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Building a fire with frozen fingers was an exercise in idiocy. The newspaper wouldn’t compact, kindling spilled from his hands, splinters scored his skin. His hands were ungainly puppets. At last it was time to light the mess. He dumped matches on the floor and grabbed at one, staring it down.
“Don’t be cruel.”
It only took him three tries to light the match and he thanked his lucky stars. His thick hands enclosed the tiny flame and he let it lick the newspaper’s edges.
“Thank God,” Grant whispered and blew gently on the flames. Slowly, slowly the kindling caught. As soon as he felt it safe, he turned back to Melinda and his heart clenched at what he saw. So lifeless, so pale.
“Dammit,” he bit out, crawling to her. He worked his fingers through her hair and found the rising lump, but minimal blood, considering.
“Thank God,” he said again. Then he shoved aside the coffee table and stripped off his clothes.
~
Pain wrapped Melinda in a mummy’s prison. Her hands and fingers ached with arthritis she didn’t know she had. Her toes, feet, and legs were blocks of ice. Her head twirled on a spike. She moaned against the hurt but couldn’t figure out how to open her eyes.
Time passed.
When she woke again she was held fast in a bear’s embrace. Unforgiving arms trapped her like a vice and rough legs pinned her to the ground. Her whole body hurt, and somehow her face was sunburned. Melinda moaned and pushed against the bear’s grip.
“Mel?” the bear said, and she blinked back to reality, sort of.
Not a bear. Grant. Grant the kidnapper, Grant the wood-splitter, Grant who gave her wine for breakfast.
Well, this was interesting.
Melinda lay on the floor of the Mastermind’s cabin with Grant tucked against her backside. Blankets swathed them both and a fire blazed a few feet in front of her face. That explained the sunburn. But why did she not remember earning the hangover?
And where on earth were her clothes?
Where were his clothes?
“What are you doing?” she croaked.
“A dead branch fell on you.” Grant’s words were gentle against her head. “Clobbered you pretty good. You went down like a ton of bricks. I got you back here ’bout a half hour ago and I’ve been trying to get you warm. The snow went all down your jacket. Your body was like ice—”
Tension that she didn’t understand emanated from the masculine form behind her. Was he angry at her for being so foolish? She was no delicate waif. How had he managed?
“You carried me? All that way?” Why would he carry her if he were mad at her? Nothing made sense. Was he mad because he’d carried her? She scrunched her eyes shut against the cloud of questions.
“Of course I did,” he replied curtly.
“Well, wow,” she said, incapable of anything more eloquent. “You’re, like, really strong, aren’t you?” she asked, and then giggled at how ditzy she sounded. The giggling was a bad idea on many levels she realized quickly, and she groaned. “My head hurts...Stupid snow in the stupid trees.” That was wrong. It wasn’t the tree’s fault. The trees had been so pretty. “No, stupid me for not listening. I did just what you said not to do.” That much was crystal clear.
“I was the one who took you for a walk in the middle of a storm,” Grant replied gruffly. “Stupid me in the stupid trees.” His voice reverberated like a low engine against her flesh. His warm breath caressed her neck, rough stubble scratching her cheek. His chest was hard and massive against her back. He was so close. So safe. Her tension eased and his great bear arms tightened around her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For saving me.”
“Melinda...of course.”
This bear might be a knight in shining armor.
She shouldn’t play with fire. But he was so strong. So selfless. So unlike the men she’d known. The men in her family, who let her brave the world alone, who taught her that to love someone was to need them, and to need them was to be denied.
Melinda twisted onto her back, then closed her eyes hard against the ensuing wave of pain.
“Bad idea,” she groaned, then sucked in a breath and shifted again. She wanted to see him face-to-face. To apologize and thank him with sincerity. It was the nice thing to do. It was also the wrong thing to do.
“For Pete’s sake, keep still,” he said as he tried to hold her in place.
