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“Give me your keys so I can unlock your vehicle. I’m recently fed and more warm-skinned than usual. This weather would harm you, but that freeze will not affect me.”
I look him up and down. The man has no gloves and nothing on his head and he doesn’t even appear to be bothering to button up his coat. “What are you even talking about? This is crazy. You have to remain inside. You could literally die out there.”
He puts out a large hand, waiting for the keys, the epitome of calm focus.
I shake my head. “I didn’t lock my car. Please don’t go outside and tempt this weather. It might look like it’s gone down a little bit but it’s still terrible. I don’t want you to go. You’ll freeze out there.”
“I will return shortly.” And then he’s gone in the blink of an eye with a fast-paced stride and opens the door. “Stay behind and close it quickly,” he orders.
I stumble after him. “No,” I shriek with a high-pitched, wavery voice. “Wait. Don’t go.”
Freezing cold blasts inside for a moment as he completely ignores me, and every safety rule from the weather service, and steps out into the bitter frost. I hide behind the door and slam it shut as instructed. Then I race back to the front window to watch his progress and bite at my nails.
It all happened so fast; I couldn’t stop him.
How could he have done something so stupid and dangerous? This man insisted on going out for my items and could die out there in the process. He’s risking his life just to get my clothes, makeup and food from the car. This is madness and I’m watching him, scared that something bad will happen and I won’t be able to save him.
I still don't even know his name.
Nor did I share mine yet.
He steps off the porch and I expect to see him on his knees already with ice painted all over his face and body, requiring rescue. But he’s confidently striding across the ice. The wind blows back his long coat and he trudges forward, not even wearing gloves, a hat or a scarf as a barrier against the freeze. How is this man still alive? He should be on the ground, in pain from sudden frostbite. But he keeps going, as if he’s not really bothered. Ice and frost aren’t forming on him anywhere. The muscles of his strong thighs flex as he lifts each leg against the wind, taking confident steps on with his heavy black boots.
“I can’t believe it,” I say out loud. “How is he doing this?”
He makes it to the back of the frozen SUV, opens it nonchalantly, while chunks of ice break off and drop to the ground. He grabs my huge duffel bag and puts the strap over his shoulder and then starts grabbing a variety of other bags. I’ve got a lot in there because I’m a Montanan who knows how to stock up due to two-hour drives to "real” grocery stores. I’m worried he’ll have to bring only half of it and think he needs to make a second trip. But miraculously he’s got everything I’ve brought for the week loaded into his arms and hands. He even manages to shut the back of the SUV.
“I cannot believe how strong he is,” I mutter while continuing to bite the same nail.
He turns back toward the cabin and keeps going despite another blast of freezing wind, and almost loses a bag but grabs it tight. This tall man, wearing only leather and a T-shirt, marches back across the front of the cabin and doesn’t lose his step on the ice.
I monitor his progress through the window and when he pounds up the steps of the porch, I open the door again. A blast of wind and flurries of snow enter with him, but I close the door superfast. A whole mess of water is all over the floor and everywhere, but the main point is he’s alive. “I’m so happy you made it back in one piece,” I gush, with a watery smile. “And don’t ever scare me like that again. Understood?”
He gives a triumphant grin, still easily holding a pile of half-frozen luggage and bags. “Yes, female. I promise.”
“Here, put down the duffle right here. And the bags here for now.”
He does as instructed then sits heavily in a nearby chair and starts to take off his wet boots.
I pause to glance at his enormous feet and see he’s wearing black socks with an almost shimmery sheen. And that’s when I notice how wet he is from the melting ice. I rush out to the hall bathroom and come back with a towel and he’s already standing again, having shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the peg.
I try to get the water off his hair and face.
And then I look up.
He's looking down at me very intently. A man on the edge with a vein throbbing in his temple. His gaze drops and I realize he's staring at my neck and licking his lips like he’s hungry.
What the heck?
Suddenly I remember those sharp fangs.
He seems to sense a moment of tension and steps back. He sighs and turns away from me toward the bags on the ground.
I back away too and sit down abruptly and unlace my own boots and set them down alongside his, near the woodstove. My own coat is soon on the peg next to his.
He quietly moves over to the kitchen and deposits all my grocery bags on the table.
He’s mysterious, sharp-toothed and yet kind. And sexy. Very sexy.
