crumbled in her mouth like sand.

“How about coffee?” Luke asked.

“Oh, yes.”

He went to the potbellied stove. Using a dish towel, he lifted a metal pot from the burner and poured steaming liquid into a mug that looked like vintage Fiestaware. A quaint touch, she thought. These mountain huts had been built in the 1940s and the crockery matched that era. So did the furniture. The Formica table with aluminum legs and matching chairs looked almost new thanks to the retro craze.

When he handed her the mug, there was no spark of electricity. No special thrill. They were strangers again. So that’s the way it’s going to be. Well, fine.

With a dispassionate gaze, she studied him. Still gorgeous, but there was something odd about the way he was dressed. His fatigues were the old-fashioned army drab instead of the usual beige or green camouflage. The fabric seemed stiff and heavy. “You mentioned that you were in the army.”

“Stationed at Camp Hale. Or Camp Hell, as we like to call it.”

“From the 10th Mountain Division.”

He pointed to the crossed sword insignia on the sleeve of his white parka, which hung from a peg near the door. “We climb to conquer.”