Snow Baby

“Tell me about you,” Dillon suggested. “Is there a man in your life?”

“No.” Wade was too long a story, and she was far too weary to expand on her answer. “I can’t g-go any f-farther,” she said, sinking to her knees in the snow. Somehow she wasn’t cold anymore. She just didn’t care. There wasn’t anything left inside her with which to fight. “You g-go on…”

“I’m not leaving you.” A strong arm swept her to her feet, but she pulled away again, shaking her head. I can’t, rang through her thoughts, but she could no longer speak. Her mind seemed clouded, her senses dulled. Her body simply slowed and stopped moving, like a cheap windup toy.

“Chantel!” The command cut through her hazy thoughts, but she refused it. Let this be over.

The second time Chantel heard her name, she knew Dillon would not be denied. Weakly she tried to move toward to his voice, then felt the world tip and sway as he lifted her in his arms.

“So you’re going to make me carry you, huh?” he breathed, his chest heaving as he bore her weight through the wind and snow.

Silence fell for what seemed a long time. Then, from somewhere far above her, Chantel heard Dillon again. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispered urgently. “Don’t go to sleep! Fight the darkness, Chantel.”

Chantel wasn’t sure she wanted to stay, let alone fight, but something about his voice enticed her toward his strength. Don’t let me go…I won’t let go.

“I see it now.”

His words made no sense, caused no reaction in Chantel. She only knew that he’d left her. But he was close. She could hear him talking to himself, moving a few feet away. A car door slammed, twice, then she felt herself being jostled about as he pulled and tugged at her arms, her legs, her…

What was it? What did he want from her?

Then it all came clear. He was stripping off her clothes.

CHAPTER THREE

CHANTEL’S BODY burned as it warmed by degrees, slowly turning from what felt like dead wood to living flesh again. She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she was in some sort of sleeping bag, crushed against something strong and hard—an expansive chest? Two sinewy arms circled her as large hands chafed her back. A rough stubbled chin grazed her cheek as thickly muscled legs became entwined with her own, moving constantly, trying to warm her lower extremities.

She was being held by a naked man. And he was warming a great deal more than her extremities.

She stiffened.

“Chantel? Are you back with me?”

The voice identified Dillon immediately, but still she raised her head to make out his face in the darkness. “Wh-What happened?”

Closing his eyes, he shamelessly hugged her to him, belly to belly. It was then that Chantel realized how fast his heart was beating.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, still disoriented.

“Are you kidding? I thought I was going to lose you. It was nip and tuck there for a while.”

Slowly the memory of being stranded in her car came back to her. She remembered how Dillon had rescued her, remembered trudging behind him through the snow. Then there was nothing but blackness until the burning and tingling started and grew painful in its severity.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like I’m on fire.”

“That’s good.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“I don’t know. Outside somewhere. I wasn’t concerned with what happened to them. I just knew I had to get them off you—fast.”

“Because…”

“Because you were soaking wet and freezing to death. And that’s what you’re supposed to do with someone in that situation.” His voice sounded slightly defensive, as though she’d accused him of being some kind of pervert.

Realizing he’d just saved her life, Chantel tried to act nonchalant. She wasn’t sure he’d needed to remove every stitch of their clothing, but he’d obviously acted in what he thought was her best interests. “I’ve seen it before on television,” she admitted.

“How’s the burning in your arms and legs? Getting any better?”

“A little.”

Chantel shifted to remove her lower body from contact with Dillon’s, which was nearly impossible in the snug bag. While modeling, she’d seen a score of naked men, changing from one outfit to another, and lots of men had seen her doing the same thing. But somehow she couldn’t treat being with Dillon as indifferently as she’d handled working around those fellow models, photographers, costumers and artistic directors. Especially since his body felt good enough to melt her bones.

“Relax.”

Though nervous and vulnerable, she tried to do as he suggested, but ended up simply keeping as still as she could. It had been almost a year since she’d been with a man. She’d gotten so skinny in her final months with Wade that he hadn’t wanted her, at least sexually. And the memory of it made her even more self-conscious than she would normally have felt in this particular dilemma.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” she said to break the awkward silence.

His chuckle rumbled in her ear. “Don’t be. From my perspective, there are worse things than having a beautiful woman in my arms.”

Chantel smiled. So he was generous, as well as kind. “What do we do when we’re warm?”

“Wait for morning.”

The thought of spending the entire night in Dillon’s arms sent a shiver up Chantel’s spine. He hugged her closer and began to rub her back again, as though he assumed her reaction had something to do with the cold. But Chantel knew it had much more to do with the man holding her, stroking her.

“That feels good,” she whispered.

Dillon’s shallow breathing—and more obvious proof lower down—told her he agreed. “I guess this might get a little awkward,” he said, knowing, of course, that she couldn’t possibly miss his arousal. “But don’t worry. I won’t, you know, try anything.”

She smiled at his attempt to reassure her. “We just have to relax, like you said.”

“Unfortunately, even that won’t change some things.”

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

Chantel had felt exhausted only moments earlier, but now her blood zipped through her veins and wouldn’t let her lie still. “We’re not going to be able to rest,” she said, “if we feel we can’t move.”

“We can move.”

“I know, but I’m hesitant to put my arm here or my leg there…”

“Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

Sighing, she snuggled closer, laying her head on his chest and slipping one cold foot between his. The burning in her arms and legs had eased, but her fingers and toes still felt like ice. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess we should probably get some sleep. I’m a lot warmer now, aren’t you?”