Snowed in with the Boss

Sophie awoke to panic and pain. The panic was locked in her chest, squeezing her lungs and keeping the screams inside. The pain was in her head, making her dizzy and weak. And she was freezing—not just a little “time to go put on a sweater” chill—but a deep, bone-hurting cold that surrounded her, consumed her.

She struggled against the sensations, trying and failing to push away from whatever terrible nightmare gripped her. Then the world shifted, reeling around her. Light intruded, forcing her to squint against the stabbing glare.

“That’s it, Sophie. In and out,” a deep, masculine voice said from very close by. “You can do it. Breathe in and out.”

The pressure on her lungs let up, and some of the pain cleared. The world stopped spinning and she could move again. Moments later she could see again, though seeing didn’t do much to clear her confusion, because she found herself lying on her back, with her handsome boss, Griffin Vaughn, leaning over her.

In his late thirties, with short dark hair that was frosted with silver at the temples, Griffin was a hard, no-nonsense businessman with chiseled features and elegantly arched brows. He was clipped and to the point, and rarely let his face show the slightest hint of emotion. Which was why it was shocking to see worry in his dark green eyes, and hear it in his voice when he said, “Hey. Welcome back to the land of the living. You scared the heck out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said inanely, too aware that his face was close enough that if she reached up just a little, they’d be kissing. Which was the sort of thought she usually relegated to the “don’t go there” section of her brain, along with thoughts of her mother’s illness and her own crippling debt load.

She stared up at him, blinking, trying to figure out what had happened. As she did so, she realized she wasn’t really even that cold anymore, just numb, almost going to warm now, kindling to heat. She smiled, dazed. Griffin didn’t smile back, though. Instead, he touched her cheek, though she barely felt it. “You’re freezing.”

“Not really. I’m actually sort of warm.” Her voice sounded strange, a deep rasp she wasn’t used to, and her throat hurt with the effort.

His expression went hard. “That’s even worse, because it means you’re going into hypothermia. We’ve got to get moving. Come on. Your arms and legs are working fine—nothing’s broken. I could carry you, but I think it’d be better if you walked and got your blood moving.” He eased away from her and stood, then reached down to pull her up. The world tilted beneath her feet and she sagged against him, feeling his hard, masculine muscles beneath his sopping-wet button-down shirt.

Wait a minute. Why was he wet?

Her fuzzy brain finally sharpened and she became suddenly cognizant of the fact that he wasn’t the only one who was wet to the skin. Her own clothes were glued to her body, cold and soaking. And it was freezing out; a sharp wind cut through the pitiful protection of her wet clothing, and as she watched, a few fat flakes of snow drifted down from the leaden sky above. The blizzard, she thought, heart kicking with belated panic. The bridge!

She gasped as she remembered the accident, the pop of the airbags, and then—

What then?

Heart hammering, she pulled away from her boss and looked at the lake. The bridge was a wreck, with a big section missing from the middle and chunks of cement hanging from mangled steel reinforcements. There was no sign of the SUV.

“Wha-t-t-t…” The last word turned into a stutter when huge shivers started racking her. With the exertion of standing and beginning to move around, the numbness she’d been feeling had changed to a huge, awful coldness. Wrapping her arms around her body as her muscles locked on the chills, she turned to Griffin. “You pulled me out-t-t?”

“Come on.” He slid an arm around her and urged her uphill. “We’ve got to get up to the house.”

He was shivering, too, she realized. She could feel the tremors racking his large, masculine frame, could hear them in his voice, warning her that the two of them were far from out of danger. They could very well freeze before they reached safety.

As if called by the thought, a storm gust whistled across the lake and slammed into them, nearly driving them to the ground. Wind-driven snow peppered them, the icy pellets stinging Sophie’s hands and face. The pain was a sharp heat against the background of bone-aching cold.

“It’s not supposed to s-start snowing until l-later,” she stuttered, not even able to feel her lips moving.

He didn’t answer, just started walking, keeping a strong grip on her waist and urging her onward. Knowing he was right, they had to get moving, she put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to keep up with his long-legged strides.

From the feel of gravel beneath her low-heeled boots—which were not designed for snow trekking—she figured they were following the driveway. She couldn’t see it, though; it was covered with a layer of white. Snow had already blanketed the ground and frosted the trees, and more of the cold, wet stuff was plummeting down from the sky every second. Sometimes it drifted along, white and fluffy, looking almost pretty. For the most part, though, it blew sideways with stinging impact, eventually forcing her to slit her eyes against the storm. She put her head down and tried to shut out the cold and the snow, tried not to focus on anything but trudging along.

You’re still on probation for this job, whether he’s admitting it or not, she told herself. Now is not the time to wimp out.

Granted, she could argue some seriously extenuating circumstances, and even a terrifyingly in-control man such as Griffin would have to give her a pass on losing it just now. But thinking about it that way, like it was a test she needed to pass, gave her the strength to keep pushing forward.

She needed this job more than he had any reason to understand. She knew he thought she was too young and inexperienced to fill Kathleen’s size-ten shoes, but she was bound and determined to do just that, because if she lost this job…

No, she wouldn’t think about that, either. She’d just keep walking, keep proving herself.

