Snow Baby

“I’m plenty warm,” he told her, but to Chantel his body didn’t feel as though he was ready for sleep. His muscles were taut, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Dillon’s breath stirred her hair, but he said no more. Chantel listened to the storm outside until sleep began to woo her. Then, when she was finally warm, she drifted slowly toward it. As her brain lost its override on her body, she relaxed even more and pressed closer to the muscled chest beneath her hands, the powerful limbs entwined with her own. The steady beat of Dillon’s heart lulled her that final step, and she fell into peaceful oblivion.

DILLON STARED into the darkness, willing his body to forget the soft flesh pressed against his, to block out the smell of woman that filled his nostrils. He and Chantel Miller were merely two strangers surviving the storm together. Morning would come and everything would be the way it was before.

Still, he had to admit that the person he held in his arms was no everyday woman. She was slender and elegant, but it was her smile and her eyes that appealed to him most. Unique, exquisite, haunting.

Beautiful. She was simply beautiful. And, of course, her body did nothing to change that overall impression. Long legs, smooth and shapely, slid against his own; her small perfect breasts were crushed against his chest. He’d longed to touch them from the moment he’d taken off her shirt, to feel them in his palms…

She smashed my truck. She smashed my truck. She smashed my truck. And she made me miss the party at the cabin.

He repeated Chantel’s shortcomings over and over to himself, but nothing quelled the hot desire that smoked through his veins. To make matters worse, he’d begun to feel a little proprietary toward her. He had found her. He had saved her. It was that old finders keepers, losers weepers thing, and he knew it. But no matter how many times he told himself no, his groin tightened, insisting on a different answer.

If it hadn’t been so long, he wouldn’t be like this, he told himself. He and Amanda had divorced two years ago, and he hadn’t slept with a woman since. He’d come close a few times, but the commitment that went with sex had always pulled him up short—because he didn’t want to give his daughters any competition. He owed Brittney and Sydney his wholehearted loyalty. Divorce was hard enough. He knew firsthand how difficult it could be to get along with a stepparent. Why would he do the same thing to his kids that his parents had done to him?

Chantel stirred. One of her hands climbed across his ribs, and he had to stop himself from cupping the roundness of her derriere and pressing her more firmly against him. It was simply the most natural of responses. But she was sleeping peacefully and had no idea she was driving him mad.

And he’d promised he’d be good.

A sweet mewling sound came from Chantel, but her eyes remained closed. She was probably dreaming. He gazed through the darkness, finding the curve of her cheek, the silky spray of hair that fanned out over his arm, and caught sight of her lips. They were slightly parted…and wet.

He clenched his jaw. It was going to be a long night.

THE CELL PHONE broke the silence, waking Chantel with a start. Next to her, Dillon stirred and they both fumbled around until Chantel came up with the phone, which turned out to be her own, and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Miss Miller?” a man’s voice said.

“Yes?”

“This is the police dispatcher just checking to make sure you’re okay. The storm hasn’t lifted yet, but I want you to know we’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“Okay.”

“You sound tired, Miss Miller, but I can’t stress how important it is that you not fall asleep. With the windchill factor, it’s well below zero outside.”

“I understand, but I’m not alone anymore.”

“What?”

“I, um…A friend of mine came to find me. Only he’s stuck now, too.”

“The two of you are together?”

Dillon shoved himself up onto one elbow. “Give me the phone so I can tell them where we are.”

“We’re sheltering in a Toyota Landcruiser,” she said into the receiver. “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

Chantel listened as Dillon identified himself and gave the dispatcher directions. When he ended the call, she looked at him expectantly. “What did he say?”

“To sit tight. Someone’ll be here as soon as the storm lifts.” He flicked on a flashlight and looked at his watch.

“What time is it?”

“Three o’clock.”

Chantel groaned. “No wonder I’m still tired. Did you get any sleep?”

“I dropped off about five minutes before the phone rang.”

Now that she and Dillon were both awake, Chantel felt her earlier self-consciousness return but fought it back. They might as well get used to each other. According to the dispatcher, the police were going to be a while yet. “What kept you up?”

She thought he arched a brow at her, but couldn’t see clearly enough in the darkness.

“You don’t want to know,” he said.

“What—was I snoring?”

He laughed. “You didn’t have to.”

Catching his meaning, Chantel felt her face flush and tried to sidle away, but he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down beside him. “Come on. It’s too cold for that.”

She put a hand on his chest, keeping a slight distance between them. “Tell me about yourself, Dillon.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well…tell me about your daughters.”

He opened up easily to that question. His voice warmed as he talked about his girls and their accomplishments. His fourth-grader had just competed against a sixth-grader for student-body treasurer and won. She played the clarinet in band and sang in the school choir. His second-grader was in gymnastics and could already do a back flip.

Chantel felt something tug at her heart and knew she should have steered the conversation away from kids. It was always this way when…

Dillon fell silent right in the middle of describing a family trip they’d taken to Disneyland just before the divorce.

“And then what?” she prompted.

He didn’t answer, and Chantel berated herself for not listening more closely. What was it he’d said? Something about promising his girls they’d go back every year. Wasn’t that it? “Dillon?”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish.”

“I know. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“What’s wrong?” She propped herself up to look in his face, but in the darkness, she couldn’t decide whether his expression was as stony as his voice suggested.

He shook his head. “I’m just angry. It has nothing to do with you.”