A Warm Heart in Winter(7)

Blay smiled as he thought of the bed they shared.

And what they did in it.

Okay, fine, no wonder he blushed so much around his mate. But that was nothing Bitty ever needed to worry about.

Forcing his eyes to get going with the busywork of tracking letters, words and sentences, he had to push aside a lingering distraction. The sense that something was off-kilter in the universe, some kind of calamity due to arrive at any minute, was the worst company a guy could have.

Especially when the male you loved more than anybody else in the world was out in the cold in the field.

Blay let his head fall back again. The ceiling was about thirty feet up, and it had old beams that were varnished the same tone as all the mahogany wood of the shelves, the hearth mantel, the floor. Whenever he retreated to this room, he always thought that this must be what the inside of a jewelry box was like, the glow of gold from all the spines of the ancient tomes like an extension of the crackling fire, the sense of protection and being among that which was rare making him feel kind of special himself.

He looked to the archway. Voices of doggen and Brothers and fighters wove together, some louder than others depending on whether they were next door in the billiards room, coming down from the grand staircase, or out in the dining room.

The mansion was never truly quiet.

And on a night like tonight, when he was on edge for no good reason . . .

It was such a reassurance to know that he was not alone.





As Elle landed facedown in the snow, she flipped onto her back and braced herself for a knife, a gun, a fist—whatever came at her. Mostly, the defensive response was because she wanted to fight for her life, but she was also a coward because she couldn’t watch Terrie’s face while she got murdered. She already knew her sister was screaming in the driver’s seat. She could hear it. And the fact that this was Elle’s fault, all of it, from the drive, to the wrong exit, to the bad turn, to the snowbank, was— “Relax, kid.”

The voice above her was grave and very deep, the kind of thing a radio-show host would use when making a public service announcement. It was also slightly bored, as if sniveling, panicked teenage girls and their bigmouthed sisters hadn’t been on the man’s list of things to do tonight.

Elle paused with her flailing on the snowpack. “What?”

“You can stop freaking out, okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The guy was absolutely enormous as he loomed over her, and she had a feeling he wasn’t just a tow truck guy. After all, his leather jacket was open, and there was something strapped, handles down, to his huge chest. Knives? And what else from Fortnite could be under there? Add those piercings and the laser-eye routine, and she was pretty sure that he was speaking in a foreign language and she’d translated “I’m going to fuck you up” incorrectly.

When he extended his arm, she shrank back and covered her face with her hands. When nothing happened and nothing hurt, she peeked out from between the picket fence of her fingers. The man was leaning over her . . . with an extended open palm. That had nothing sharp and shiny in it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated.

Elle glanced back at her dad’s car. Terrie had both of her hands covering her mouth like she was worried that saying anything, even inside the car, might spook the big man into disastrous action.

The guy rolled his mismatched eyes. “Come on, kid. I don’t have all night. Shit or get off the pot.”

“You shouldn’t curse around children,” Elle mumbled.

“Children aren’t in this part of town at ten o’clock at night. You were an adult when you took that car out, sweetie, and now you’ve got an adult-level problem. Hearing the word ‘shit’ better be something you can handle because it’s the least of your worries.”

Well . . . shit . . . he had a point.

“You talk like my dad.”

“That’s because I am one, so I have the same rule book yours does.”

“Rule book? And you have a kid?”

“Two. So I’m viewing this as a training exercise for when they can drive.”

Elle put her hand in the man’s and was pulled up to her feet so fast she almost fell on her face again. He kept her upright by planting a palm on her shoulder and steadying her.

“I’ll get you out of that snowbank,” he said, “and then you gotta head off to wherever you belong. Things aren’t safe down here.”

As he stomped back to his tow truck, Elle pulled her coat into place around her torso and stared at his stalking stride. God, his black boots were the size of her head, and he might have sounded like her dad, but he sure didn’t move like Basile Allaine. This man prowled like you didn’t want to mess with him, like he was really strong and knew it, like he might not mind having to set someone straight. Her dad was an international tax attorney.

Elle blinked. For some reason, she thought of how her mom had once been a lawyer. A long time ago. Now, she wasn’t anything professional, and that was another reason Elle had wanted to go out tonight. Sometimes, it was too hard to stay inside with all the things going on in her head.

She went back over to the BMW. Before she could hit the door handle, Terrie threw things open and exploded with talk, her words carbonated and shaken up from the scare, releasing in a rush.

“OhmyGodIthoughthewasgoingtokillyou—”