I walk to the driver side and reach down for my gloves, pulling them onto hands that seem far too frozen already.
I turn to the road, staring at the blankness of it, the snow so thick it looks uniform in places, like a giant white sheet of paper has been slid across my vision.
I walk forward and then stop.
Off to my left, in the forest, a dog is yapping softly, and then it gets louder, and louder.
I hear a man’s voice rising over the constant hum of the snow.
“What is it, boy?”
Chapter Two
Wayne
“What is it, boy?” I say, pulling down my scarf and letting the cold blast me in the face.
After the heat of the cabin, the cold is refreshing, infusing my bones and my lungs with an invigorating blast. I only intended to take Rusty out on a short walk to relieve himself, since the little caramel-colored Jack Russel terrier wasn’t the biggest fan of the snow.
But no sooner had I walked a few steps from the cabin when Rusty ducked his head and started sniffing at the ground, tail stuck straight up in the air, ears pricked and alert.
Then he darted off into the forest, stopping and turning to me after thirty or so feet, staring at me like I was the world’s biggest idiot for not following.
I shrugged and shut the cabin door.
Why not?
For the first time in a long time, I had nothing to do. I was free to just wander off into the snowy forest and see what my dog wanted to explore.
I’m forty-three years old and I can’t remember the last time I just did something for the sake of it, for fun. I wonder if there’s something wrong with that.
But then, I’ve got my business to take care of, thousands of employees, a board of directors who seem intent on twisting the company into yet another morality-lacking cesspit.
Rusty stands lightly in the snow, where my weighty body causes me to sink shin-deep with each step, soaking my jeans, but my feet are dry, courtesy of my chunky boots.
“What is it, boy?” I ask again.
He yips at the air, and then noses toward the road. I click my tongue to let him know to wait. The last thing I need is him charging out into the middle of a low-visibility road and getting hit. He makes the whining sound that lets me know he’s annoyed, that he wants to just sprint ahead, consequences be damned.
“I know,” I laugh grimly. “But you’re not as smart as you think you are, Rust.”
He whines.
When I catch up with him, he pads forward.
The snowfall is so thick I don’t see it – or her – until I’m almost standing next to the car.
Smoke seeps from the hood in a steady stream, but I barely even notice the car as my eyes roam over her.
Something erupts inside me, something I never thought I’d feel, something carnal and primal and possessive.
It roars at me, She’s yours. Kill any man who touches her. Don’t second-guess yourself. This woman belongs to you now.
She laughs and kneels down as Rusty pads over to her, yipping proudly, enough to let me know that this is where he was leading me all along.
A crazy thought strikes me.
Did he know how I’d feel the moment I laid my eyes on her?
She’s wearing a thick army-green jacket and khaki pants with boots, but the wind has blown her hood down to reveal waves of luxurious blonde hair, slightly wet and messy in the snow. Her eyes are wide, friendly and emerald-green, and her body is curvy, so curvy I feel my hands twitching for those child bearing hips, for those milk-giving breasts, for those sweet-as-hell ass cheeks.
“Car trouble?” I manage to growl, when all I want is to fist that golden hair and bend her over the steaming hood, snow or no snow.
“How could you tell?” she says, a note of sass in her voice. She strokes Rusty behind the ear and then stands up, staring at me. “You’re not a serial killer, are you? Your face looks familiar.”
I’m glad she doesn’t recognize me and, strangely, I feel another stirring inside when she sasses me. I like the way she smirks, the way it contrasts with the genuine kindness in her eyes. A glorious contradiction.
“I just have one of those faces,” I tell her, moving forward slowly, not wanting to freak her out. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Are you a mechanic?”
“Are you always this sassy?”
Her eyes twinkle, her cheeks flushing red. Her chest rises and falls quickly, causing her breasts to heave in the jacket, and my manhood to flood and pulse solidly.
I bet she’s hot as fucking fire under there. I bet her nipples would burn my tongue as I sucked them, sucked them hard until they were red and she was quivering with her endless releases, her cream sliding thickly down her thighs.
“You could say I use humor as a defense mechanism, if you wanted to get all psychobabble about it.”
I chuckle and nod to the car. “Pop the hood?”
“Can you give me your name, at least?”
“Wayne Wakefield,” I tell her.
I see her pause, lips pursed, as my name moves through her consciousness. I can tell she’s trying to place me.
“And yours?” I ask.
“Winter Reed,” she says. “Though I’m not sure I should be telling you that.”
She walks to her driver’s side and leans inside, popping the hood. Rusty jumps up on the seat and she giggles as he laps at her face.
“Friendly doggie,” she says, stroking him. “What’s your name?”
“Rusty,” I tell her. “And he’s not normally so friendly with strangers. He must like you.”
My mind thunders ahead a million miles a minute. The amount of times I’ve wished for a child to carry on my legacy, to give a middle finger to the cutthroat assholes who think life is a game to be played at other people’s expense.
I open the hood and glance down at the engine.
Immediately, I can tell that she’s screwed and is going to need a mechanic.
“That bad, Wayne?” she asks, glancing at me over the top of Rusty’s head.
My dog looks content in her arms, snuggling close to her, even as the snow continues to lash down like a godly punishment.
“How could you tell?” I smirk.
“Uh, just your face,” she says, smiling shakily. “Am I right in thinking there’s a town ten miles up the road?”
“From here? More like fifteen, but yeah, there’s a town. Snowy Crescents. But I wouldn’t advise walking there in this blizzard. It’s only going to get worse for the next twelve hours.”
She glances up at the sky, frowning. “I know it’s only four in the afternoon, but it feels like freaking midnight. You know, with the snow, it’s all so shiny all the time anyway. Sorry, I’m rambling. I guess rambling is a pretty good way to come to terms with the fact that I’m stuck in the middle of the forest with a man who could very well be a serial killer, right?”
I stare at her, captivated, as her smile wavers and her leafy eyes glimmer. It’s like I can see into her, scenting her nervousness and her sassiness with a tinge of fear.
“Winter, I’d never hurt you,” I say.
She blinks. “Woah, okay,” she says. “That was suddenly super-serious.”
“I know it must be strange for you, being out here with a complete stranger. But I just want you to know you’re safe.”