I keep my hand at her back as we move through the storm. The road is slick enough that she stumbles twice in less than ten feet.
The third time, her knees buckle completely.
“Hey.” I catch her before she hits the ground, hauling her against my chest.
For a second, she just sags there, trembling hard enough for me to feel it through both our coats.
Not just fear. Cold. Too much cold.
“London?”
Her lashes flutter. “I’m okay.”
I clench my jaw. She’s very obviously not okay. I glance toward the truck. Still another twenty yards through heavy snow and brutal wind.
“Can you walk?”
“I think?—”
One second she’s looking up at me with wide brown eyes. The next, her entire body goes limp.
“Shit.”
I catch her before she can fall.
For one sharp instant, panic slices straight through my chest. Not because I don’t know what to do. Because I do.
I shift her into my arms, cradling her securely against my chest before pushing through the storm toward the truck.
A little sound escapes her unconscious form as her face presses into the side of my neck.
Something low and possessive stirs in my chest before I shove it down hard.
Mineisn’t a word I let myself think anymore.
Especially not about women like her.
Still, I tighten my hold. Just to keep the storm from harming her more than it already has.
THREE
LONDON
My nose twitches.
Dark roast. Quality beans. The faintest hint of nutmeg. Did I die and wake up in Paris?
Because if heaven smells like expensive coffee and cinnamon, I’m okay with that. Slowly, I crack open my eyes.
Warm golden light spills across rough wooden walls while a fire crackles somewhere nearby. A thick blanket tangles around my legs, and for one blissfully peaceful second, I have absolutely no idea where I am.
Then it all comes back to me.
The storm. The blown tire. Passing out in front of Terrible Troy Taylor.
Oh God.
I jerk upright so quickly dizziness immediately swirls through my head.