Despite there not having been any sightings, she was certain a wolf had been roaming the area. Worse, she couldn't explain how she felt compelled to discover the truth, but on the other hand was afraid of learning any were living here. Neither her underlying fear of them or compulsion to seek them out made any sense to her. Except as she stalked them, she was sure they stalked her. Which was plain crazy. Or was it? She'd had more than one experience like when she'd been taking pictures of the California wildfire. A phantom gray watching her, waiting, an unnatural standoff between man and beast. And then the sudden unprovoked attacks.
She yanked on her snow boots. After slipping her favorite pink ski cap on her head, covering her hair, still pinned up in a bun, she threw on her parka and grabbed her gloves.
She had nothing to fear. Nothing--except the fact someone had murdered Bethany Wade, her brother was going to prison for it, and the real murderer was on the loose.
But worse than that?
She had challenged him--which would now be in the local newspaper, no less--that she would uncover who he was and clear her brother's name.
She glanced at the bedside table where she kept her gun and took a deep breath. "Firewood, or else you'll go without."
If an ice storm knocked out the electricity, she would be in a world of hurt. A quick walk on the beach to gather driftwood for a fire would have to suffice. She shouldn't have put it off so long, but all she had thought of lately was how to get her brother cleared of the charges. She needed a new lawyer. Someone who was a lot more determined. And a new private eye, someone who would find something that would help Michael, instead of just running up a bill.
After locking the back door--although normally she wouldn't have bothered, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching the place--she traversed the narrow and steep path through the woods and boulders down to the small sandy beach below.
From one of the mills up north, lumber floating on the current piled up on the beach, littering it. No sense letting the wood go to waste. She shoved some over on its side and considered how wet it was. Very wet. All of it would take too long to dry. But if she didn't hurry and the rain began, it wouldn't matter what she gathered--the wood would all be too wet to burn.
She trudged through piles of seaweed--hating the smell and unsightly mess it made as the storms churned it up on the beach--and made her way around a cluster of boulders where she spied a stack of wood. Far enough from the tidewater, it would have had more time to dry.
Skirting around to the other side, she figured the timber would be the driest there. But what she saw next made her gasp and her heart nearly quit beating.
The body of a veritable Greek god lay naked on his stomach, his skin, slightly blue, stretched over tightly toned muscles, his dark, wet hair draped across his face, his eyes sealed shut.
Not dead. Please, don't be dead.
Chapter 2
BEFORE TESS A REACHED THE MAN LYING DEATHLY STILL on the beach, certain he was dead, she thought one of his fingers twitched. Her heart went into overdrive.
Not dead. Ohmigod. He's alive. Maybe.
She rushed forward and pulled him onto his back. Big. Naked. Blue--she reminded herself. And badly battered--his face, body, limbs.
She yanked off her glove and held his wrist. No pulse that she could feel, although her blood was running so fast, she figured it overrode feeling his pulse, if he had one. Not breathing, she didn't think, because her warm breath was turning into puffs of smoke in the chilly air and there was none escaping his parted lips, full and sensual, but purple.
"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?" She jerked her glove on, and then fumbled to remove her parka. Covering his torso with her heavy white coat, she tried to remember her CPR training. "Fifteen pumps to the chest. Breathe two times into his mouth. Then repeat. No, clear his passageway first."
With hands trembling, she crouched next to his head. His wet hair dragged the sandy beach, his eyelids sealed shut. She tilted his head back and made sure nothing obstructed his airway. Moving back to his torso, she pushed the coat lower to expose his chest--muscled, sculpted, dark curly hair trailing down to her parka, speckled with sand, the best shape she'd ever seen a man in close up--which meant he was too hardy to die on her. She prayed.
She pressed her gloved hands together against his hard chest and began compressions. Counting under her breath, she hoped to God he didn't die on her. If the wind and cold weren't bad enough, sleet began sliding down in gray sheets, crackling and covering everything in a slick icy sheen, plastering her turtleneck and jeans against her frigid skin. She worked harder, faster.
The blood pounded in her ears, blocking the sound of the wind and sleet and waves.
"Fifteen!" she shouted, and then moved closer to his head, yanked off her glove, and felt for any sign of a pulse in his neck.
No pulse, or so faint she couldn't feel it. And no breath. He wasn't breathing.
Her heart in her throat, she pinched his nose shut and leaned down to cover his mouth with hers. Before she could blow air into his lungs, his eyes popped open. Amber, intense, feral. Her mouth gaped.
With a titan grasp, he grabbed her wrists, flipped her onto her back and straddled her, the parka wedged between them as the weight of his body restrained her.
"No!" she screeched, right before he kissed her-- pressed his frozen lips against hers, his mouth firm, wanting, pressuring with uncontrollable need--like a man used to dominating--sending her senses reeling.
Instantly, the cold left her, his body heating every inch of her to the core, her heart pounding. And in that moment, she wanted him--as insane as the notion was.
He lifted his mouth from hers and glowered at her for a second, his eyes smoky with desire. Speechless, she stared back at his chiseled face, the grim set of his lips, his dark silky hair curling down, dripping water on her cheeks. Then his fathomless, darkened eyes drifted closed and his tight grip loosened on her wrists.
"No!" she shouted, right before he collapsed on top of her in a faint, his dead weight pinning her to the beach.
"Hey!" she yelled, her hands on his shoulders, shaking him. "Wake up!" She couldn't budge the muscled hunk, but if she didn't revive him and get him to some place warm, he would die for sure. "Hey! Wake... up!" She pushed and shoved, trying to roll him off her. But he was too heavy--solid muscle and bone.
"Get... off... me!"
He moaned and lifted his head, his glazed eyes staring at her, his beautiful white teeth clenched in a grimace, but he didn't seem to comprehend.
"Can you move? I'll... I'll take you up to my house and call for help."
For the longest time--although it probably was no more than a second or two, but with the way his heavy body pressed against hers, it seemed like an eternity--he watched her.
Then he groaned and rolled off her onto his back. She hurried to recover him with the parka, yanked off her knit cap, and stretched it over his head. More heat was lost through the head than any other body part, she recalled hearing from a survival show. Odd the things that would come to mind in the middle of a crisis.
He observed her as the sleet continued to pelt them--an expression without feeling, icy cold like the storm, a face devoid of fear, unlike the way hers probably looked.