They struggled against the wind, headed toward the mountainside house, which had seemed very close when they’d been driving over the bridge, but now felt very far away. Eventually they passed into the tree line and the wind abated slightly, but the steady incline of the driveway sapped Sophie’s strength, and the temperature was dropping with the incoming storm. She’d all but stopped shivering, which she knew was a bad sign, and a glance at Griffin showed that his face reflected the gray of the sky, and his lips were tinged with blue.

They didn’t have much time left.

He caught her look, met her eyes, and in his expression she saw only determination, and a flat-out refusal to admit defeat. Sounding far more like a drill sergeant than the efficient businessman she’d come to know over the past month, he growled, “Move your ass. That’s an order.”

If he’d coddled, she might have given in. Instead, the grating rasp of his voice had her stiffening her spine, gritting her teeth and forging onward as the snowfall thickened, going from stinging ice to fat flakes that whipped around them, swirling and turning the world to white. They were no longer a mismatched pair of boss and assistant—they were just two very cold human beings struggling to reach the basics: shelter and warmth. Safety.

Sophie’s breath burned in her lungs, and her muscles felt dead and leaden. She stumbled and caught herself, stumbled again and would’ve fallen if it hadn’t been for Griffin looping a strong arm around her waist. His silent strength urged her to keep going, not to give up.

Then, miraculously, the snow-covered surface beneath their feet changed, going from gravel to rough-edged cement bricks. Sophie jerked her head up and peered through her ice-encrusted lashes, and gave a cry of joy when she saw that they’d reached a parking area that encircled a central planting bed. Beyond that was the modern, pillar-fronted house.

“Come on, we’re almost there!” Griffin said, shouting encouragement over the howling wind.

Through the whipping ice pellets, she could see the details that distance had obscured: the touches of stained glass on either side of the carved main doorway, and the intricate stonework and terraced landscaping leading up the walk. There were no lights, no sign of habitation, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the promise of getting out of the wind and—please, God—getting warm and dry.

The possibility spurred her on, and she felt a renewed burst of energy from Griffin, too. Together, they hurried up the wide stone steps leading to the front door. She grabbed the knob and twisted, her fingers slipping in the icy wetness. Her breath hissed between her teeth. “It’s locked. D-do you have a key?”

“It’s in the lake with the rest of our stuff.” He cast around, kicking at several half-buried rocks that were frozen into the planting beds on either side of the entryway. When one came loose, he grabbed it, returned to where Sophie was waiting and used the rock to smash one of the narrow stained glass panels. The glass held against the first two blows, then gave way on the third, shattering inward in an act of destruction that would’ve bothered Sophie under any other circumstance, but in this case seemed very much like Griffin himself—direct and to the point.

He took a moment to clear the sharpest shards away from the edges, then stuck his arm through, and felt around.

“No alarms?” Sophie asked.

“Not yet,” he replied, face set in concentration. “Too many workmen to bother. Besides, the cops are, what? Half an hour away? Forty minutes? Not worth it.”

The reminder of how isolated they were, even more so with the incoming storm, brought a renewed chill chasing through Sophie. If Griffin hadn’t gotten them safely out of the SUV, it might’ve been days, maybe longer before rescue personnel arrived. By then it would’ve been far too late.

Then again, if they didn’t get warm soon, the same logic could very well apply.

The click of a deadbolt followed by the snick of a door lock came through the panel. Sophie twisted the knob, and nearly fell through when the door swung open beneath her weight. Griffin grabbed her and they piled through the door together. He kicked the panel shut at their backs, closing out most of the storm. The air went still, save for the draft that whistled through the broken window.

But it wasn’t the sudden quiet that had Griffin cursing under his breath. It was the sight that confronted them, laying waste to any hope of an easy fix to their predicament.

“Oh,” Sophie breathed, because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.

The place was a wreck.

They were standing in a grand entryway—or what might’ve been a grand entryway in a previous life. Just then, though, it was bare studs and two-by-four construction, with electrical wiring spewed haphazardly around and the flooring pulled back to the plywood subfloor. The skeleton of a stairwell rose up to the right, leading to a second floor that wasn’t much more than framework, and Sophie could see straight through to the back of the house, where nailed-down tarps seemed to be substituting for the back wall.

Worse, it wasn’t much warmer inside than out, and she didn’t hold much hope for a working heat source if the rest of the place looked as rough as the entryway. No doubt the hot water heater was off-line. Probably the electricity, too.

“Son of a bitch.” Griffin took two steps away from her and stood vibrating with fury, his hands balled into fists. “That thieving bastard. Look what he’s done to this place. That no-good, lying—” He snapped his teeth shut on the building tirade, and shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll kill him later.”

Sophie was startled by the threat, and by how natural it sounded, as though her slick businessman boss might actually be capable of hurting his contractor. Then again, she realized, looking at him now, this wasn’t the Griffin Vaughn she’d grown more or less used to over the past month. He was wet, cold and angry, and should’ve looked like an absolute mess in wringing wet business clothes furred with globs of melting snow. But he didn’t. He looked capable and masculine, and somehow larger than before.

He glanced over at her, his eyes dark, but softening a hint when he looked at her. “Let’s get moving. There’s got to be at least one room that still has walls and a working fireplace. That may be the best we can hope for.”

Sophie nodded shakily. Trying to force her rapidly fuzzing brain to work, she said, “The housekeeper and her husband live here, right?”