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Chapter Eleven

H e thought she was dead when he finally found her.

He’d been veering into the woods along either side of the fire trail, checking out every snow-covered clump of deadfall that even remotely resembled a body.

And then he’d glimpsed a light in the distance and raced toward it.

The flashlight was wedged between the limbs of a pine tree, just about head height, aimed back toward the trail.

And Lexi lay still at the base of that same tree, snow covering her face and clothes, even her closed eyes, like some morbid white shroud.

His heart did things he hadn’t thought it was still capable of doing. Like breaking, for instance. The sight of her shattered it to dust.

He dropped to his knees beside her, choking on the words he tried to shout at her, brushing the snow and frozen hair away from her face and eyelashes.

“Lexi! Wake up, Lexi. Come on!” He pressed his nearly numb fingers to her throat in search of a pulse.

It wasn’t hard to find, because it was pounding like a jackhammer.

“You’re alive!” He fumbled in his pockets for her pills, shook two of the tiny tablets from the bottle and then opened her mouth and poked them all the way to the back of her throat, hoping she’d swallow.

Then he pulled her limp body against him.

Her arms and head hung like a rag doll’s, but he held her all the same.

“You’re alive, and dammit, you’re gonna stay that way. ”

It was closer to the house than back to the camper. Just because White’s men hadn’t been there when he’d checked the place, didn’t mean they weren’t watching from somewhere else, or checking in on occasion. But he had no choice, at the moment. Lexi’s life hung in the balance.

He lifted her into his arms and began trudging back the way he’d come. She didn’t move or make a sound, but he couldn’t stop to check her, didn’t dare stop to check her, terrified beyond reason that he’d find her heart had stopped.

She wasn’t gasping. He told himself her muscles would relax when she was unconscious and that her racing heart might slow down.

He looked down at her as he carried her into the pool of light outside the house.

Her skin was pale, her frozen lashes resting on her cheeks.

She looked like an icy angel, a frozen princess under an evil spell.

He shouldered the door open, kicking it closed behind him, and headed straight up the stairs to her bedroom. Damn, it was cold in there. A little warmer than outside, though. At least there was no wind.

The window was closed. The rope ladder, rolled up and lying neatly beneath it.

That was … bizarre.

He lowered Lexi onto the bed, and pressed his head against her breast to listen. Her heart was beating more slowly than before. Maybe it was back to normal. Maybe she was going to be okay.

She might not stay that way long if he didn’t act fast. The hearth in the corner seemed to whisper an answer to him.

Kindling laid ready, just as it had when they’d left the house.

A stack of wood stood neatly to one side.

It only took a second to find the matches on the mantel and light the fire in the fireplace.

So he did that, then closed the bedroom door, to keep the heat inside, but just before it closed all the way, the cat rocketed through, leaped onto the bed and bunted Lexi’s face with his head.

Romano returned to the bed. Her clothes were wet, frozen.

So were his. He needed to warm her, and he needed to do it fast. He quickly stripped to his shorts.

Then kneeling on the bed, he took off the coat, then the sweatshirt she wore beneath it.

She didn’t move as he worked, didn’t make a sound, just lay there limp.

Lifeless. His throat tried to close off, and his eyes burned inexplicably.

The zipper of her jeans was caked with snow and ice, but he finally managed to undo them.

He knelt beside the bed, wrenching the snow-coated shoes from her feet, peeling the socks and then the jeans away.

Her skin was cold, clammy to the touch. He hoped to God he’d found her in time.

He had to pick her up again to tug back the covers, and then he tucked her beneath them.

He wanted to crawl in with her, hold her and rock her and speak to her until he drew some kind of response.

But not yet. He quickly searched the room, taking every blanket he found and spreading them over her.

Still shirtless, he ran into the adjoining bathroom, the room where he’d sat on that tiny vanity stool while she’d tended his bleeding shoulder.

He snatched several thick towels from the shelf and returned to the fire.

He added more logs and then held two of the towels as close to the flames as he dared, warming them.

When they were heated through, he went to the foot of the bed, lifted the covers and wrapped a towel around each of her icy feet.

