And she kissed him back.
Memory, or maybe just too many years of dodging his regrets, the what-ifs, swelled over him and, yeah, he was all in.
The taste of her—memories of youth, hope, yearning—swept over him. She was strength and yet softness and belonging and—What was he doing? But the tiny alarms in his head died as her lips parted under his. She made a soft sound of longing, or maybe contentment, that reached in and ignited the place inside he’d tamped down for so long.
Desire. Hope.
Why hadn’t he tried to find her? Wow, he was a fool.
Harley.
His fingers slid into her hair, silk and softness, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. Her arms circled his neck, holding on and, of course, she fit perfectly in his embrace, like every hollow space inside him had been shaped for this moment.
The years between them fell away, and he was eighteen again, life sprawled out ahead of him, she his compass, his tomorrows.
Her fingers traced up his neck to tangle in his hair, and she kissed him harder.
And yes, there she was, the girl he knew. The one who drovehim wild, who ignited the rescuer in him, the woman he could never forget.
The other half of himself.
And she seemed to kiss him as if she might be drowning and he was air.
Or maybe he was the one drowning.
But oh, how he loved—
Wait,wait—
Behind him, the door slammed open.
He jerked, and she lifted her head.
Wind and snow churned through the opening, extinguishing the oil lamp on the table. Cold air knifed into the cabin’s warmth, and just like that, a figure materialized in the doorway, backlit by the storm’s fury.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in snow—like Bigfoot, or some winter spirit stepped out of legend. Ice crystals had frozen in his beard, and his leather coat, fur hat, and wool scarf were caked with snow. But his eyes...
His eyes seemed familiar in a way that turned Jericho’s blood to ice.
He scrambled up, grabbed the poker from the stand by the fire—“Get back!”
“Don’t!” Sunni stood in the bedroom doorway, gripping the frame for support, her injured ankle held clear of the floor. “Don’t hurt him!”
Orlando had hit his feet and now growled. Behind Jericho, Harley made a sound like she’d been struck, a gasp edged with a hint of pain.
Firelight caught the stranger’s face as he took a stumbling step forward, then pulled his scarf down.
Jericho dropped the poker.
Because the intruder in the doorway wore a dead man’s face. And he was staring at Sunni like a drowning man sighting shore.
9
No.
Itcan’t be.
The man pushed off his hood and slowly closed the door behind him. Harley stared at him, trying to put it together. High cheekbones, strong jaw, a tiny scar above his eyebrow—