He repeated the process with two more towels, wrapping her hands this time.

Then finally, he got beneath the covers with Lexi.

She was so cold after the heat of the fire that he flinched and sucked air through his teeth as he pulled her chilled body into his arms and held her tight against his own warm skin.

The cat meowed his irritation at having his position disrupted, but settled down again on Lexi’s other side, purring loudly.

Gently Romano cradled her, willing his body’s heat to move into hers, to warm her, to bring her back.

“Come on, Lexi,” he whispered, the harsh desperation in his voice making it sound like someone else’s. “Come on, wake up. You’re gonna be okay. Do you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

God, if only he could be sure of that.

She was warm again.

It was the first sensation to filter into her awareness. She was warm, deliriously warm and wrapped in a wonderful contrast of hardness and softness. She inhaled nasally, and her eyes opened at the familiar, subtle scent.

Romano.

He was behind her and beneath her and surrounding her.

His body enveloped hers in its warmth. She closed her eyes, wondering if this was a dream or some fantasy-based afterlife.

Oh, but it felt good, whatever it was. His arms, holding her, warming her, his chest, pressed to her back, his thigh, resting atop her legs, his breath warm on her nape.

She sighed deeply, hoping to stay just like this for several more hours.

He was naked. And … and so was she. No, she realized. Not quite naked. She wore her bra and panties. He wore his boxers.

Lexi came more thoroughly awake. Had something happened between them? Had they slept together and had she somehow managed to forget?

The last thing she remembered was clinging to a pine tree’s rough trunk, shivering with cold and teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.

Romano must have found her. He must have found her and brought her … She blinked at the windows with their serene blue drapes and rope tiebacks. She sniffed the air, smelling wood smoke and man. She felt the deep rumbling purr of her cat, and his weight, familiar on her pillow.

He’d brought her home. She was in her own bed. And she was all right. She was warm and dry and safe.

Romano had saved her life tonight.

She rolled onto her back, better to see him in the dim predawn light beaming through the windows. He stirred. His eyes opened slow, blinked a couple times, then darted rapidly over her face.

“Lexi …?”

“I’m okay.”

His eyes continued their search, filled with relief. One hand came up from under the covers, to cup her cheek, run through her hair, trace the curve of her neck, as his head moved very slightly from side to side.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, knowing he wasn’t as sure of it as she was.

He closed his eyes, pulling her closer to him, hugging her tight. “Thank God,” he said. “I was afraid …”

He stopped then. His hands had been sliding down over her back to pull her closer, and they’d paused on her buttocks.

His hips were pressed to hers, and she felt the unmistakable swelling of him against her.

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes, knowing he was going to draw away from her at any second, just by the hint of panic she saw in those midnight blue depths.

But she saw desire, too. And she didn’t want him to pull away.

She didn’t have to move much at all to press her mouth to his.

He shuddered. His entire body trembled, but he didn’t turn away. His lips parted when she nudged them. He lay very still, allowing her to kiss him. To taste his mouth. He didn’t move when her hands kneaded his shoulders, or when her fingers threaded into his hair.

It was an instinct as old as time that made her hips arch against him. And it was then he came alive.

He rolled her onto her back and urged her lips wider, his tongue digging deep. She felt his body grow hotter, heard the rasping of his breaths. And she knew, without being told, that it had been a long time for him. Longer for her, though. Far longer for her.

He moved his hands between them, to cup her breasts. She stiffened, a little afraid of what was happening.

He lifted his head very slightly, his fevered eyes probing hers. “I’ll stop,” he rasped. “If you want me to stop, I’ll?—”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine, and I want you. I need you.”

“I think I might need you, too,” he said. And then he resumed kissing her, stroking her, touching her everywhere, until she was sure she’d die if he didn’t make love to her soon.

There was fire in his eyes as he covered her body with his, and yet he was gentle.

His hands crept beneath her hips, and he held her tight to him, and he made love to her.

And it was that, making love. Not just sex.

But emotional, exquisite, healing lovemaking.

She felt it in every part of her. It was in his tenderness, his superhuman restraint, his every gentle touch.